Battalion Representative
Palan clenched his fist, a nagging sense that something was off making him halt in his tracks.
“Candidate Palan!”
“Was the candidate the top performer?”
“Yes, sir!”
During the surprise inspection, his spotless cleaning had earned him the title of top candidate.
That sweet 2-point bonus was pure gold.
Thanks to it, he'd clawed his way back toward the rear ranks.
“Candidate, I have a proposal for you. How about representing the battalion in the upcoming march training?”
“Battalion representative, sir? May I ask what that entails?”
Tilting his head at the unfamiliar term, he quickly snapped it back upright.
“You'll boost morale among the battalion's candidates during the march and handle supply management.”
“I'm not sure I'm worthy of such a heavy responsibility, sir.”
It screamed total hassle from a mile away.
Am I insane? I'm barely surviving as it is.
This was clearly a made-up job for slacking off—take it, and you'd become their slave.
“I'm offering this because I judge you capable. Complete the training without issue, and you'll earn 3 bonus points.”
Wait... three points?
His eyes widened involuntarily at the massive incentive.
With 3 points and no deductions...
A quick mental calc put him firmly in the top ten.
“Just give the word, sir, and I'll give it my all!”
Why even hesitate?
The march was happening either way—might as well grab the points.
Even if it tastes like shit, you gotta swallow it.
Seemingly pleased with his booming response, the instructor's lips twitched upward ever so slightly.
“Then we'll consider Candidate Palan our battalion's representative.”
“Thank you for the opportunity, sir!”
“Return to your barracks.”
“Yes, sir!!!”
Maybe it was the euphoria flooding his brain, but despite his heavy body, his steps felt light.
“So you're our rep now, Palan? Not just platoon—battalion level?”
“Looks that way. I'm hardly the guy for it.”
“Three points... I'm jealous. Battalion rep's already taken, so no company reps?”
Ion eyed him enviously, ever ready for any bonus points.
“You've got plenty already. How much higher do you wanna climb?”
“Top thirty at least. You're golden unless you screw up big, Palan.”
“Yeah, pretty much. I'll head up first.”
“Show-off.”
Top thirty.
The perfect cutoff—rear-echelon bound, no escape.
Military life's just smooth sailing now.
It was almost too perfect to believe.
“Hey, guys. Meds and bandages here on the desk.”
Chatting as they entered the barracks, his eyes caught the medical supplies left out.
They knew we'd be banged up.
A beast of a woman, that one. But a chill ran down his spine.
“Instructor came and went... not another cleaning check, right?”
His words made the roommates' eyes dart nervously to their spots.
“Blankets folded, clothes regulation-stacked. Looks good here.”
“Same.”
“Yeah, unless she opened drawers, which she wouldn't.”
“True. We're fine then.”
Their room was spotless anyway, so he stripped off his fatigues with relief.
“Ugh, knew it, but we're shredded.”
“Never been this messed up. My skin...”
“Gotta rinse with water first.”
Elbows and knees bloodied from the ordeal.
Derek aside, these guys are all so... pale and soft.
No wonder they're nobles.
“That instructor's a psycho, mark my words. In the real world, he'd avert his eyes from me.”
Pluto grumbled while bandaging his knee.
Agreed. Totally agreed.
That's what sucked about the army.
Doctors or billionaires outside? Here, the earliest bum held all the power.
Some might call it normal. Not him.
Organizations ignore merit, reward tenure—inefficient and stupid.
Tax-fed behemoths, slowest to evolve.
“Makes me wanna punch you when you spout that crap. Threatening with points.”
“Ugh, hate this place. When do we escape? Red hats give me headaches.”
“Bet that guy's single. Who'd tolerate that trash personality?”
Drag!
Mid-rant, the door flew open—combat boots thudding.
“Candidate Palan.”
A deep voice calling him. Chills prickled his skin as he turned to see the instructor—the one they'd just trashed.
Did she hear...?
Her furrowed brow screamed mild anger.
This was bad.
“Sir!!!”
“Treating wounds? Good work.”
“No, sir!”
Lowering his salute, he bellowed as loud as possible.
If she heard, it'd be penalties for sure. Quiet means she didn't?
Door was closed—odds low.
“Heard you're battalion rep. Heavy physical and mental load—think you can handle it?”
“I'll give it my all, sir!!”
She'd come to check on her new rep.
“Voice like yours, I like it. Show me your best.”
“Thank you, sir!!”
She nodded once, turned—and left with one final line.
“Watch your volume when badmouthing others. Those words carry farthest.”
Door slammed before they could respond.
A heavy silence blanketed the room.
We're screwed.
