8. A new beginning

The cold silence of their rooms had become a familiar comfort in the few hours since their arrival. Raizo sat on his bed, his hands resting on his knees as he stared at the bare walls, the distant hum of activity his only companion. The oppressive stillness had become too much to bear for some, but for others like Raizo, it was a space for reflection. His thoughts flickered between the trial and the uneasy presence of Rift energy still surging beneath his skin. He could feel it, a constant hum—something foreign, but a part of him now.

Hannah sat with her legs crossed, her fingers idly brushing the worn fabric of her jacket. She was on alert, sensing that whatever came next would likely be no less taxing than the trials. The tension in her shoulders remained, the uncertainty about their new roles gnawing at her. She exchanged a glance with Kenji, both silently acknowledging their shared apprehension.

Time passed, and the door to their rooms opened. A squad of military personnel, dressed in the same cold, dark uniforms that seemed to swallow any individuality, stepped inside. Their faces were impassive, yet there was a certain efficiency in their movements, a well-practiced precision that spoke of countless routines and a long history of order.

"Gather your things. You're needed," one of the soldiers announced, his voice devoid of warmth, as if he were simply stating a fact. "The rest of the squad is waiting for you. You're to follow us."

Kaiori let out a frustrated sigh, but the others moved without question. Raizo was already standing, his eyes locking on the door with a mix of indifference and curiosity. Kenji and Hannah exchanged a quiet nod, understanding that their time in this sterile environment had officially begun.

The squad moved down a series of sterile hallways, the click of their boots echoing off the polished floors. They passed other soldiers, some dressed in similar military gear.

Eventually, they arrived at a large, well-lit room. The walls were lined with monitors flashing various mission updates, while large tables in the center were stacked with papers, dossiers, and uniforms. There was a low hum of activity as different squads moved in and out, their faces ranging from exhausted to eager, all with the same underlying sense of readiness.

A woman, tall and stern-looking, stood at the center of the room, a clipboard in hand. She didn't look up as they entered but immediately addressed them in a firm tone. "You're the new recruits, yes? Let's get you squared away."

Her eyes flicked over each of them, assessing them with an almost clinical detachment. "Your squad name will be assigned now, along with your uniforms. Once you're done, you'll be briefed on your role, the squad rankings, and what your duties will be."

Raizo's eyes narrowed slightly as he followed her. He hadn't asked for any of this, but it was becoming increasingly clear that no one would be spared from the grind.

The woman handed them each a folder as she continued. "Inside, you'll find your squad name, identification code, and ranking. It's essential you remember these." She turned and walked over to a nearby table, where a selection of uniforms had been prepared. The suits were standard issue, sleek and dark, with patches for their squad numbers yet to be added. As the group approached, the woman stopped and glanced at each of them. "These uniforms represent more than just your rank. They will symbolize your role in this operation."

The atmosphere in the registration room was clinical—efficient, cold, and all too quiet except for the low buzz of monitors and the occasional shuffle of papers. The woman at the center of it all finally looked up from her clipboard, eyes like steel as they scanned each of them.

"You're Squad Gamma," she said, handing over folders and gesturing to the navy-blue uniforms laid out on a table nearby. "Your official designation and ID codes are inside. From now on, you wear these. No symbols, no names—just your rank and number. You earn everything else."

She paused, then walked in front of them with deliberate steps. "Listen carefully. I won't repeat myself. When a mission drops, you answer it. If someone outranks you, their word is law. You follow or you're replaced. Simple."

Kaiori gave the faintest smirk but kept quiet.

The woman's tone sharpened. "Until further notice, you'll operate under 'Support-Class Protocol Alpha.' That means surveillance, backup, and control-point security. No glory. No grand fights. You're here to observe and hold position unless told otherwise."

She typed something into the wall console and then glanced back at them. "Field assignments will come through your squad lead. Until you're evaluated, Shiori will handle your combat development and unit cohesion."

Just then, an officer stepped into the room and gave a respectful nod.

