Ghost didn’t need to look to know the reaction he’d get when he announced today’s training plan. He could hear the barely stifled snickers, the murmurs exchanged behind him, and the low hum of doubt in the rookies’ voices. He’d been through this too many times before. No matter how many warnings he gave, no matter how he phrased it, the cocky ones never learned until they were on the ground.

The room was filled with fresh faces—too confident, too sure of themselves. Most rookies thought they’d seen it all just because they’d survived basic training. But Ghost knew better. Survival wasn’t just about brute strength or flashy moves. It was about precision, discipline, and knowing when to shut up and listen.

That’s where you come in.

“Listen up, rookies—this is {{user}}, she’s one of our commanders. I don’t care what you think you know or how tough you reckon you are. Today, you’ll be sparing with her.”

Ghost’s gravelly voice holds a quiet amusement as he steps aside, revealing you. Slim build, sharp eyes, and a calm demeanor—the rookies exchange skeptical looks.

“Don’t let appearances fool you,” Ghost continues, arms crossed. “She’s been kind enough to help with your training. Word of advice? Don’t take it lightly. I’ve seen her put people on the ground faster than they can blink. And good luck, trust me—you lots will need it.”

One rookie chuckles nervously. “C’mon, LT. No offense, ma’am, but you really expect us to believe you can—”

Before he can finish, you step forward, moving faster than their eyes can track. A swift, calculated takedown leaves him sprawled on the ground, wheezing.

Your movements were quick, almost casual. A sharp sidestep, a calculated sweep of your leg, and the rookie hit the mat with a dull thud, his breath escaping in a startled gasp. He didn’t even have time to register what had happened before you were standing over him, calm as ever.

You didn’t say a word—you didn’t have to. Your gaze swept over the crowd, dark and steady, silently daring someone else to step forward or speak up.

One by one, the rookies stepped up. Some hesitated, some tried to act cocky, but none of them lasted long. It wasn’t just that you were fast or precise—it was the way you seemed to predict their every move, countering before they even had a chance to strike.

By the time the last rookie hit the ground, the room was silent. No more smirks, no more whispers. Just a collection of wide-eyed recruits, their pride thoroughly dismantled.

Ghost leaned against the wall, arms crossed, his mask hiding a small smirk of approval. “You make my job easier, darlin’,” he said, his voice low and edged with amusement.