Within the first week, the inaugural class of F.O.S. has learned firsthand how grueling military academy life can be.
Six o'clock reveille. Five-kilometer morning runs. Standardized room inspections. A schedule measured down to the second. On the very first night, someone broke down in tears. By the third day, a cadet who had talked back to an instructor was made to stand in the rain the entire day.
By the seventh day, bonds have begun to form among the four hundred and twenty cadets, though some still keep to themselves.
One morning on the training ground, the instructor announces the squad assignments for their first holographic training session.
Teams of three, determined by lot. The highest-scoring cadet leads. Rules are simple: capture the flag. First team to seize the enemy's flag or eliminate all opponents wins.
A holographic round hit counts as a kill. The moment you're hit, your data's logged and you're out. Standard loadout: one training rifle, three magazines, one flashbang, one frag grenade.
Do not engage eliminated cadets. No unauthorized gear. Do not leave the training ground. Close combat is permitted, but any technique that could cause actual injury is strictly forbidden.
Violations will be met with severe consequences. Understood?
Sir, yes, sir!
Red Team: Cadets Adelyde, Nia, Lucia. Captain: Lucia.
Blue Team: Cadets Joanne, Ophelia, [player name]. Captain: [player name].
Lucia hears an unfamiliar name and glances over.
She recognizes that face. It's the person who handed her the earphones that day on the observation deck.
[player name].
The person's gaze sweeps across the crowd, lands right on her, and gives a nod.
What a coincidence, she thinks.
That student is now explaining something to Joanne in a low voice. Joanne nods rapidly, pushing up her glasses in quick succession like a woodpecker. Off to the side, Ophelia stands with her hands on her hips, her gaze cutting across half the site, locked onto Adelyde.
Hmph.
...
Um... Captain? What's the plan?
How are your marksmanship scores?
Perfect scores. Every assessment.
...Passing.
Understood. From now on, follow my orders and stay close to me.
The enemy's composition is similar to ours. Which means the deciding factor will be courage and execution.
She finishes checking her magazine and looks to her two teammates with a confident smile.
So, I will win.
The simulation training field sits on the second floor of F.O.S.'s main academic building. Once activated, the entire space transforms into a simulated urban warzone—crumbling buildings, toppled streetlights, stacked concrete barriers. Sightlines twist and turn through a maze of intersecting alleyways.
Two flags, one red and one blue, stand planted at opposite ends of the site.
Adelyde, second-floor window. You have overwatch on the two streets out front. Nia, with me. Left alley.
Understood.
Lucia's assessment is swift. Her first move is to compress the enemy's attack routes rather than rush the offensive.
On the opposing side, [player name]'s deployment is nearly a mirror image.
G-got it... But what if they spot me first?
Sigh... How come I got stuck with all the running around... I wanted to outsmart them, not outrun them...
What?
...So?
Tch. What's your point?
You want me to grab their flag?
Ophelia's eyebrow arches, and a bright grin spreads across her face.
Alright. I'll give you that one. Not bad.
In the opening minutes, both teams circle each other with caution. Only scattered shots ring out, echoing through the alleyways.
Lucia moves at a relentless tempo, never lingering behind cover for more than five seconds. She threads through the lanes, firing in short, measured bursts that choke off the opposing team's advance.
Nia follows close behind, struggling to match the pace. Her breathing is already starting to fray.
Captain, on the right. I think I saw—
Get down.
Lucia presses Nia down by the shoulder just as a bullet rips through the space where her head had been. Holographic bricks explode against the wall behind them.
It's bait.
W-what?
They left that sightline open on purpose. Not enough cover, clear approach. They're dangling it to draw us in. Adelyde, any movement on the east side?
Nothing yet. One target behind cover at the far end of the main street. Not laying down sustained fire. Likely a spotter.
Ignore the spotter. Watch our flanks and rear. Their captain's sharp. They won't hit us head-on.
Got it.
At the alley's far end, Joanne presses herself behind cover, her palms sweating where she grips the rifle.
[player name] had told her to take the shot. "Just put a round down that way. Doesn't matter if you hit anything."
Her shot only hit the air. But it was enough to stop them in their tracks.
Will they come after us?
Meanwhile, Lucia takes Nia wide, weaving through the ruins to flank Joanne's position. Her steps are so light they barely disturb the silence, her figure fading into the shadow-play of broken walls.
Then she turns a corner, and finds a muzzle staring her in the face, her own rising to meet it in the same split second.
—!
[player name].
Less than ten meters lie between them, the gap broken only by the hulking shape of an overturned holo-car. Neither fires.
Lucia's gaze sharpens by a hair. She runs the numbers in a heartbeat. At this range, their reflexes are a dead match. Whoever shoots first might not walk away the winner. There's time to slip the shot.
