– Jyn –

Before I could fully take stock of my bruises—or the newly unlocked strength tingling in my limbs—a sharp whistle split through the room.

"Line up, you weaklings!"

I snapped my head toward the front of the room. Three figures now stood there, arms crossed, watching the aftermath like they were assessing livestock. The one who'd whistled was the same blue man with graying hair who'd activated and deactivated the drones.

'When the hell did those other two get there?' I thought, frowning. 'Probably moved faster than I could even see. Ah, the life of a background character sucks…'

"Move it! You're not dead, so stop pretending you are!" he barked.

Slowly, the other recruits stumbled or dragged themselves to their feet, forming a shaky line in front of the instructors. My muscles protested every step, but I managed to join them without face-planting. A quick headcount showed about fifteen of us left standing.

The rest? They were either groaning on the ground or being carried out by other patrolmen.

"Looks like we kept just over half," the blue man muttered with an unimpressed grunt. He turned his sharp gaze on us, scanning the line with a scowl that could melt steel. "So you made it through the first five minutes. Congratulations—you're now barely worth the oxygen you're breathing."

No one said a word. Mostly because we were still too busy panting or nursing bruises.

The blue man jabbed a thumb toward his chest. "I'm Instructor Gruen. Been with the Patrol since before they bothered putting seatbelts in the damn ships. I'll be the one drilling the rules, protocols, and laws of the Patrol into your thick skulls. And don't even think about slacking off—there's enough loopholes in the galaxy's laws to hang yourself with if you're not careful."

He paused, giving us a moment to process his words. Then, with a scornful look, he added, "And don't ever tell me you've got it rough. Back in my day, they dropped us on asteroids for training with nothing but a stick and half a ration bar."

I… honestly couldn't tell if he was joking or not.

Before anyone could react, the second instructor stepped forward—a woman with purple skin and fiery red hair pulled into a tight ponytail. Her energy radiated around her like static, crackling with focus. Unlike Gruen, her uniform was spotless—pressed with military precision.

"Enough scaring the cubs, Gruen," she said, rolling her eyes. Her voice was sharp, but there was a hint of kindness underneath. "I'm Instructor Calia. For the next few months, I'll be supervising as an assistant. If you survive that long, I'll teach you all the techniques the Patrol needs you to know."

Her gaze flicked over me, and I shifted uncomfortably under her scrutiny. It was like she could tell I didn't belong here at all.

"And what do you mean by 'techniques'?" one recruit asked, voice weak but curious.

Calia didn't miss a beat. "I'll be teaching you how to shoot blasters with pinpoint accuracy, how to fight without tripping on your fight, how to pilot a ship to outmaneuver any criminals you might encounter—things of that nature."

That sounded like a lot for one instructor, but who was I to judge? I'd never taught a thing in my life.

Before anyone could speak, a heavy step forward made the floor tremble. The third instructor—a giant of a man with golden skin—loomed over us, his spiked exterior unmistakable. He had the same race as Dodoria, but he was built completely differently. Dodoria was a short, overweight mess. This guy was tall, muscular, and radiated an intimidating presence.

When he spoke, his voice was a low growl, flat and devoid of mercy.

"I'm here to kill you all," he said bluntly.

A cold shiver ran through the group. Someone let out a nervous squeak.

Calia sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose. "His name is Aprico. What he means is that he's your strength instructor."

Aprico grunted, confirming her words. "You'll hate me, and that's fine. You'll get stronger, or you'll die. Simple."

"…He's very results-oriented," Calia added with a forced smile.

Gruen waved his hand dismissively, scowling at us like we'd personally offended him. "Enough introductions. You'll be with us for the next year, so we'll get to know each other eventually."

He gestured to the battered room behind us. "You'll wake up sore, sleep exhausted, and pray for death at least twice a day. And you know what? That's a good thing. The universe is dangerous. You F-Class are the ones who barely deserve a place here, and as far as I'm concerned, most of you don't."

