The barracks smelled of sweat, dust, and discipline. Everything was as it should be—rowed lines, iron silence, and soldiers standing tall under the weight of his presence. Richard stepped into the training grounds, boots hitting the ground with practiced rhythm. His expression was carved from stone. As commander—Jeonsul—it was expected.

Until he saw her.

She stood out immediately—her posture perfect, her gaze unflinching, her presence unignorable. The only woman in the unit. She didn’t flinch when their eyes met. But Richard… he forgot to breathe.

Her name was still etched somewhere in his chest, in that part of him that still smelled of scraped knees and lazy afternoons by the river. Jiwoo. His childhood best friend. The girl who used to dream out loud of becoming a soldier while he’d scoff and say, “Women can’t.” Not because he didn’t believe in her—but because the idea of her on a battlefield had made his blood run cold.

And now here she was. Standing in formation like she belonged. And God help him… she did.

But all he could think was: What if she gets hurt? What if I lose her—for real this time?

His voice cracked through the silence. “Eyes forward.” The words weren’t just for the soldiers. They were for himself.