Welcome to the Training Camp!

"Good morning, boys!!"

I greet all the bodyguards loudly, deliberately making my voice cheerful to boost their morale. Not that it works. But, of course, I don't care.

I raise both arms to my sides, then click a remote control in one hand. Behind me, a massive door slowly begins to open, revealing what's inside.

"Welcome to the training camp!"

Behind me is a 2500 square meter hangar—one of Mr. Chekhovsky's old abandoned aircraft shelters where his retired private jets once rested. He granted me permission to repurpose it into a training facility for his bodyguards.

Now, the hangar houses 25 automated weapons, ranging from light firearms to heavy artillery, all controlled by a system designed by Mr. Chekhovsky's R&D department in just four days.

Two men step out from inside the hangar.

"Gentlemen, let me introduce Mr. Khamar, our IT specialist—the brain behind this training program," I say, motioning to the man on my left. "And Mr. Perez, the man who physically built this facility," I add, patting the broad-shouldered man on my right.

Both nod and offer a polite smile. My men murmur among themselves. I raise my hand, and silence falls.

"The goal of this training is to reprogram your reflexes. By the end of this training, in a crisis, your instinct will no longer be to save yourselves—it will be to save Mr. Chekhovsky." I pause, letting the weight of my words settle. "Or, to put it another way—this training ends only when each of you has conditioned yourselves to make him your number one priority. It's difficult, but it's possible."

A third man enters, pushing a trolley loaded with human-sized dolls. Each doll's face is Mr. Chekhovsky's. I pick one up.

"This doll represents Mr. Chekhovsky in training," I say, holding it up. "As you can see, the material is extremely fragile—it will tear from the slightest damage."

I poke it with my finger. The fabric collapses inward with a sharp hiss.

"In each cycle of training, your goal is to carry these dolls from the start line to the finish line without them being damaged. Along the way, you will be bombarded by attacks—long-range gunfire, close-quarters combat, machine-gun barrages, arrows, fire, bombs, whatever Mr. Perez can provide."

I glance at Mr. Perez.

"Anything missing from my list, Mr. Perez?"

He shakes his head. "I added knife attacks and drone strikes. Is that okay?"

My wide smile answers his question.

Mr. Khamar steps forward. "At each cycle, the program will randomly generate between 10 to 25 attacks. Each weapon system is equipped with AI-powered cameras that recognize both you and the doll. Once identified, they will launch their attacks, and there is no way to stop them—except by shooting the designated target paper attached to each attacker."

"The attackers may come one at a time or all at once—that's completely randomized. If today's your lucky day, you might only get 10 attacks, one by one."

"Oh, I forgot to mention," Perez interjects. "The attack positions change every cycle."

A collective groan echoes among the bodyguards.

"That's impossible!" Jackson shouts in frustration.

I turn to him. "It's possible. I'll show you."

"Why isn't Bosch doing this too?" Rodriguez asks. "Is it because he's new?"

"No," I reply flatly. "Bosch already passed this test during recruitment." That silences them.

"Come inside and watch the live demo," I invite them into the hangar.

Inside, I grab two bulletproof vests and put them on, along with a helmet. Then, I pick up a long shotgun, a handgun, and a dummy doll.

"Mr. Khamar, set the program to maximum difficulty," I order.

He nods and heads up the stairs to the control room.

"We use paint bullets for this training—even the bombs. But the weapons are real. If you get hit by the heavy machine gun, it will kill you, even with paint bullets."

"Mr. Chang, it's ready!" Khamar shouts from above.

"Alright, start it!"

I step to the starting line, dragging the doll.

An arrow comes flying at me the moment I hit the start button. I dodge, shielding the doll, and shoot the target paper next to the glowing red light.

Gunfire erupts. Three different long-range snipers fire at once. I weave between cover while keeping the doll protected. A bullet slams into my shoulder. The vest absorbs the impact, but it still hurts.

No time to breathe.

A drone buzzes overhead. The roar of machine-gun fire rains down. I dive into a concrete tunnel, barely avoiding the onslaught.

The gunfire stops—but the drone hovers, waiting.

I take a peek. It instantly detects me and fires again. I duck back inside.

Damn. Khamar's AI system is too good.

I wait for the right moment, then peek again. This time, it hesitates. I seize the chance—fire a perfect shot at its target paper. The drone shuts down.

I drag the doll out and take cover behind another stack of boxes.

A grenade lands near me.

Shit.

I kick it away just in time. It explodes five meters away.

Another grenade lands. This time, I throw it back while moving. The grenades won't stop unless I eliminate their source.

A robot armed with a knife charges at me. I shoot the target paper on its antenna, dropping it instantly.

The grenades stop. I must've destroyed the launcher.

I keep moving.

A missile screams through the air, detonating against the top of the tunnel. I duck. A second missile barely misses me.

Blood trickles down my leg from a paint round. My shoulder burns from another hit. But the doll is untouched.

The finish line is just ten meters away.

I sigh. Fifteen minutes of hell.

Then—click.

My stomach drops.

Landmine.

I forgot I specifically requested landmines from Mr. Perez.

I glance at the doll's feet.

If the mine isn't under my right foot, it's under the doll's foot.

I shift my left foot, simultaneously shifting the doll's position—transferring the weight.

Succeed.

I throw the doll forward, landing it across the finish line.

Then I look for the target to shoot.

"Sorry, Mr. Chang," Perez shouts from above. "This one can't be disabled."

I turn to him, eyes wide.

"Well, at least the doll is safe, Sir! You made it!" he adds cheerfully.

Yeah, right.

But when this mine explodes, I'll be the one in the hospital.

I take a deep breath.

The mine will explode within a second of weight being lifted.

I brace myself.

Then—I jump forward.

The mine detonates midair.

The shockwave sends me flying a few meters before I crash to the ground chest-first.