He gestured around the battered room. "You'll wake up sore, sleep exhausted, and pray for death at least twice a day. And you know what? That's a good thing. Our universe is a hellhole, and you F-Class are the ones who barely deserve a place here. And if you ask me, most of you don't deserve shit."

Gruen's scarred face broke into something that might've been a grin. Or a snarl. It was hard to tell.

"That being said? …Welcome to Hell."

The words hung in the air, their weight almost palpable.

…Yeah, right, who was I kidding? As it was, I could barely stop myself from scoffing at the old fart's melodrama.

Why? Because this was the Galactic Patrol. Besides that one super strong guy from the manga, this place was a joke in the universe.

Maybe I'd be scared if this was the Frieza Force, but the Galactic Patrol?

Meh.

After the instructors wrapped up their dramatic introductions, they ordered us to follow them through the facility. I wasn't entirely sure if we were on the Galactic Patrol's headquarters, on some random planet, or floating in the middle of space. But I wasn't about to ask.

That was the kind of question that would either get me laughed at or labeled as dangerously incompetent.

Since we were just silently walking, I decided to pull up my status. Hopefully they would take me blankly staring into the air as just being focused.

Above all, I wanted to know what that title did. I'd fought tooth and nail for it, so it'd better be damn good.

o–o

Title(s) Unlocked:

[F-Class]

+50% stat gain from training if the user is within Galactic Patrol territory.

o–o

Huh. That was a suspiciously good title for just joining the Galactic Patrol.

Then again, it kind of made sense once I thought about it. The blue guy, Gruen, said that F-Class is a rank purely for the recruit training program, so of course the title would just improve training gains and nothing else.

With that out of the way, I started mindlessly poking around the system to kill time.

'Party. Inventory. Shop. Uh, fuckin', I don't know… Ooh! I know, Observe!'

Did you know this text is from a different site? Read the official version to support the creator.

…Nothing.

I rolled my eyes and dropped the interface. Of course that wouldn't work.

The walk stretched on. Seriously, how big was this place?

Eventually, we reached a large chamber lined with rows of doors on either side.

Gruen clapped his hands once. "Alright, listen up. You'll be divided into rooms of five. No exceptions. I'd prefer if you all got along, but I honestly don't care as long as you tolerate each other."

Calia stepped forward, scrolling through what looked like a tablet in her hands. "Actually, just check the terminal on the wall. Your names will be listed there along with your assigned room." Her gaze narrowed slightly. "And don't try to swap rooms without authorization. We'll know."

Aprico yawned, his arms crossed as he stood there like an intimidating statue.

I was starting to get the impression that Calia was the only one who was prepared for this job…

Slowly, my fellow recruits began moving to the terminals. I hung back, letting the eager ones crowd ahead since there was no point rushing.

When the initial traffic thinned out, I stepped up to the glowing screen. Scanning the list, I found my name near the bottom.

Room 17-B.

I skimmed the other names on the list, but I didn't recognize any of them. Though the only names I knew were in the Galactic Patrol were Merus, Jaco, and… Giya? Pretty sure that was his name.

Since they didn't give us anything, I just headed down the hall empty-handed. Room 17-B was on the left, tucked at the end of the corridor.

The door slid open with a soft hiss as I approached, revealing a plain, almost cramped room with five beds lined up against the walls. Each one was tucked into the wall with a closet attached, so I guess we had our own space for belongings.

Two recruits were already there, settling into their space.

One was a sharp-eyed humanoid with orange skin and permanent boredom etched into his face. His weird earholes looked straight out of the Dragon Ball playbook.

The other…

Yeah, the other guy was a little more noteworthy.

A towering, bipedal crocodile—brown-scaled and easily three meters tall—was busy organizing his closet.

When I stepped in, he flicked his eyes toward me. His voice rumbled low and dry like rocks grinding together.

"17-B?"

I nodded. "Yeah."

"Just pick a bed. Doesn't matter which."

…Fair enough.

