Seyfe pulled himself through the water, breath ragged and sharp. Every stroke was a battle, but he was doing it—moving forward, past the fear, past the cold. His muscles burned, but at least he was afloat.
Others were still in panic mode. Some clawed at the water like it owed them something, others went under and didn't resurface right away.
Then he heard it.
A low rumble, like a distant engine turning over—or maybe thunder. Except the sky was clear.
Seyfe glanced over his shoulder—and his blood ran colder than the water.
A massive wave was beginning to form at the far end of the pool, rising like a wall of liquid death. The surface churned as if something deep beneath it was breathing.
"…Right," he muttered, squinting in disbelief."This is not a goddamn swimming pool… it's a fucking wave pool."
The wall of water kept rising, angling toward them with malicious intent.
"Move. MOVE!" he barked at himself, doubling his effort. The cadets around him had noticed too—panic exploded across the pool like a virus. Some were too slow, others didn't even try to beat the wave.
The commander's voice barked from a loudspeaker, deadpan:
"Cadets who fail to reach the other side before the wave... will be rescued. Eventually."
Seyfe gritted his teeth. "Oh hell no. Not today."
He kicked, arms slamming into the water as he surged ahead, heart threatening to burst from his chest. The wave was coming faster, roaring now. The current started dragging cadets back, pulling against them like it had hands.
He could see the edge now. So close.
Then—a scream. Someone was dragged under near him. He didn't turn. He couldn't. Every instinct screamed survival.
You're almost there.
As Seyfe's body screamed in exhaustion, he fought against the current, gritting his teeth, inching closer to the edge of the pool. His heart hammered in his chest, adrenaline giving him just enough strength to stay afloat. The wave, now a force of nature, loomed over him like the hand of a god, ready to claim anything in its path.
Then, out of nowhere, a flash of movement beside him. It was the short silver-haired girl—the one who had been so effortlessly breezing through the climb earlier. She wasn't even flinching, her face focused, eyes glowing with that strange determination.
She shot past him, faster than he could register. In the split second that followed, he saw her reach out for one of the cadets who was being pulled under the wave—his face twisted in fear, hands flailing, gasping for air as the water swarmed around him.
The girl didn't hesitate. With a swift motion, she grabbed him, one hand locking around his wrist, the other bracing his torso. And just like that, she yanked him out of the wave's deadly embrace, pulling him toward her with strength that belied her small frame.
Seyfe's eyes widened as he watched her save the cadet—her effortless movements in the midst of the chaos, as though this was second nature to her. The boy was gasping, half-drowned, but alive—thanks to her.
For a brief moment, he thought he saw a flicker of something in her eyes. Maybe a glimmer of satisfaction? Or was it just the reflection of the water?
Seyfe didn't have time to think, though. The wave was nearly upon him, the cold surge pushing him with a force that threatened to pull him under.
With every ounce of strength left in his aching body, he pushed forward, kicking as hard as he could, reaching for the edge of the pool.
The water crashed behind him with a deafening roar, but Seyfe didn't stop. He grabbed the edge, pulling himself up and out of the wave's reach, his muscles trembling from the effort. He collapsed onto solid ground, gasping for air, his heart still pounding like a drum.
The girl? She was already at the edge too, standing with her hands on her hips, looking at him with the same odd curiosity she'd had before.
"You didn't drown. Impressive," she said, her voice light, almost amused. There was no trace of the chaos they'd just been through in her demeanor.
Seyfe just stared at her, still catching his breath. "You… you saved him," he said, still processing what had just happened.
Her eyes flickered toward the boy she had rescued, now coughing and sputtering as other cadets rushed to help him. She didn't respond right away, only offering a small, almost imperceptible shrug.
"Survival," she muttered, as if that explained everything.
Seyfe didn't have time to dwell on it. As the wave subsided, the loudspeaker blared out the command to move to the next phase.
Seyfe shook his head, forcing himself to stand up. There was no time to think about it now.
The sun blazed mercilessly above the cadets, casting long shadows across the field as the massive metallic spheres were rolled out one by one. Each ball, nearly twice the size of a person and lined with strange engraved markings, gleamed under the harsh light like instruments of punishment.
Seyfe stood at the starting line, his legs aching, his back stiff from the swim and climb. He squinted at the ball in front of him. It was less a training tool and more of a declaration from the Academy: "You will break, or you will become."
"This is terrible... terrible," Seyfe muttered, his voice dry, more to himself than anyone else. His eyes wandered to the cadets around him. Some were already attempting the task—pulling, crawling, even dragging themselves as they tried to move the immovable. A few had collapsed next to their metallic burdens, wheezing or passed out cold.
