It was five in the morning. Everyone on the team stood outside the living hall, lined up and ready for training.
All eyes turned toward me — I was drenched from head to toe, water dripping off my uniform.
John frowned. "Why are you wet?"
I sighed, rubbing the back of my neck. "The white-haired girl you sent to wake me up couldn't do it normally. So she dumped a freaking bucket of cold water on me."
John turned to her silently.
She crossed her arms and said calmly, "He wasn't waking up. I used the most effective method. Besides, it's not our job to wake him up anyway."
John didn't say a word. He simply looked away.
Training began immediately. We started running laps around the base. The rest of the team finished a full round in thirty minutes. It took me almost an hour to complete the same distance. My legs felt like lead, but I didn't stop.
After the run, I changed into my school uniform and went to the living quarters' kitchen, where everyone was eating breakfast. Jenny handed me a plate of eggs and bread without even looking at me.
"This is the first and last time you're getting breakfast from someone else," she said flatly. "If you want to eat here, you cook your own food and buy your own supplies — sugar, bread, everything. Or you can eat at the mess hall at the fixed time."
I quietly ate my meal and thanked her before leaving for school. She didn't respond.
School went as usual. After classes, I returned to the base. Two soldiers at the gate stopped me — they'd seen me leave in the morning.
"Bag check," one of them said.
I complied without question. I wasn't in any position to argue. Once they were done, I went back to the living quarters, changed clothes, and called John to ask where should I meet him for training, since no one was in the quarters.
"Meet me in the gym," he said.
When I arrived, everyone from the team was already working out. Beside John stood a man taking notes.
John motioned me over. "Stand straight. He'll take your measurements for your uniform."
After the man finished, John pointed to the ring. "Get in."
I stepped inside. John called out, "Lieutenant Logan Jetson, get in the ring."
As John said that name, the same guy from the team with the buzz cut climbed into the ring, cracking his knuckles.
"He'll train you how to fight," John said simply.
Logan didn't speak — he just stared at me like he was waiting to enjoy the beating he was about to give.
As soon as the bell rang, he smirked. "Come on, show me what you've got."
Without thinking, I charged at him — and instantly paid the price. His punch landed like a bus hitting me at full speed. The world spun. I hit the floor before I even realized what happened.
Logan shook his head. "What a waste of time, energy, and power." He turned to leave the ring.
But I forced myself up. My body screamed in pain, but I couldn't stay down. Not while John was watching.
Logan glanced back. "You should stay down, kid. If you knew what was good for you, you would."
I met his eyes and said, "Then why don't you put me down if you know what's good for you? Because I'm not quitting while John's watching."
He smiled. "Fine. Don't say I didn't warn you."
For the next forty minutes, I was beaten again and again. Each time I fell, I dragged myself back up. My body wanted to quit — but I couldn't let John's trust in me be a mistake.
Then, just as I was about to collapse for good, something strange happened. The same feeling from that night — and from the boxing match against the bald man — came rushing back. My body moved on its own.
Logan came at me, shouting, "Stay down already!"
But before I even thought about it, my body blocked his attack and countered. The hit surprised everyone. John remained calm, watching closely.
Logan grinned. "Now that's more like it."
He launched another barrage of punches, but my body kept reacting — blocking, dodging, striking back — like it had a mind of its own.
Eventually, I collapsed again. This time for good.
When I woke up, I was in my room. The clock showed 9:00 PM. My whole body ached. I dragged myself to the living hall, where everyone was watching the news.
"Hey John," I said, my voice weak. "What happened to me?"
Everyone turned. John looked up from his seat. "You passed out in the ring. I brought you to your room. You've been out for about five hours."
"Oh," I said softly. "Sorry for the trouble."
Before John could answer, the white-haired girl spoke from the couch.
"Don't tell me you're going to pass out after every training session," she sneered. "You'll just be dead weight on the team. Do us all a favor and quit."
I said nothing. I just looked at John. "I'm going for a walk outside."
As I left, John called out, "You hungry? I can make you something."
I shook my head. "No, thanks. It's past mess time anyway."
I jogged around the base for a while, trying to clear my head — until I ran into the General.
He looked shocked. "What are you doing out here at this hour?"
"Just… working out," I said.
His expression hardened. "I'm not John. I don't bend the rules for anyone. Training hours are 4:30 AM to 7:00 PM. Got it? And one more thing — you don't belong here. If you want to avoid trouble, go back to Living Quarters 101."
I clenched my fists but said nothing. I returned to my room and went to sleep.
The next morning — Thursday — I woke up at 4:50 and got ready for the morning run. As we lined up, Logan walked into the hall. I noticed his arms — bruised and bandaged from last night. My body had done that.
After the run, I changed into my school uniform. As I was leaving, John stopped me.
"You didn't eat last night or this morning, did you?"
I lied because I remembered what Jenny said yesterday and told him, "I'm not hungry."
When I entered the classroom, everyone stared. My face was still swollen and bruised.
Then a familiar voice sneered from behind.
"Why's everyone looking at this shit face?"
It was Bull.