I dropped onto the nearest one and laid flat, staring at the ceiling. Today had been… a lot. I still hadn't processed how insane this was, but whatever. Sleep first. Existential crisis probably never.

'I am the bone of my sword. Suppressing my valid feelings is my body, and unhealthy coping is my blood.'

My arm throbbed faintly. I ignored it.

Minutes passed in silence until the door opened again. The remaining recruits filed in—three of them, surprisingly female.

I think. Not totally sure about the last one.

Two-thirds of the women looked human as well, and I was starting to realize that most Dragon Ball aliens were just oddly colored humans.

The first was a short woman with pink skin and blonde hair. She carried herself with sharp focus and didn't acknowledge the crocodile when he repeated his question. She just glanced at him and sat.

The second walked like she'd been born in a boot camp. Red skin, silver hair. I squinted.

'She kinda looks like Jeice,' I thought idly. The crocodile didn't say anything this time—he just stared at her, eyes wide.

'Is this love at first sight? …How would that even work?'

The last recruit was a tiny, round alien with antennae. I only assumed she was female because of her squeaky voice and purple skin.

No one was talkative. The room sank into what I felt was an awkward silence.

Calia's voice suddenly crackled over the intercom.

"Lights out in ten minutes. If you're injured, drink the recovery tonic in your storage. Do not stay up. We're doing assessments first thing in the morning."

On cue, the ceiling lights slowly dimmed, casting long shadows across the room.

I was halfway to sleep when a voice rumbled from the corner. I quickly realized it was the chill crocodile guy.

"If any of you snore while I'm trying to sleep, I'll eat you." He said calmly, as if he hadn't just threatened our lives.

I sighed internally. Tsk, tsk.

'Doesn't this guy know that he's going to look like an asshole for saying something like that on the first day?'

Before I could even roll my eyes, the orange guy chimed in.

"Agreed."

In the dim light, I saw the purple alien raise her miniature arm.

"I concur!" She squeaked. I think she was the one who nervously squeaked earlier.

Like a wildfire, a chorus of agreements spread through the room, startling me. Didn't these people at least want to have a good working relationship? Did no one care how unhinged this sounded?

Weren't we supposed to be heroes of justice or whatever drivel Jaco spews all the time?

I yawned and shrugged mentally. Whatever.

Galactic Patrol or not, I was too tired to care. Hopefully, that tonic would heal me up by morning time.

"Yeah, I agree," I parroted.

----------------------------------------

– Wraak –

The schedule wasn't as tight as Instructor Calia had made it seem.

They were allowed to sleep, have breakfast, and even have some time to themselves before the assessment began.

But the eldest son of the Waarthar clan, Wraak Waarthar, wasn't pleased. Not that anyone noticed. To most of the other recruits, he resembled a hulking reptile—and crocodilian features weren't known for their expressiveness.

He cast a lingering glare at the silver-haired woman standing quietly at a distance, his gut churning.

'Irelia Ginga… why the fuck is she even here?'

She was the Galactic Princess.

Or rather, she was the brench-seijin the Galactic King had randomly decided to adopt one day. No one knew the details behind that decision, but the rumors of her prowess echoed throughout the galaxy.

Some whispered she had been completing S-Class missions since childhood. Others claimed she was trained as an assassin, molded for high-risk missions due to her special abilities.

If even a fraction of the rumors were true, there was no need for someone like her to be here.

'There goes my spot as the number one rookie.'

Wraak gritted his sharp teeth as he thought that, barely holding himself back from snarling out loud.

He had been training himself since he was a hatchling. When it came to combat, he firmly believed his potential was second to none. And with a weapon, he was even better than that.

What did this mean? It meant that he was confident in his ability to raise the fame and reputation of his clan. That as long as he continued to train diligently, he would become at least an A-Class in the patrol and carve his place in history.

But with this…

"Damn it!" Wraak growled as he kicked a loose stone.

