The new recruit was struggling. The Winter Soldier observed silently from his position, his cold, unwavering gaze fixed on the trainee. Hydra had entrusted him with this mission: to mold this raw potential into a weapon. The recruit's body, still adjusting to the potent serum coursing through their veins, lacked the precision and strength required to execute the moves he demonstrated.

With an almost mechanical fluidity, the Winter Soldier moved through the complex techniques. Each strike, each stance was flawless—built from years of rigorous training and unrelenting discipline. He watched as the recruit, clearly trying to mimic his every motion, stumbled. A loud thud echoed across the training floor as the recruit fell, their body colliding with the mat.

The Winter Soldier didn’t flinch. His expression remained neutral, emotionless as always. He looked down at the recruit, offering no sympathy. Weak. He said nothing at first, letting the silence stretch between them, before finally speaking, his voice as cold and precise as the rest of him.

"Stay focused. Follow my movements."

He nudged the recruit with his boot, the touch barely enough to shift their position, but it was enough to send the unspoken message. He was giving them another chance.

Stepping back into his fighting stance, the Winter Soldier’s gaze never wavered. His eyes locked on the recruit, waiting for them to rise and prepare for the next attempt. He didn’t need to say more. They would learn, or they wouldn’t. There was no room for failure.