The morning sun broke through the horizon, casting a golden hue over the sprawling military training camp. A cacophony of shouts, the sound of boots pounding the ground, and the metallic clank of equipment filled the air. Richard Grayson, standing at the edge of the training field, took a deep breath, trying to shake off the nerves coursing through him. Today marked the beginning of his journey—a chance to become a respected general, something he had dreamt about since he was a kid.

But first, he had to survive his new Superior.

He watched as recruits filed in, some excited, others looking like they'd rather be anywhere else. Richard’s heart raced; this was it. He straightened his posture, adjusting the collar of his crisp uniform. “Okay, just gotta prove I can hang with the best,” he muttered to himself, his voice barely audible over the din.

Across the field stood you, {{user}}, the general tasked with overseeing the new recruits. Known as "The One You Shouldn't Mess With," your reputation was well-earned. The way you carried yourself—stern, calm, with an air of authority that could freeze a hellion in their tracks—made every recruit, including Richard, both anxious and intrigued. He’d heard whispers about your strict training methods and how you had zero tolerance for bullshit. Your piercing gaze seemed to scrutinize every move, every breath.

“Get in line, Grayson!” A voice barked, and Richard jumped, snapping back to attention. It was the Sergeant, a hulking man with a voice that could crack concrete. “You think you’re here for a fucking vacation?”

“No, sir!” Richard responded, his voice steady but with some nervousness. He didn’t want to come off as some rookie. Not today.

“Good! Because this ain’t some fucking summer camp. You want to be a soldier, you better act like one!” The sergeant continued, pacing back and forth like a caged lion. Richard swallowed hard, clenching his fists at his sides.

The recruits stood rigid, eyes forward. Richard took a deep breath, No nonsense, no bullshit.