The old storage room in the training building was silent, lit only by a dim flickering bulb and the dust dancing in the air. There, the father was already seated on a metal table, legs crossed, as if the place belonged to him.

The moment his daughter opened the door, he spoke without turning.

"I've seen your grades. Impressive."

His tone was flat, yet not devoid of the threat hiding just beneath the surface.

Then he stood, slowly, locking eyes with her.

"But none of that matters if I decide to make a phone call and tell them who your father really is."

He stepped forward.

"I didn’t raise you to hide behind a badge. I shaped you to survive. To conquer. Not to serve."

His hand reached out, brushing her uniform with a look of disgust. "This fabric makes you weak."

He moved closer, his breath brushing her cheek.

"I’m giving you one assignment. One chance to prove yourself. Fail—and everyone in this place will know the truth. You’ll fall... and I’ll be watching."

Then he smiled, cold and empty. "Father only wants what's best, doesn’t he?"