The Colonel had personally overseen our training for the past few days, each one harder than the last. I severely missed ability training, and when I brought up that it would be good for us to train our abilities with him, all he said was:

"You lot can't even do ten pushups, and now you want to train with your ability? No. Actually, for bringing this up, get on your face. I'll even make it easy for you. Just give me five, and I'll let all of you do ability training. You are an S-rank, so it would be easy, wouldn't it?"

I shuddered at the memory. Five pushups? I’d done far more than fifty. Each one worse than the last.

After another lonely breakfast—something that was becoming a pattern—I checked the training hall. It was empty. I let out a breath, relieved.

So I went to watch the B-ranks. It was Friday, which meant they’d be given their individual training. I hoped the civvie wouldn't get his, but I knew the Colonel wasn’t actually punishing him, so there would be an ‘exception’ made just for him most likely.

As I arrived at B-sector, I saw the last B-rank slip into their personal quarters, glancing back at the lieutenant as if she were a tyrant. I wanted to snort. The lieutenant was practically a puppy compared to the Colonel. I'd like to see them go through half of what us high-rankers had endured these past few days.

I kept walking after stepping through the door, giving a grateful nod to the two guards standing outside the civvie’s room. They straightened instinctively. A flush of pride filled me. Good. They knew to respect me.

I continued toward the security desk, where all the training recordings were displayed.

When I arrived, I knocked politely before opening the door and stepping inside.

Reginald sat behind the desk, twisting a Rubik’s cube in his hands. His eyes flicked up, growing wide as he scrambled to his feet, half-saluting before second-guessing himself.

"Hello. Want to watch the B-rankers again, Miss Grant?"

"Yes, Reginald. I shall see you later."

I brooked no argument as I walked past him and took his chair. He hovered uncertainly before leaving, the door shutting just a little too hard for my liking.

I turned my attention to the monitors.

Richard was sparring with one of the older sleeveless—a sergeant now. I could not wait until next year when we finally received a rank. Even if it was far below where I deserved to be, it would be better than just sitting under the general label of sleeveless.

Richard was doing well, using his spear not just to keep his opponent off balance but as a distraction—baiting the sergeant into focusing on it before lunging in with a knife.

The moment the sergeant adjusted, Richard switched tactics. Now the spear was his primary weapon, aiming straight for his opponent’s back as the sergeant swung at his head. Richard’s face lit up—he thought he had won. Then the sergeant ducked. The spear slammed into the ground over his shoulder, the shaft vibrating gently against his neck.

Kate was using similar misdirection, building both a large puppet and a smaller one, fashioning them out of brooms, guns, and their straps—everything tied together in a makeshift construct. She stood back, letting her puppets do all the fighting while the sergeant assigned to her weaved through their attacks. Eventually, he stopped playing around, grabbing the smaller puppet by its broomstick neck and hurling it straight at the big one. Both shattered, clattering to the ground in pieces.

The sergeant nodded, satisfied—until the moment he turned back to Kate and got double-legged, hitting the ground flat on his ass. He recovered fast, though. Before Kate could transition to a stronger position, he had an arm around her neck, heels driving into her hips, locking in a tight guillotine. She tapped five seconds later.

And, without realizing, my eyes had found their way to a certain monitor again.

He was sparring with the only lieutenant assigned to the B-ranks. Why he got that kind of privilege, I still didn’t know. The first time I found out, I had been furious, but there was nothing to be done. At first, I thought it was a blessing in disguise—his lieutenant didn’t seem to be a teacher, only a sparring partner. No drills. No structured lessons. Just fighting.

It should have worked against him. She should have left him unprepared for the tournament.

But watching him now, that thought felt… premature.

For someone so untrained, someone who fought like a toddler throwing a tantrum, nothing his lieutenant did seemed to matter. Every hit she landed, he shrugged off. Every counter, he barreled through. She couldn’t even keep him at a distance—he just absorbed the punishment and kept coming.

Then he threw an entire boxing bag at her.

She dodged it effortlessly, only for a pistol to bounce off her leg. She yelped, hopping backward just as Boris slammed into her. He flung her high into the air as he charged past, colliding with the wall so hard I swore the building shook.

She landed with catlike grace behind him.

I barely had time to process it before the door swung open, and Lieutenant Zenzele stepped inside.

"I thought you'd be in here. Saw Reginald out in the hall."

"Good morning, Lieutenant," I responded, feeling slightly annoyed that she spoke to me so casually.

"And good afternoon to you too, Sofia. Who you got your eye on today?" she asked politely, standing behind me.

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"Marnus and Richard."

I remembered that the Colonel and the Lieutenant, despite their disagreement over the civvie the other day, still spoke constantly. If she reported my picks to him, I needed to be ready. By making it seem like I was entirely focused on them, I could craft a narrative that seemed rigid—predictable. That way, if they tried to use this information against me later, I’d have room to maneuver.

"I see," she said, nodding. Then she hesitated.

"Sofia, it feels strange to say this. But thank you. For saving him."

She pointed at Boris just as he hit the ground, his lieutenant balancing effortlessly on his hands before springing away as he thrashed beneath her.

"He's such a stupid boy, but I don’t know what I’d do if any of them got… just. Thank you."

She looked at me with such genuine gratitude that I found myself sitting up a little straighter.

