Morning Drills and a Major Blunder
Opening his eyes, Palan saw the same ceiling as yesterday.
He'd hoped it was all a dream, but no such miracle had occurred.
"Ughhh! Help! Somebody!"
"Aaaah!"
Screams echoed as everyone jolted awake from sleep.
Muscle soreness has properly set in, huh.
No wonder—yesterday's duck-waddle march was bound to leave them wrecked.
"Huh?"
Something felt off in the natural flow of his thoughts.
Why am I perfectly fine?
Not a hint of pain anywhere in his body.
If anything, he felt refreshed, his condition better than ever.
Could it be that Physical Training skill or whatever?
The claim about boosting muscle recovery and growth efficiency seemed legit.
Wild.
He wanted to inspect his body closely, but there was no such luxury in the training camp.
ALL TRAINEES: ASSEMBLE IN THE MAIN PARADE GROUND IN FULL UNIFORM WITHIN 10 MINUTES. THAT IS ALL. OUT.
A devilish time attack.
Hearing it, Palan and the rest of the roommates scrambled out of bed.
"How the hell are we supposed to do that in 10 minutes?!"
"Ugh! My legs..."
Groans rose from every corner.
But they snapped to it, grabbing clothes from their bunks.
The problem was...
"Hey, aren't we folding the blankets?"
For a split second, he wondered if he was the weird one—no one else seemed to care about the blankets at all.
Before he could say more, his roommates shot him strange looks.
"Palan, we don't have time for that. What're you doing?"
"Two minutes gone already."
Derek and Ion hurried him as he neatly folded his blanket.
Guys, you have to fold the damn blankets!
This was the military.
A place obsessed with blankets.
Well, maybe not this military...
No, it has to be the same.
Proof: Yesterday, when he first arrived, every bunk had perfectly squared blankets—he remembered clearly.
"They check room cleanliness, right?"
"What does that have to do with blankets? It's not like leaving 'em like this makes it dirty."
Ion looked baffled.
Sigh, no convincing them.
He'd try under normal circumstances.
But this? Just take the hit.
At least I'll save myself.
It probably wouldn't bite him today, but he folded his extra neatly anyway and stood by his footlocker.
"Aren't you being too chill?"
"As long as we're not late. Hey, you missed a button up top."
"Oh, thanks."
Chatting briefly with Ion, he changed into his combat uniform.
Like I thought yesterday, this uniform ain't bad.
Soft yet sturdy lining, sleek dark black design.
Camouflage effectiveness unknown, but wearing it felt leagues better than Republic of Korea gear.
About three minutes left now.
They finished a full minute ahead of schedule.
"Let's go, guys."
"Ugh, I should've worked out a bit more. I'm dying here."
Derek and Crush, ready first, headed out, the rest following.
In the hallway, the first thing that hit him: a riot of bedheads in every color.
Most of these guys probably couldn't groom without a maid's help.
Especially the girls.
The long-haired ones looked like you needed to avert your eyes.
"If your feet hit the ground, march! No walking!"
"Hurry up!!!"
The instructors outside were yelling like maniacs again today.
They really had nothing better to do.
The scariest part? I'm getting used to this shit already.
Sighing inwardly, he fell into four-rank formation.
"2nd Platoon, all present?"
An instructor approached after they lined up, asking Ion at the front.
"Uh... not sure."
Ion pondered, then gave the sensible answer.
I figured he'd say 'How should I know?' Good growth.
He kinda got the parental pride thing now.
"2nd Platoon, right flank first file—count off."
Glancing left and right at the order, Palan was first in the right flank file.
"Count off—one!"
Simple wave-style roll call, nothing tough.
Problem: The next number didn't come.
"Trainee, what the hell are you doing?"
The instructor's face darkened instantly as he zeroed in on Pluto behind Palan.
"Yes?"
"Didn't you hear 'count off'?"
"Uh... what's that?"
Pluto's innocent question.
Palan saw the instructor swallow a tirade.
Yeah, ignorance isn't a crime.
Growing up elite, you might not know this stuff.
"When the front says 'one,' the next says 'two,' 'three,' and so on—increases by one each time to confirm headcount. Got it, trainee?"
"So... I say 'two'?"
"Exactly."
"Understood!"
Pluto nodded.
"Good. Right flank first file—count off."
"One!"
"Two!"
"Three!"
.
.
"Eight!"
Everyone else eavesdropped and chimed in smartly.
"At the end of each file of four, add 'full' if complete. Otherwise, report shortages, then redo."
"Eight full!"
"2nd Platoon... 32, all present."
The instructor checked his paper and moved to the next platoon.
That guy's top 1% patient.
Palan figured Pluto would get punished at minimum.
Instead, a polite explanation? Elite treatment.
"How do you know everything, Palan? Never heard of count-off in my life."
Ion, beside him, asked in awe.