[player name] holds still as well. For a handful of seconds, they stand frozen, guns leveled, nothing but a ruined car separating them.
Then, without warning, [player name] does the last thing she expects: a sudden step back, a sideways roll, vanishing into the alley.
—!
She gives chase immediately, but the far end of the alley stands empty.
It hits her all at once. Her opponent never meant to engage her here. The real target, from the very start, was—
Nia, your position?
I-I'm at that corner from befo—
Aargh!!
BANG!
Lucia spins around. A pale blue glow erupts where Nia stands, her body engulfed in swirling data fragments. It's the system's signal for elimination.
On the high ground in the distance, a figure lowers her weapon.
One down.
Without breaking stride, she turns and pushes north through the eastern ruins, straight toward Lucia's flag.
Adelyde, Ophelia is flanking you. She's heading for the flag.
Already spotted her. Repositioning now.
Stop her. Do not let her reach that flag.
...Understood.
Adelyde vaults through a second-floor window. Out of the corner of her eye, past the stairwell's edge, she spots Ophelia surging toward the flag. A route chosen well, carefully avoiding every firing lane she'd established.
Adelyde breaks into a sprint.
Meanwhile, Lucia cuts through to the enemy's side alone. Take the blue team's flag, and it's over.
But that familiar silhouette still blocks her path.
Gunshots ricochet through the alleys. They trade fire from cover to cover, never static, two knives testing each other's edge—unsheathed and clashing in bright, ringing bursts.
Every time Lucia attempts a breakthrough, [player name] materializes on her path; every time [player name] tries to suppress her, Lucia finds a new firing angle in a heartbeat and forces a retreat.
Something close to exhilaration sparks in Lucia's chest. The other person is truly matching her rhythm.
On the other side, Ophelia has closed in on the red team's flag.
It's planted in the center of a wide-open clearing with zero cover and perfect visibility. Lucia had picked this position for a reason: anyone approaching would be caught dead in the open.
But Lucia is nowhere to be seen. Neither is Adelyde, up on her perch.
That's it? They just left it sitting here?
She moves swiftly toward the flag. Her fingers are just about to close around the pole when—
Footsteps.
Haargh!
Adelyde explodes out of the wreckage around the corner, fast enough that Ophelia can barely track the motion.
On pure reflex, Ophelia's gun snaps up. Adelyde's muzzle rises at the same moment. Both triggers break together.
Two shots pass each other in the air.
Ophelia's round skims past Adelyde's shoulder, just wide. Adelyde's smashes into Ophelia's rifle stock, knocking the weapon clean out of her grip.
—!
Her weapon's gone, but the flag is right behind her, one step away.
She spins and reaches for it—
Not happening!
Adelyde casts her gun away and hurls herself into Ophelia like a projectile. The two of them crash to the ground together, rolling in a tangle. Ophelia's fingers halt just an inch shy of the pole.
Tsk!! Get off! Let go of me!
Adelyde doesn't speak. She presses Ophelia down hard, body weight anchoring her in place, and her right hand finds the holo-grenade at her hip, pin pulled.
Wait... Are you out of your mind?!
Exercise Regulation, Article Three: all units within the blast radius of a grenade are to be ruled as neutralized.
You're still quoting regulations at me right now?!
A blue-white flash consumes them both. For a moment, they remain frozen in place, still tangled together on the ground, as waves of data cascade across their bodies.
You... YOU!!
How long are you planning to stay on top of me?! Get—OFF—!
Ugh! Next time, I'm taking you out first! Count on it!
Adelyde brushes the dust from her skirt and lifts her gaze, her face blank and cold as a machine's.
...I look forward to our next encounter.
Only three are left standing now: Lucia, [player name], and Joanne.
Lucia reads the situation plainly: [player name] is demanding every ounce of her focus. That leaves Joanne.
She sells a false move, using the broken sightlines to disengage from [player name]'s fire, and drives hard toward the blue team's flag.
Joanne crouches low behind cover, just ahead of the flag. The footsteps are getting closer.
[player name] said... if they come close, run...
But the flag is right here...
She bites down on her lip, her grip tightening around the rifle.
...
Lucia steps into view around the corner. Joanne's shot fires on instinct, but it only manages to kick up dust half a meter from Lucia's feet.
Lucia's pace doesn't waver. She leans past the second round, rifle coming up in a single hand, the barrel steady and true.
Joanne's eyes press shut.
......
...Sigh. I guess I'm just not cut out for this...
Now, only two remain on the field.
The blue team's flag sits barely ten meters behind Lucia, but she doesn't move to claim it.
Because [player name] is standing right in front of her.
...
Once more, the two raise their weapons. No ruined car between them now. No alleyways to slip away into.