“Just a warning, right? We're good?”
“Hope so.”
“Gotta watch our mouths too. Exhausting.”
Pluto slumped in his chair, eyes closed.
They rested until energy returned—then the instructor's voice boomed.
Candidates, assemble at the small training ground for academic session. End of transmission.
“Ugh, let's go. At least we rested longer than expected.”
Ion stretched, grabbing pen and notebook.
“Yeah, like 30 minutes.”
Feeling refreshed, Palan headed out and lined up at the small training ground.
“Attention.”
The demon instructor from training mounted the podium.
“Today, for the first time, I saw true soldierly spirit in you candidates.”
Sudden, unannounced speech.
Newbies might buy it; to him, pure hot air.
“You've all improved since day one. Be proud.”
Yeah, sure.
How did she deliver cringey lines stone-faced? Oscar actor or total method nut.
“Tomorrow's a holiday, so focus till the end. Understood?!”
“Yes, sir!!!!”
Did it work? Voices louder than before.
He joined in.
Why? She'd just officially confirmed the holiday.
How not to rejoice?
“Finally, a break.”
Had he ever craved a holiday this bad?
If training tomorrow... I'd be dead.
No joke—critical condition.
“Gonna sleep like the dead.”
“Doubt I could even stand.”
Pluto and Taylor beamed, sharing plans. He couldn't smile.
They'll let us rest, but bed? Doubt it.
His gut said no.
“Fancy seeing you all again. Holding up?”
Settling in the auditorium, familiar Major Jabein entered.
Wait, wasn't his class done?
One-and-done lecturer.
They'd even bid farewell last time—awkward seeing him again.
“You look beat. Road march?”
Jabein eyed the front row as usual.
“Individual combat training, sir!”
“Oof, brutal. Knees and elbows okay?”
“Haha... skinned 'em, bandaged up.”
The candidate awkwardly showed his arm.
“Tough it out. One more day. Mine was two days individual, week of field training. Oh, you guys skip field training, right?”
Palan's eyes bulged.
For real, Major?
Field training.
Army vets knew: top torture.
Endless psycho moves—pure agony.
“Lucky you. Commission without field. Might even reenlist.”
Her joke stabbed deep.
Reenlist for that?
Hard to hide his grimace.
“Enough chit-chat. Reason I'm back: wartime elective added. Aditz Empire analysis.”
Useful stuff.
Know thy enemy.
(Though he'd be rear-echelon.)
“Prep kept me up days. Dying here.”
Dark circles confirmed it.
“Covering it all today. Ten questions on finals—review hard.”
Finals.
Pre-graduation written exam—up to 15-point deduction wildcard.
Ten questions? At least 5 points...
Skip it, disaster.
“No textbook—verbal only. Note well. First up...”
Notebook frenzy.
He scribbled furiously—not missing a word. Tough opponent.
“Key granary, Alpine Plains—access decides everything...”
“Siege? Aditz favors fast mobility tactics...”
Exhaustive research; mouth never stopped.
Shut it, maniac.
Weekend review pile growing live.
“Command: General Maemold Sikaite overall, army commander...”
Sudden names—exam bait.
“Aditz naval superiority—why?”
Derek shot up hand.
“Answer?”
“Osiris Kingdom's warship Eltho, sir!”
“Spot on. Name?”
“Derek Rahila!”
“Rahila family, huh? Excellent. Bonus point for him.”
“Thank you, sir!!!”
Bonus even in chaos—solid guy.
“We're investing, but can't top Eltho. Avoid sea battles.”
Detailed—good content, no text downside.
Exam range: all this.
Hellish scribble-marathon ended after three hours.
“Arrrgh! This is bullshit! Why no bed?!”
0700—30 minutes late reveille, but roll call announcement shocked the room.
No re-bedding, 2-point deduction if caught. As expected.
No expectations, no shock—unlike the others.
“Sitting ducks? Gimme cards!”
“Ugh...”
Bored Pluto and Taylor.
Plenty to do, though.
Yesterday's notes: five hours minimum review.
Denial, probably.
“Bro, bored? Workout with me?”
Derek, in PT gear, asked the pair.
“After weekday grind? More sweat?”
“Monster—not tired?”
They recoiled.
Derek tilted head, baffled.
“That was training—this is voluntary. Weekend chance?”
Weekend-only, pre-dinner big training ground access.
Who'd use? Their roommate.
“No one? Loosen muscles now—avoids injuries later.”
Solid logic, but weekend grind? Not everyone.
Sneak a nap?
Not craving exercise—priorities.
I can nail this now.
Pre-enlistment? Maybe not.
Week of hellish daily grind transformed him.