I wanted to chastise her. But I agreed. I didn’t want anyone in my brigade to be executed. Even him—the ungrateful civvie.

So instead, I just said, "You're welcome," and turned back to the screen.

"So, who do you think made the most improvement?" she asked over my shoulder, a small hint of amusement in her voice. "Since you’ve been watching them train so closely?"

"Truthfully? Either Richard, Zach, or Nina. I mean, at first, none of them could even get their sergeants to take them seriously, let alone activate their abilities. By next week, they might actually force a real fight. Make them use everything they have."

I watched as Zach fazed through his sergeant, spun around, and nearly cracked her across the head.

"And Boris? No improvement at all?" she asked. I could practically hear her eyebrow raise.

"If you start at the bottom, of course you improve. It’s like watching a very aggressive puppy learn to walk," I said flatly, annoyed.

And yet, this puppy refused to stay down. A small part of my mind whispered, which annoyed me greatly.

She just snorted in response. I didn’t understand why. His improvement wouldn’t matter. He would still lose.

The door opened again.

The Colonel stepped inside, hesitating briefly when he saw the lieutenant. She snapped a salute.

"Good afternoon, Colonel!"

I hesitated, then followed suit, standing to salute before sitting back down when he waved a dismissive hand. He moved to stand behind me, eyes on the monitors.

"I see you are not training, Sofia," he said, slight amusement in his tone.

"I am observing, sir. I need to see if my initial assessment was wrong and adjust accordingly if that is the case," I responded, relaxing slightly at the good mood in his voice.

"Makes sense. Well, Lieutenant, who do you think is going to win?" he asked, turning to her with a smile.

I watched them through the reflection of the monitor. The lieutenant took half a step away from him but quickly returned a wider smile.

"Well, Marnus probably has the best ability out of the B-ranks—versatile, strong, and he can use it often. But Kate’s is probably the best as a one-off. Nina’s is so durable. And Diana can fly, so she has a strong tactical advantage," she prattled on, listing every B-rank competing. Then she paused before adding, "Oh! And Boris would probably give A-rankers a run for their money in a straight one-on-one duel. So him, Marnus, or Zach will probably win."

"Boris won’t win," I said stiffly, glancing at his monitor—just in time to see him take a full-on roundhouse kick to the head. He wobbled, shook it off, then dove straight back in, like he hadn't felt a thing. Annoying.

The Colonel raised a playful eyebrow. "I wouldn't be so sure. The boy is… well, he's untrained and unrefined, but his raw talent is second to none in terms of fisticuffs. I mean, look at what he's doing with Lieutenant Galina. And her ability is quite literally designed for one-on-one encounters."

I bit my tongue. He had no chance.

"Still. Boris, Zach, or Marnus… interesting picks, Lieutenant," the Colonel said, nodding toward her.

"I see you like the… hands-on type," he added, and I felt myself cringe at the insinuation.

She smiled politely, gesturing at the monitors, "I like them all. Even Richard, though he's a bit bratty."

The Colonel nodded but didn’t say another word.

"Well, I need to talk to Diana. She doesn’t seem very motivated. I'll leave you to it. Colonel?" she said, asking permission to leave.

"Of course," he replied, stepping aside in the cramped office.

I watched her in the monitor as she passed him. Her fingers lightly brushed the sleeve of his uniform.

But the Colonel didn’t react. He hadn't noticed. His face remained unreadable, but his eyes… there was a flicker of something. Disappointment.

A silence stretched between us.

Then, in the reflection, he locked eyes with me.

"Now, Sofia, I wanted to talk to you. Have you contacted your mother? Have you received permission for his execution?"

I straightened, carefully picking my words. "No, sir. He will not be executed. If you wish to gain permission, you must ask someone else."

He raised an eyebrow, amusement crackling across his face.

"Oh, really?"

"Yes," I replied flatly, keeping my eyes on the monitor in front of me.

He smiled, then looked at Boris’s screen.

"Well, he’s going to look good in the black cloak then, I guess. Have a nice day, Sofia."

My mask slipped.

I whirled on him, anger flaring hot in my chest. But the moment our eyes met, my body betrayed me—I took a half step back before I could stop myself.

The Colonel didn’t move. He didn’t have to.

His gaze was steady. But his eyes had narrowed, and I swore the air in the room changed. My throat tightened. I clenched my jaw, forcing myself to hold my ground.

I took a deep breath. Control. Stay in control.

"No. He won’t," I said, my voice measured but sharp. "First match, second, third—it won’t matter. He’ll be gone before the finals. He won't even get a whiff of the black cloak. Am I clear, sir?"

He looked at me, and then—slowly—a real, genuine grin spread across his face.

"Oh? Is that so? And who will help you with that?"

"I don’t think that’s any of your business," I replied flatly.

His grin widened, like he was watching a puppy bark at a wolf.

"Well, well. Look at you, the mighty Sofia. You sound so sure. This will be an interesting contest, I see." He clapped his hands once, glancing past me at the monitors.

Then he nodded, amusement flickering in his eyes as he turned—only to pause.

Slowly, he leaned down, just enough to be in my space, that ever-present grin widening as he met my eyes.

"Good luck," he murmured, his voice smooth, deliberate.

Then, just as easily, he straightened, turned, and walked away—his grin never fading.