One cadet threw up on the side. Another sat crumpled, crying quietly into their hands.
Seyfe exhaled sharply, shaking out his arms. They're pushing us like dogs, he thought. No—like expendables. Like whatever survives this deserves to live.
He crouched down and grabbed the thick chain attached to the front of the ball. The metal burned cold in his hands despite the heat, biting into his already calloused palms. He braced himself.
Then pulled.
Nothing.
His feet dug into the dirt, shoulders straining as the weight of the sphere laughed at his effort. Gritting his teeth, he leaned back and pulled again, putting every fiber of muscle into the motion.
The ball creaked forward—an inch, maybe two.
"Come on… you bastard," he hissed.
A few meters ahead, the silver-haired girl from earlier was already moving her own sphere. Slowly but steadily, like she was dancing with the damn thing instead of dragging it. The golden glint in her eyes hadn't faded—if anything, it was brighter now, burning with some kind of joy or madness.
Seyfe grunted again, straining harder. His body screamed, the ache now searing. But this wasn't just physical anymore. It was mental. He refused to collapse like the others. Refused to be carted away as another failure.
From the corner of his eye, he spotted Aki at a distance, watching. Not judging. Just observing.
Seyfe grunted, planting his heels harder into the ground as he dragged the chain forward. The sphere lurched awkwardly, rocking instead of rolling. That's when he realized—this thing wasn't designed for a fair pull.
"What the hell…" he muttered, pausing to glance at the sphere more closely.
One side of the massive metallic surface bulged unnaturally, like it had been forged without care or on purpose to be unbalanced. The other side was riddled with small lumps and jagged ridges that caught against the ground every time it shifted. It wasn't just heavy—it was intentionally built to sabotage the cadet trying to move it.
"Of course they gave me the broken one," Seyfe growled, his arms trembling as sweat rolled down his neck. "What's next, explosives in the chain?"
As he repositioned himself to counterbalance the uneven roll, he noticed others were beginning to catch on as well. Some cadets tried shifting their grip, adjusting their pulling angle, hoping to find a smoother path. Others, already too far gone in exhaustion, just collapsed beside their spheres, defeated.
Every few feet, the sphere would snag—either against a lump of dirt or its own twisted surface—and Seyfe would have to pull harder, sharper, often sideways just to set it right again.
The pain had gone numb by now. His breath came ragged, his fingers blistered and raw. And yet, through the haze of exhaustion, something sharpened in him—a kind of clarity.
This is not about strength. It's about knowing when to push and when to shift.
He crouched low, leaned in close to the chain, and began to pull in calculated bursts. Using momentum. Letting the slope of the uneven surface fall in his favor whenever he could find the rhythm.
The damn thing moved.
Bit by agonizing bit.
"This is the real test," he muttered. "They're not training soldiers. They're testing who can survive bullshit systems stacked against them."
And in that twisted logic… Seyfe found a strange sense of purpose.
He would drag this nightmare across the finish line. Not because he wanted to. Not even because he had to.
But because he refused to give them the satisfaction of seeing him fall.
Seyfe collapsed beside the sphere, his arms numb and his legs twitching from the strain. His breath came in broken gasps as he looked up—and sure enough, the same trio stood there like they hadn't even broken a sweat.
The tall silver-haired guy sat cross-legged on the ground, perfectly still, eyes closed in deep meditation like dragging a misshapen metal mountain was just part of his morning routine.
The tattooed girl with the wild smirk perched atop her own sphere, one leg swinging lazily as she watched the rest of the cadets with predatory amusement, like this was her entertainment for the day.
And then, the short silver-haired girl—glowing with her damn golden eyes—stood off to the side, humming a cheery little tune like she was in a flower field, not the aftermath of a torturous physical trial.
Seyfe blinked at them, then muttered under his breath, "Where did these freaks come from?"
He wasn't even mad—just… confused. Tired and confused.
Are these even cadets? Or did they just drop off mythological creatures to mess with us?
As he stared, the tattooed girl met his gaze and grinned, giving him a two-finger salute like she'd heard him. Which was possible. At this point, Seyfe wouldn't put anything past them.
He leaned his head back against the cursed sphere, closing his eyes for just a second.
If this was day one, he didn't want to know what the rest of the academy had in store.
"You better be right about me getting my life back after this, Aki," he mumbled. "Or I'm hauling this metal ball straight into someone's office."