“Derek, I'm in.”
“Yes! Knew it, Palan bro.”
Standing, thumbs-up from beaming Derek.
“Wait, me too...?”
Ion looked up from his book, pondering.
“Nah. Have fun.”
Weekend workouts? Nope—he sat back.
“Just us two, bro.”
“Cool.”
PT gear on, out the building.
Freedom to move at my pace—bliss.
“Fewer people than thought. Expected more prepping next week.”
Derek puzzled at ~10 folks.
Overestimating nobles.
Ten was impressive to him.
“We'll train together, right?”
“Nah, separate.”
Dodged Derek's grab smoothly.
Crazy to match his intensity.
Guy's routine beat the instructor's.
“Aww, not together?”
“I'd die.”
“I'll match you.”
“Pass. Each our way. Got plans.”
“Okay...”
Dejected Derek shuffled off.
“Ugh.”
Alone, stretched first.
“Training should start like this—idiots.”
Muscles warmed, opened fitness window.
Attempt 9th Grade?
“Yes.”
Scanning surroundings.
Fitness test environment suitable.
Cheating detected: penalty applied.
Cheating's the fun—system's no fun.
Fitness test commencing.
Run 3km in 15 minutes.
[14:59]
[14:58]
“Instant start?!”
Blitz pace—no prep needed, legs moving.
“Huff! Huff! Huff!”
No track—lapped big ground perimeter steady.
1km cleared
[10:30]
[10:29]
Perfect pace planned.
Finish 3km under 14.
Solid like this.
Demon training paying off finally.
[0:47]
3km complete—success
Push-ups in 3 minutes.
Tight break.
Same muscles? Tough. Legs/arms separate—lucky.
Push-ups? Piece of cake.
Week of penalties built mastery.
Chest 3-10cm from ground.
3+ sec rest: reset.
Push-ups (0/30)
“Strict criteria.”
Scratched head, hands down.
“One.”
Deep as required.
Push-ups (1/30)
Meets spec—pings right.
Easy.
Push-ups (2/30)
Push-ups (3/30)
Count climbing fast.
Body beyond 9th grade—push-ups to sit-ups, breeze.
Strong body begets strong mind!
Mental attack resistance enhanced.
“Mental attacks? Like drugs?”
Not bad—figure later.
Shop's the prize.
No-brainer: open new shop.
Tempting array.
Socks and boots especially.
Obvious perks.
Boots page impressive.
Long marches mandatory for soldiers. Better boots = less fatigue.
Effect: 20% efficiency over standard boots
“Buying this.”
March next week—essential.
◈ 20% march efficiency boost
Hesitation wastes time.
Clicked buy—identical boots dropped from air.
“No witnesses...?”
Moved to bleachers, swapped.
“Whoa, insane.”
Same look—worlds apart feel.
Walking on clouds.
Cushy soles killed fatigue.
“Shop delivers.”
Gas masks to medkits—everything useful.
Only 50p stung.
Save rest for emergencies.
Socks tempting luxury—pass. Closed shop.
“Bro, whatcha doing?”
Post-test, heading back—Derek approached.
“Uh...? Thought a rock in my boot. Checking.”
“Ah. Why bring combat boots?”
Pointed at non-PT footwear.
“These? Training's boots anyway—practice same.”
“Oh...”
White lie worked miraculously.
Derek nodded.
“Genius. Train like combat—realistic. You're different, bro.”
“Not really.”
Misunderstanding brewing.
“I'll run in boots tomorrow. Learning tons.”
Don't learn that.
Guilt flickered—but truth impossible.
“Don't overdo.”
“Course. Fifteen more laps then out.”
“Huh...?”
Absurd volume stunned him.
“Join me.”
“Nah, heading back...”
“C'mon, toughen up. Build stamina for march. I'll go slow.”
Derek grabbed arm—vice grip, inescapable.
Damn!
That morning, leg cramp confirmed by Derek freed him from hell.
Battalion reps, report to small training ground immediately.
Lunch done, reviewing with Ion opposite—unwanted call.
“Ugh, weekend summons?”
Hated going, but disobedience impossible.
“Still 3 points.”
“True. Back soon.”
Checked uniform in mirror, headed out.
“March training briefing now.”
As expected—march related.
No weekends off?
Impressive zeal.
“You three reps will lead as battalion leaders.”
Including him, three in line.
Their eyes screamed soldier. Not his.
“Battalions take different routes traditionally—compete for superiority.”
Not group death march—rivalry.
Competition means prizes.
“Top battalion: 2 points per candidate, 3 for rep.”
Second: 1/2.
Last: zero.
Wait... this changes everything.