They were outside the facility at one of the training grounds, so the rock wasn't aimed at anyone. However, it flew and landed at the feet of a different recruit.

A man with short spiky black hair, brown skin, and dark eyes. He wasn't very tall by Wraak's standards, plus he looked like he hadn't trained a day in his life.

Just seeing him pissed Wraak off more.

"And there's this worthless trash. Why is he even here?" He commented, loud enough that others could hear.

His name was… Jin? Djinn? Whatever. Wraak despised him for the exact opposite reason of Irelia.

Jyn looked clueless, drifting around and staring into space like a bumbling idiot. He barely had any muscle and walked with an air of complete disinterest. He looked like an arrogant buffoon, in Wraak's eyes.

Wraak refused to believe he was a Saiyan, despite some people already spreading rumors that he was at breakfast.

'Black hair and dark eyes don't make you a Saiyan, you fools.'

That guy's eyes weren't black—just really deep brown. And his name was Jyn! That's nowhere close to a Saiyan name.

'He probably bribed his way in and hid until the exam was over. That's the only way someone like him could've survived.'

From Wraak's perspective, Jyn was a wretch who lowered the reputation of the galactic patrol. To him, it was this person who Instructor Gruen was talking about when he said some of them didn't deserve to be in the patrol.

'Those rumors will be replaced with mockery soon enough. A clown like him isn't worth thinking about.'

Wraak looked to the side with a huff. There he saw one of his other roommates.

A short woman with blonde hair and pink skin. He thought he knew what race she was at first, but she had green eyes so it wasn't the race he was thinking of.

Despite her soft facial structure, she carried herself with the casual ease of a seasoned fighter. Calluses marked her hands, and her muscles, while not bulky, were lean and defined.

'Her name was… Edith, right?'

If he had to have someone as a subordinate to his rise, or even as a rival, it would be her.

She wasn't anyone special, but neither was he in her eyes. His clan was still relatively unknown, after all. It was hard work that had brought them here, and they likely shared the same desire to improve that strength.

A kindred spirit, he felt.

As he was staring at her with something bordering on respect, Edith glanced up at him—and immediately narrowed her eyes.

"Fuck are you lookin' at, prick?"

"...Huh?" Wraak blinked. What the hell had he done to deserve that?

"I ain't gonna repeat myself, jackass." Edith's tone dripped with impatience.

"A-are you speaking to me?" He… did not stutter. Waarthar's did not stutter and stammer like children.

She sneered. "Am I lookin' at anyone else? You stupid?"

"..." Wraak stood there, utterly dumbfounded.

'What the hell just happened?'

He hadn't even said anything to her, and she was already picking a fight with him. Was this some sort of joke, or was he losing his mind?

His temper flared.

"Listen here, you disrespectful wretch. I am Wraak Waarthar of the mighty Waarthar clan. I know not what your problem is but—"

"Don't care." Edith cut him off without a beat quickly turning back to fiddling with her clothes.

Seeing that, Wraak's eyes twitched before his annoyance reached a peak. It went so far past rage it circled back around to an eerie calm.

And unfortunately, he couldn't even reply again, as the instructor had arrived.

He closed his eyes, a single thought echoing within his mind.

'I hate everyone here.'

The recruits around him were mingling idly as if the instructor hadn't arrived, further cementing his disdain for those around him.

It was only once Apricot clapped his hands together did everyone stop yapping. The sheer force of that single motion sent a gust of wind rippling through the crowd.

Even Wraak felt it, scales bristling. A wave of tension filled the air instantly.

That was enough to erode Wraak's irritation, as it was replaced by admiration. The other recruits might be disappointing, but the instructors were worth learning from.

Back home, only someone like his father was able to command such natural strength.

That was another reason why he'd come here. To learn from those who were strong—to absorb their teachings and grow to one day surpass even them.

One day, his mere presence would shake the stars.

As Apricot began to speak, Wraak listened intently.

To reach those heights, he'd first need to learn everything he could from those above him—and only then would he leave them in the dust.