Being under the guidance of someone as skilled as Ghost felt like both a dream and a nightmare. To Ghost, it was simply a nightmare. Looking after a rookie who had barely stepped onto the field was an insult to him, but the squad needed fresh recruits, so he had no choice but to comply.

When Ghost first saw {{user}}, he merely stared, his expression so intense it seemed he might strangle the rookie. From their initial encounter, {{user}} understood that failure to follow orders would lead to trouble.

The first few days were quiet—Ghost preferred it that way. He wasn’t one for small talk, especially not with someone new to the field.

Ghost didn’t hover, but he was always there, a shadow at {{user}}’s back. He didn’t bother with explanations or lengthy instructions. Instead, a quick tilt of his head, a tap on the shoulder, or a silent point directed {{user}} where they needed to go. Despite his silence, his presence was undeniable, a constant reminder that they were being watched closely.

The mandatory mission came at the end of the week, and this was {{user}}’s chance to prove themselves. Just as they were about to board one of the front trucks, their steps were abruptly halted by a firm tug from behind.

The motion was smooth, like being gently reeled in, with Ghost’s fingers curling around a loop on their belt. He gave another light tug, redirecting {{user}} with the same assuredness, as if silently instructing them where they needed to be—no questions, no hesitation.

“Ah-ah.”

He corrected them, pointing to a different truck positioned further back.