Two triggers break at the same instant—
They evade in almost perfect symmetry, bullets whispering past the fabric of their uniforms. A second round. A third. The exchange falls into a rhythm, sparks bursting in sequence across the open ground.
Lucia surges forward, clearing a concrete barricade just as [player name] vaults over from the other side. The two nearly collide.
Point-blank. Both fire at once—
Click.
Both rifles are empty.
—!
Lucia discards her rifle to the ground and sends a high kick flying off her left leg.
[player name] slips the kick with a tilt of the head and fires back an elbow. Lucia parries, her hand snapping out to catch her opponent's forearm in a reverse grip. She pulls, aiming for a throw—
[player name] sinks low, yanking back on her wrist to redirect the momentum. The two break apart, each stepping back.
The corner of Lucia's mouth twitches, impossible to tell whether it's a smile or gritted teeth.
She charges again.
Lucia's attacks are fierce and sharp, like a predator that never hesitates. [player name]'s counters are precise, economical, each block absorbing the force a beat before it lands.
Not bad!
Lucia drives a kick forward. [player name] catches it by the ankle, but Lucia uses the hold to launch herself upward, whipping her other leg around toward her enemy's head.
[player name] releases and leans back, barely slipping the strike. But as Lucia lands, she channels the momentum into a spinning sweep that takes [player name] straight to the ground.
But [player name] doesn't try to stand. Instead, [player name] rolls to the side, seizes Lucia's extended wrist, and uses her forward momentum to pull her down.
Lucia's balance vanishes in an instant. Her back slams against the ground.
You—!
She looks up at the face just inches from hers—hair plastered with sweat, breath coming in short bursts, eyes burning brighter than ever.
Lucia freezes for less than a second. Then the corner of her mouth curves upward.
Not a chance.
Her core erupts with force. Her whole body twists like a pinned fish breaking free.
She reverses the grip, her captured hand closing around [player name]'s wrist instead, hooks her legs in, and flips them. In an instant, their positions are reversed.
Now Lucia is on top. She pins [player name]'s shoulders to the ground, looking down, breath ragged, loose strands of hair falling across her face.
What about now?
Just then, Lucia's hand produces a gun stock from seemingly nowhere, and at almost the exact same moment, [player name] snatches an iron rod from the debris on the ground.
Hah!
Metal shrieks through the ruins. Lucia parries and sweeps with the gun stock, while [player name] deflects and thrusts with the iron rod, sparks flying with every clash.
The stock caves in. The rod bends. Both discard their broken weapons in the same instant and charge each other bare-handed.
[player name] catches Lucia's right fist between both hands. She immediately reaches for her opponent's shoulder with her left. [player name] ducks, shrugs it off, and locks an arm around her waist. The two grapple in a deadlock, neither able to force the other down.
...Still not giving up?
Both are shaking with the strain. At the edge of the spectator area, a cluster of eliminated cadets press against the railing, stretching for a better view.
...They're still going at it?
Wow... Those two look so... so...
So what?
Joanne thinks for a long moment, then finds the word.
Uh, well-matched?
...Huh?
In the center of the field, Lucia kicks back, dragging [player name] down with her as they slam into the ground together. They roll—once, twice—then both go still.
Lucia ends up on top, a hand braced against her opponent's chest. [player name]'s fingers are locked around her wrist, ready to pull her down in an instant.
By now, the safety protocol warning has turned red.
The sound of heavy footsteps closes in.
Enough!
They both look up in the same motion. Three meters away, the instructor stands with his arms crossed, his expression hard as tempered steel.
His gaze doesn't meet theirs. It's fixed on the ground, on the disassembled rifle components, the shattered stock, the bent shards of metal, and the fresh, unmistakable scrapes across their elbows and faces.
What is the standard loadout for holographic exercises?
...
Training rifle. Three magazines. One flashbang. One grenade.
Anything else?
Both fall silent at once, as if even their breathing has been deliberately stifled.
Then what are these disassembled barrels and stocks on the ground?
The instructor crosses to the monitoring terminal by the field's edge and brings up the recording. His tone remains perfectly level, the kind of voice used to recite headlines.
Blue Team, Ophelia. Three instances of unauthorized provocative remarks over the comms channel during the exercise!
Over in the observation area, Ophelia, freshly eliminated, freezes in place like a cat that's just been spooked.
Red Team, Nia. One instance of unaimed fire toward a suspected non-combat zone without confirming target identity!
Red Team, Adelyde. Failed to issue the mandatory three-second warning before grenade detonation. Detonation distance below safety radius!
Adelyde stands ramrod straight in the observation area, a faint twitch crossing her face.
Blue Team, Joanne. Left designated cover area during engagement and entered restricted Building Complex C.
