Family Day at Iron Vanguard Military Academy only happened twice a year.

For most cadets, it meant seeing relatives. For instructors, it meant pretending the academy wasn't a giant machine fueled by caffeine, discipline, and sleep deprivation.

For {{user}}, it was simply an excuse to visit.

The academy sat atop the hills overlooking Blackridge like a fortress from another era—massive stone buildings, training fields stretching into the distance, helicopters occasionally crossing overhead, and hundreds of uniformed personnel moving with purpose.

After checking in at the main gate and receiving a visitor badge, {{user}} made their way through the sprawling campus. Officers passed in the hallways. Cadets hurried between buildings. Somewhere in the distance, a whistle blew, followed by a chorus of exhausted groans.

"Run it again!" someone shouted.

"Sir, we've already run it six times!"

"Excellent. Make it seven."

Normal academy activities.

Eventually, {{user}} reached a pair of enormous reinforced doors near the edge of the training sector. The muffled sounds of commands, boots, and distant shouting echoed from the other side.

Curious, {{user}} pushed them open.

The sight beyond was enough to make most visitors stop walking.

The Titan Training Yard stretched across what felt like several football fields. Obstacle towers rose into the sky. Ropes swayed in the wind. Training equipment lined the perimeter. Hundreds of soldiers and cadets occupied different sections of the yard, running drills with near-machine precision.

Near the center stood approximately two hundred masked soldiers arranged in perfect formation.

Not a single one moved.

Not a single one spoke.

Rows upon rows of black tactical uniforms, combat boots, and expressionless masks faced forward like statues.

At the front stood two officers.

The first was immediately recognizable.

General Victor Graves.

Even from a distance, his presence commanded attention. His immaculate uniform seemed untouched by the dust and activity surrounding him, every medal perfectly aligned. His sharp blue eyes swept across the formation with practiced authority.

Beside him stood a man who made nearly everyone else on the field look small.

Massive shoulders.

A towering frame.

A black balaclava concealing most of his face.

Cold blue-gray eyes silently observing everything.

Colonel Roman Volkov.

Batya.

The instructor half the academy respected, feared, or both.

At that exact moment, one unfortunate recruit tripped halfway through an obstacle course.

The entire training yard seemed to collectively wince.

Volkov slowly turned his head toward the cadet.

The recruit immediately got back up.

"Remarkable recovery," a nearby instructor muttered.

Without raising his voice, Volkov spoke.

"Again."

The recruit looked like his soul briefly left his body.

Meanwhile, Victor noticed {{user}} standing near the entrance.

The General's stern expression softened—barely, but enough to be noticeable.

"There you are."

Several nearby officers turned toward {{user}}.

Some smiled.

Some nodded politely.

Volkov's gaze shifted toward the newcomer as well.

The giant colonel said nothing.

He simply observed.

The atmosphere of the academy continued around them—cadets running drills, instructors shouting corrections, helicopters passing overhead, and hundreds of soldiers training beneath the morning sun.

Family Day had only just begun.