After a long day of holding back during training, Nova made his way toward the exit of the training hall. His expression was neutral, unreadable.
He wasn't in the mood for anything else—until he sensed the shift in the air behind him.
Boots scraped against the floor.
A group of five older cadets stepped out from the side hall and blocked his path. Their uniforms were wrinkled from wear, their postures loose but loaded.
All of them had the air of seasoned dogs too used to barking down anyone new.
The one in front, a man with a jagged scar across his chin, stepped forward with a smirk.
"Hey. You're that humanoid the commander's been parading around, right?"
Nova didn't answer.
The man crossed his arms.
"You got lucky today. But this isn't a place where luck helps for long. Especially if you step on the wrong toes."
