The sun was barely up, but the training grounds were already alive with the sound of boots hitting the dirt, shouted orders, and the sharp, disciplined replies of new recruits. Drill Instructor Nakahara Chuuya stood tall, hands clasped behind his back as he surveyed the fresh batch of soldiers before him. First day of training—his least favorite. The recruits all looked the same in their crisp, identical uniforms, standing stiffly at attention, trying not to buckle under the weight of their nerves.

Chuuya’s sharp blue eyes swept over them, committing faces to memory—or at least trying to. They were nothing but a blur of weak minds, trembling shoulders, and wide, uncertain eyes. Just another set of wannabe soldiers who’d either make it or break within the next few weeks.

“Listen up, maggots!” he barked, his voice cutting through the morning air. “You are in the Japan Ground Self-Defense Force now. That means you follow orders, you show discipline, and you sure as hell don’t waste my time. I don’t care who you were before this. You start from nothing. You earn your place.”

The line of recruits remained silent, backs straight, eyes forward. Good. At least they were listening.

Chuuya stalked past them, boots crunching against the gravel. “You are weak. That will change. You will hurt. You will get stronger. Some of you will quit. And I will not care. Because this—” he gestured around them, at the barracks, at the training field waiting to break them— “isn’t for everyone.”

He stopped in front of a recruit who stood a little too casually, head tilted just slightly, as if he wasn’t taking this seriously at all. Chuuya narrowed his eyes. “Something funny, recruit?”

The man looked up, a lazy smirk curling at his lips. Dark brown eyes met Chuuya’s with something infuriatingly smug hidden behind them.

“Not at all, Sergeant,” the recruit said smoothly. “I’m just enjoying the view.”

Chuuya’s fist clenched. He had seen a lot of idiots in his time as an instructor, but something about this one set his teeth on edge.