The rise of the unorthodox

A tense meeting was unfolding in the Base 99 military conference room. Built from expensive, reinforced materials to block any outside interference, the room exuded an air of strength and seriousness. At its center sat a pristine, white rectangular table, surrounded by seats, and the air conditioning kept everything cool, free from tension.

All the teachers involved in military student combat had gathered here for an emergency meeting called by Sergeant Fredin. It was rare for him to summon them all, which is why everyone had arrived without hesitation.

After some waiting, the door swung open, and Sergeant Fredin walked in, flanked by a small army of guards. Their faces were concealed, and their weapons were ready for anything.

The teachers immediately stood to salute him before sitting back down. Fredin took his place at the head of the table, his hands wrapped tightly together, his fingers turning white. He didn't waste time with pleasantries.

"Headquarters has issued new orders," he began, his voice cold and direct. "All students are to participate in a nationwide tournament. It's a selection process. The best will be chosen as army agents with immediate effect."

A ripple of unease passed through the room. One teacher, who had been unusually quiet, spoke up, "This rule applies only to the third-years, right?" His voice was calm, but there was a hint of concern.

Fredin shook his head. "No, it applies to every student in the military program. It's not compulsory—you can choose whether or not your squad will participate."

A murmur of discontent spread across the room.

Madame Evergreen, her voice as cool as always, spoke up, "Unless the army plans on getting these kids killed, this is a terrible idea. The first-years are still too green." Her words hung in the air, unspoken agreement filling the room.

My Sayo nodded in agreement. "Evergreen's right. The first-years have barely had time to adjust."

The teachers continued to discuss, their concerns growing louder. The third- and second-year students could handle themselves, but the first-years? That was a different story.

Fredin let them voice their worries before responding, his tone final. "I understand your concerns. But here's the compromise. In a month, there will be a mini-tournament for the first-years. They'll compete against each other, and the top squads will advance to the main tournament."

There was a collective sigh of relief from the teachers. It wasn't perfect, but it was something they could live with. Still, not everyone agreed, but there wasn't much they could do.

The meeting was adjourned, and everyone left with a heavy sense of anticipation for what was to come.

Later, in the squad's training room:

"What do you mean we're fighting in some tournament? Isn't that a bit soon?" Daniel asked, his brow furrowed in disbelief.

I could understand his concern, but the idea of competing in a nationwide tournament was too enticing. The prospect of joining the army—of finally seeing my brother again—made my heart race.

"I'm in, no question," I declared, cutting him off.

Daniel, still hesitant, tried to reason with Mr. Sayo. "This is way too soon for the first-years."

Devin, however, had no reservations. He was already on board. Delight and Daniel, on the other hand, weren't so keen. They exchanged worried looks, unsure about what this meant for them.

"Wait, you're fine with this?" Delight asked, her voice filled with confusion.

I didn't hesitate. "You bet I am!" I shouted, my fists clenched. "I'll show all of you that I can do this!"

The room fell silent for a moment before Daniel stepped toward me, pointing a finger in my face. "You're the weakest one in this squad. And you're okay with this?" His words stung more than I expected.

"Is that what you all think?" I turned, my voice dripping with anger. My gaze swept across the room, daring anyone to look away. Delight and Devin avoided my eyes.

"To hell with you all!" I yelled, my voice echoing through the room. "I'll take this tournament by storm. I'll show you."

The atmosphere was thick with tension. Daniel and Delight stood side by side, both in their pristine uniforms. Delight whispered something to Daniel, trying to calm him down. Devin leaned against the wall, his jaw clenched, eyes focused on the ground. I could feel the weight of their judgment pressing down on me.

Mr. Sayo broke the silence, his voice calm yet firm. "I'll be signing you all up for the tournament. Your training will intensify from here on out. You're dismissed for now. But no more anger—it won't do you any good."

I didn't wait to hear more. I stormed out of the room, the heavy doors swinging behind me. My feet led me toward the combat hall, the place where I could finally breathe again.

The wind brushed against my face as I approached my favorite spot on the field. The grass was especially green today, bathed in sunlight, sparkling in the warm glow. The scent of fresh grass filled my lungs as I carefully lowered myself onto the ground.

A thousand thoughts raced through my mind. I never imagined I'd be the weakest in my squad. It felt like a curse I couldn't escape. But I wasn't going to stay weak. I needed to get stronger.

I felt the anger rise in my chest, not from sadness, but from a deep, burning frustration. Maybe my brother was right—I should've left this army life behind. I wish my mom were here. She would have known exactly what to say. I missed her.

"Are you alright?" a familiar voice broke through my thoughts.

I didn't even have to look up. "Get off my back, Devin," I snapped, irritated.

I could hear his footsteps as he walked closer. "How can I leave when all your friends turned out to be jerks?" He stood beside me, giving me a knowing glance.

"Look, dude," I shot back, not bothering to look at him. "Take your money and your cocky attitude and walk out of here."

Devin chuckled at my retort. "So, that's it? You don't like me because I'm rich?"

I rolled my eyes, finally turning my head to look at him. "You're aggressive, irritating, narcissistic, and self-centered. What's there to like about you?"

His face twisted with anger. His fists clenched. "Look, that's not who I am. I can explain why I act this way if you want."

I raised an eyebrow. He smelled like sweat, his rich-guy persona clashing with the scent of hard work. He probably needed a quick shower.

"Sure," I said, "tell me why you're an ass."