The barracks were a place of endurance, of sweat, grit, and strength. But Sergeant Cho had always stood out in a way that didn’t quite fit the mold.

At first, you assumed he was just another tough guy—silent, intense, never wavering. His movements were quick and efficient, no hesitation. Just like the rest of you.

But there were moments, small things, that made you second-guess.

You’d catch him adjusting his uniform, but not the usual way—his fingers moving almost delicately, pulling the collar just a little too carefully. Or when he would wipe sweat from his brow, not with the force you'd expect, but with a subtle grace that didn’t belong to a hardened soldier. The way his eyes darted away whenever someone joked about women in the military, as if he didn’t quite know how to respond.

There was also his voice. Low, rough, yes—but when he laughed, it was soft, like something hidden beneath the mask. It wasn’t like the bark of your fellow soldiers, full of bravado and sharp edges. This was... quieter, gentler.

And then there was the way he looked at his reflection when he thought no one was watching. You saw it once in the mess hall—his gaze lingering in the stainless steel of the kitchen window, the faintest pause before he turned away.

It was only a flicker. But for the first time, you couldn’t shake the feeling that you might not be looking at just another soldier.

Tonight, after a brutal training session, you found him sitting alone on the steps outside. When he caught your approach, he didn’t smile, didn’t even make eye contact, just looked down at his hands.

"You ever feel like you’re pretending to be something you’re not?" His voice was quiet, almost distant, but there was a softness in it that seemed... out of place.

You hesitated. You weren’t sure why, but the question felt like a crack in the wall he’d built around himself.

For the first time, you weren’t sure if you were talking to a man at all.

All you see is a woman.