"Uh... played with the servants a lot as a kid, got familiar with this stuff."
Hard playtime = knowledge.
No better excuse.
Can't say I rolled 21 months in a brutal army.
They wouldn't believe it anyway.
"Should've gained some experience myself."
"I just know a tiny bit more. We're all the same."
As they chatted quietly, headcount wrapped up and the instructor took the podium.
"Trainees, sleep well your first night in the army?"
No response.
Guess no one slept much.
Faces looked wrecked—some on the verge of tears.
But no angelic instructor to care.
"No answer? Spirits still asleep, eh? Guess we repeat yesterday."
"N-no!"
"Louder!"
"No!!!"
"Louder!!!"
"NO!!!!!!"
Serious voice obsession.
His throat already hurt, and it was morning.
"Faces perking up now. Today: basic drill and marching as planned."
Real training begins.
Trainees' expressions darkened instantly.
"I'll lead drill personally—stay sharp. Understood?"
"Yes, sir!!"
"Louder! All, drop and give!"
Shit.
After a mood-killing morning push-up session and filling up on bread, they headed to the main parade ground for the induction ceremony.
Feels like I've been enlisted a week already. Driving me nuts.
Outside, a week flew by in a blink; here, every second dragged.
"All, attention."
With everyone assembled, the instructor appeared on the podium, long stick in hand.
"On 'attention,' repeat after me. All, attention!"
"Attention!!"
"Louder! Attention!"
"ATTENTION!!!!!!"
"Maintain this volume until class ends. Understood?"
"YES, SIR!!!!!!"
Everyone screamed throats raw—pitiful sight.
Palan included.
"What I'll teach now is vital—used till the end of your service."
Bullshit.
He knew from past life: mostly useless.
At best, saluting?
Even that: crisp as private first class, sloppy shape-only by corporal.
"Basic drill: unified army movements."
Translation: outdated and inefficient.
"Watch skilled instructors demo. Instructors, positions."
Thud! Thud! Thud!
A red-bereted instructor robot-marched to the podium.
"This is parade rest. Back straight, eyes front."
The instructor poked body parts with his stick, explaining.
"Attention: palms fully extended too."
Making suffocating perfection sound epic wasn't easy.
"Next, most-used salute. Instructor, salute front!"
"Loyalty! Honor!!!"
Ear-bursting roar—like he meant to deafen.
"Voices must hit this level. Understood?"
"YES, SIR!!!!"
Ears ringing.
Instructor nodded, satisfied, and continued.
"From front: palm and back invisible, edge only visible—proper salute."
Pointing at his own hand: dedicated.
"Rank and name next—mind on, easy. Trainee."
Stick pointed at front-row trainee.
"Yes."
"No info, dumb reply—not soldier material. From now: superiors call, give rank and name minus surname. Got it?"
"Yes, sir!!"
"You there."
Stick to second row trainee.
Please, nail it.
Prayer answered: miracle rank-name.
"Ma... Major, Barus!"
What the... fuck?
Ears deceived—not lieutenant, Major.
Most shocking rank-name in army history.
"Sigh, properly deranged. Trainee, front and center. Execute."
"Y-yes...?"
"Repeat and execute!!! Execute!"
"Ex... Execute!!!"
Major Barus stumbled forward.
"Drop and give."
"Drop and give!"
Barus hit the deck, hands planted.
"Hold till end. Understood?"
"Y-yes, sir!"
Instructor invisible to him, but from their angle: Barus near tears.
Pretty pathetic.
Say nonsense like lieutenant, not major. Come on.
Correct: Trainee 000, not commissioned yet.
"Next, marching..."
March, repeat commands, line-up—dozens of moves learned and practiced.
Three hours vanished.
Major Barus? Time crawled—plank till class end.
Whoosh!
Post-drill lunch, sudden downpour.
Out of nowhere.
Sunny entering mess hall; sky throwing a tantrum.
"No umbrellas—gonna get soaked back to barracks? Horrifying."
Ion shook his head, loathing the thought.
"It'll stop soon, right? These gushers are quick."
"Hope so. Cooler post-rain might ease the run."
Ion nodded.
Yeah, silver lining.
Today's heat was rough for running; rain would drop temps.
"That Major Barus bit was hilarious, right?"
Crush brought up the drill fiasco.
Honestly... yeah, funny as hell.
Who blurts Major there?
Intentional? Genius.
"Kinda, but he was pitiful. Couldn't even stand after. Hope he's okay?"
Tough build, soft heart—Derek worried.
"No hits, so probably fine. Kneeled sneaky breaks—maybe sore muscles."
No one holds plank three hours straight.
Palan saw him cheat on knees.
"Good, then."
March run scheduled, so light lunch, braved deluge back to barracks.
Soaked to the bone.
Ate slow expecting quick end—worsened instead.
This level... gotta hope.
For what? Training cancellation, obviously.