...Um, I was just trying to find better cover...
The instructor's eyes cut her way, and Joanne's voice shrivels on the spot.
Finally, his gaze settles on the two figures still sprawled at the field's center.
Red Team, Lucia. Blue Team, [player name].
Dismantled issued gear and modified it into unauthorized weapons. Continued engagement after red safety protocol alert...
All members. Assemble.
The instructor pauses briefly. His voice remains utterly flat.
All six of them are summoned to the field's center, including the four who had already been eliminated and were spectating from the observation area.
Five hundred push-ups. All of you. If even one person fails, you all start over from zero.
Wait... f-five hundred...?
Begin.
One.
Six pairs of hands hit the ground at the same time.
By the eighth push-up, Joanne's arms are already shaking. She bites down on her lip; her glasses slip inch by inch down the sweat on her nose.
Ophelia keeps her form sharp, though a fine sweat gleams across her brow. She throws a sideways glare at Adelyde, who rises and falls next to her in a steady, machine-like rhythm, expression perfectly empty.
Hey, you... Aren't you tired?
Physical training is no place for idle chatter. Conserve your energy.
Ugh, I really want to deck you again.
Fifty-one.
Without warning, Joanne's arms give out completely. Her glasses slip sideways as she collapses face-first onto the ground.
Someone stopped. Start over.
What?! You've got to be kidding me!!
I-I'm sorry!
Round three. All six push past one-fifty. At one eighty-three, Ophelia's arm gives way, and her knee slams into the dirt.
Tsk!
Stop. Start over.
Ophelia pounds a fist into the ground. Ash and grit are packed beneath her fingernails.
No one knows what round it is now. The floor is flecked with sweat. Six sets of breathing have merged into one ragged chorus, heaving like old bellows.
Joanne's glasses rest somewhere below her. She can't see the ground clearly anymore; she only pushes through each rep by instinct, tears and sweat falling together onto her hands, impossible to separate.
Ophelia has stopped speaking. Every fragment of energy is poured into keeping her form. Her face contorts with effort, sweat falling from her chin and striking the floor in small, dark circles.
Adelyde endures with iron discipline, her tempo slower but every movement whole, precise, unbroken.
Four fifty.
Hah... I... can't...
Grit your teeth. Keep those arms locked. Don't give out.
Ngh—!
They hold on, teeth gritted, knowing that falling would mean wiping out everything the people next to them have endured.
Four ninety.
Their six shadows stretch long under the overhead lights, cast across the training ground floor like six pillars about to give way.
Four ninety-nine.
Five hundred.
Almost at the exact same moment, Nia is the first to crumple.
Joanne collapses right after. Her glasses have rolled somewhere a meter away; she doesn't reach for them. She simply lies there, head turned to the side, gulping for air like a stranded fish.
Ophelia forces herself to hold for two more seconds, as though falling with others is its own kind of defeat. She slumps against the ruined wall, her face tilted upward. Her chest heaves in ragged surges. Sweat pastes strands of damp hair across her cheeks and temples. She looks utterly spent.
Adelyde is the last to stop moving. She transitions slowly from plank to kneeling, palms coming to rest on her thighs. Her head drops low, shoulders shuddering in tiny, involuntary tremors. In the silence that follows, she finally speaks. Her voice is frayed down to a rasp, barely carrying past her own lips.
...All members... five hundred complete.
The instructor says nothing. His gaze remains fixed on the center of the field. Four of the six have gone down. The other two are still on the ground.
...
Lucia's arms shake. Sweat trails from her chin in a thin, unbroken line and drips onto her hand.
Slowly, she forces herself onto her knees and pauses for a moment. One leg comes up, pauses, then the other. Swaying, she drags herself upright from the ground.
Under everyone's astonished gaze, she stands. Her legs feel like iron bars heated soft, knees trembling faintly.
She gasps for air, raising the back of her hand to wipe the sweat from her face. Then she looks up.
Beside her, [player name] is rising too.
The same slow sequence: to the knees, one leg braced, the other foot planted, body wavering as [player name] pushes upright.
Lucia takes in the figure across from her—sweat-matted hair, a split at the corner of the lip, legs trembling. A mirror of her own wrecked condition.
[player name].
The name crosses her lips again, so quiet it's barely there.
Next time, I'll win.
She speaks suddenly. The other pauses for a moment, then answers with a smile.
Lucia says nothing in return. She stands in the scattering light of the dissolving simulation, looking at the classmate at her side—someone her own age—as if seeing the person for the first time. The edge of her mouth curves upward.
Hah.
Like a front-runner who has long since forgotten the sound of footsteps behind her, turning to find she is no longer alone in the wind. She can't remember the last time she felt this happy.