"Tour's ready. I'll take them through the compound."

The registration woman turned back to them one last time. "You're part of something bigger now. Train hard, stay alive, and don't make me remember your faces just to list you as casualties."

The squad nodded silently and followed the officer out.

The compound was a cold fortress of concrete and steel, with long corridors, sterile lights, and security checkpoints at every major turn. The tour was quick, more functional than welcoming. Barracks. Cafeteria. Briefing halls. Weapon storage. Emergency evacuation points. Training sector.

When they finally arrived at the training hall, the officer gestured ahead. "This is your zone from now on. Get used to it."

Then he turned and left without another word.

Squad Gamma stood there for a moment, still taking it all in—until a voice called out behind them.

"We are not done yet."

They turned to see Shiori standing in the entrance to the hall, arms folded, her expression unreadable.

"You've had your tour. Now it's time to work," she said. "Put your uniforms on."

Her tone made it clear it wasn't a suggestion.

The squad quickly changed into their navy-blue gear. Something about it felt heavier now, more real. When they returned to the mat, Shiori was already waiting.

"We start training now."

Ren blinked. "Wait—like, right now?"

Kaiori scoffed. "You really thought we were getting a break?"

Shiori nodded once. "There are no breaks here. Not until you've earned them. Line up."

The squad fell into formation.

"We start with basic drills. Movement, dodging, recovery, control. I need to see how you move before I test how you fight."

She didn't waste a second. The next hour was relentless. Slides, dodges, rolls, strike forms. Shiori moved among them, watching, adjusting. No yelling. No praise. Just precision.

Kaiori was aggressive—fast, but wild.

Ren was quick, with good instincts but messy execution.

Hannah was crisp, focused, patient.

Raizo was efficient, moving with a soldier's calm.

And Kenji… fluid, sharp—like he'd done this a thousand times.

After a brief pause, Shiori raised her voice.

"Next: sparring. One-on-one. You fight like it's real. No weapons."

Her eyes scanned them before pointing. "Kenji. Raizo. Step forward."

The two moved without a word. Kenji set his spear gently to the side, then turned and took a calm stance. Raizo mirrored him—more grounded, fists up.

"No weapons," Shiori said. "Hand-to-hand only. I want to see instincts. Don't hold back—treat this like a real fight. If you hesitate here, you'll die out there."

Shiori raised a hand, then dropped it. "Begin."

They clashed instantly.

Kenji threw a straight punch—clean and fast. Raizo ducked, countered with a hook. Kenji caught it, twisted, went for a sweep—Raizo leapt over, came down with an elbow.

Block. Counter. Move. Strike. Reset.

The fight was fast, controlled. Neither dominating, neither backing off.

Shiori watched carefully, her arms crossed.

He's not going all out.

Kenji's holding back. He's testing Raizo, not beating him. Why?

Raizo lunged again. Kenji sidestepped, struck the back of Raizo's shoulder with an open palm, then slid back to avoid the counter.

"Stop," Shiori called.

Both stepped back, breathing evenly.

"You're both skilled. That much is clear," she said. "But I'm not just here to see control. I want to see intent."

She looked to the rest of the squad. "Next, I want to see—"

The doors slid open with a hiss.

A group entered.

At the front was a tall man with broad shoulders and a clean low cut. His uniform was grey—not navy.

Higher rank.

He walked in with calm confidence, his voice smooth and a bit cocky. "Since you're already training, how about we join in?"

He looked at Shiori, then to the squad.

"Cross-squad sparring's good for development. Helps you see what's out there. After all…" He smiled. "This world's full of surprises."

Beside him, a shorter guy followed. He had long black hair tied loosely behind his neck and a relaxed grin on his face.

He laughed, nudging the taller one. "Izan, you're playing with newbies again?"

His voice was teasing, but his eyes were sharp. "Careful, man. They might start thinking you're soft."

Izan chuckled. "Let them think what they want. Let's see who can back it up."