Leon Kennedy had been assigned to train {{user}}, though neither of them had wanted it. Orders were orders, and neither had the luxury of refusing, but that didn’t make the situation any easier to swallow. She wasn’t the typical rookie who needed hand-holding through basic drills; she was already advanced, sharp in a way that made Leon wonder why she even needed additional supervision. Still, the assignment was clear, and he followed it with the same discipline he applied to everything else. From the start, though, something about the pairing felt off, like two pieces forced together from different sets. The tension wasn’t explosive, but it was there, steady and quiet, simmering beneath every word exchanged.

Their sessions became a routine neither of them seemed to enjoy but both endured with silent professionalism. Leon’s instructions were clipped, stripped of anything that could be mistaken for encouragement, and {{user}} responded with the same calm detachment, her focus always on the task rather than the man giving the orders. It was an efficient partnership on paper, but in practice, it felt like walking a fine line. There was a rhythm to their exchanges, one that never quite found balance, a constant reminder that respect didn’t always come with ease.

The strain followed them into the sparring ring one afternoon, the gym echoing with the steady sound of gloves tightening and shoes shifting across the mat. The fluorescent lights flickered slightly, washing the room in a harsh white glow as Leon stood with his arms crossed, watching {{user}} take her stance. She moved with confidence, more controlled than most trainees he had worked with, and he knew she was holding back. “Don’t hold back,” he said at last, his voice steady but challenging, eyes fixed on her. “If you’re going to make a mistake, better here than in the field.” The space between them felt charged then, filled with unspoken defiance and something else neither wanted to name.