Appointing Myself Training Officer
We arrived at the tent used by 1st Platoon. They'd slapped together something resembling a bed frame out of wooden planks—impressive, in a pathetic sort of way. The hygiene was so abysmal, you'd catch something nasty just from half a day's exposure. This was a total shithole of an environment that made basic training feel downright luxurious.
My irritation spiked 300%. Rostador, though, kept shooting sharp glances at me and Coren. Should I just kill the bastard...?
"This is your bed. Looks like some of the previous owner's stuff is still hanging around."
He pointed to two rickety planks in the corner—the same beds Captain Johnson had mentioned earlier, the ones used by the dead soldiers.
Next to the bed was a pile of random junk. There was even a black-and-white photo of a guy and a girl. Probably mementos that should've gone back home with the corpses. The woman in the photo was likely his girlfriend.
What an ugly fucking bitch. No wonder the guy had no will to survive with a girlfriend like that.
"Alright, time to start cleaning the barracks. It's the most basic job for newbies."
"Yes, sir!"
Coren snapped a crisp salute and got right to scrubbing the place. But where the hell were the cleaning supplies? As Coren scanned around, Rostador snorted derisively.
"You aren't seriously looking for tools like you did back at basic, are you? No fancy supplies make it out to a remote rock like this. We're barely getting weapons, ammo, and rations as it is. So we clean by hand."
"Ah, got it!"
Coren started cleaning with his bare hands, sorting the scattered junk and brushing off the dust buildup.
Coren, this little shit, had always been a beast at cleaning back in training. That's why I'd kept him around as my personal gofer. Lucky for me we got posted together.
"What about you? Not gonna pitch in?"
Rostador growled at me in a menacing tone, like some feral beast. I folded my arms behind my back and shot back.
"This guy's got it covered for me. Same as in basic."
"......A real comedian just rolled in."
A cold sneer escaped him as he stepped right up to me.
Rostador's hands shot out to grab my collar. To me, it was slow-motion footage. I just leaned back casually, dodging him clean.
"......The fuck was that?"
"Haha. That was just my afterimage, y'know?"
"Crazy motherfucker. Never thought we'd get a total psycho like you. Or maybe that's exactly why they sent you."
Rostador glared like he wanted to murder me, but if things went south, he'd be the one dying—not me. Without the retry system, both his arms would've been gone by now at minimum.
Nah, I could probably take this one out without issues. So far, retries only kicked in for big plot-shakers,
Stuff like killing an instructor in basic or offing an officer on the ship to spark a mutiny. Come to think of it, secretly murdering a fellow trainee back in basic hadn't triggered one.
Maybe grunts are fair game to kill?
I wasn't sure where offing a comrade on the front lines fell. Outright murder would probably retry for sure, but sneaky? Might slide.
Hmm. Retrying here means reliving that shitty transport ship hell again. Tough call.
As I mulled killing him or not, the bastard dropped into a boxer's stance and lunged. His jab toward my jaw was textbook—guy must've boxed in civvie life. Still useless against me.
I slipped his punch effortlessly. Coren, mid-clean, let out a shriek.
"Eeeek!"
"You little shit!"
After whiffing twice, Rostador lost it and charged like a rabid animal, arms flailing. Easier to dodge now that it was so telegraphed. I toyed with him like a matador.
"Haha! Where you aiming, huh!? That's just my af-ter-i-ma-ge!"
"You fucking dog! I'll smash you!"
His roar drew other soldiers into the tent.
"What the hell!? Rostador! What's going on!?"
They gawked at the berserk bull that was Rostador and my effortless dodges. He finally collapsed from exhaustion.
"Huff...! Huff...! Huff...!"
"Not as tough as you look, lightweight."
I mocked him right to his face. His fists trembled with rage. Captain Johnson stormed in, alerted by the commotion.
"Hey! What the fuck is this!?"
"Grr! Captain! This psycho shit!"
"What? What happened?"
He glanced between us. Rostador spat out his side, fuming. I stared him down as he tattled.
"Dos. That true, what Sergeant Rostador said?"
"Yeah, probably. But he conveniently skipped how he flopped around like a bitch. Kinda the key part, no?"
Rostador's eyebrow twitched beside me. He looked ready to lunge again, but Johnson held him back. One more charge, and I'd have cracked his skull for real.
"Sigh. Duran Dos. This is the army. Not the civvie world you know. Hell, even there, no one acts like you. Daddy a big shot or something?"
"Nah, not really. Just an Army Major General, that's all."
I lied without batting an eye. The room erupted.
"......Impersonating military is a crime. You know that?"
"But it's true."
No way to verify out here anyway. Even if busted, no quest rule against lying.
Wonder if it hits reputation?
Johnson sighed at my response, shaking his head at Rostador.
"Rostador. Cool your head. We got a wild card newbie."
"Grr! I'll whip him into shape!"
"Sigh. Wish I could send him back... but with the situation, no choice. You're on it."
Day one on post, and I was branded the ultimate fuck-up. Not wrong, though.
My barefaced lie surprisingly stuck. After the shitshow, no one fucked with me. Johnson just shook his head, and even bull-boy Rostador swallowed his rage and slunk by quietly.
What a joke. Falling for that bullshit showed how lax this outfit was. Night fell.
"Sergeant Rostador. Time for that tonight, right?"
"Already that late, huh."
"But is it cool? That psycho said his dad's a general."
"You believe that? Why would a general's kid end up on this front?"
"Didn't a Navy admiral's daughter die on a combat ship? Army's no different."
"Sergeant, that guy's just a psycho. We ignoring him?"
"Nah. Freaks like him need discipline most. Breaks 'em quick."
The vets whispered their cryptic bullshit. I lounged on my plank bed; Coren sat ramrod straight.
"Coren."
"Yessir! You called, Private Dos?"
"Chill the fuck out. Lie down. You're making me tense."
"B-but the vets are glaring..."
"Am I not a vet? My word mean shit?"
"......You're my peer, Private Dos..."
True enough.
"Hey, you two newbies. Over here. Newbie initiation time."
Newbie initiation?
One vet dropped a word that soured the air just hearing it. Nothing good.
Smirks crept over some faces—rotten, shit-eating grins. They were plotting something stupid.
"Gotta pass this to be our comrades. You won't chicken out, right?"
"Of course not!"
Coren boomed back.
"Heh. You're an A-grade newbie with some brains, unlike your buddy. Good. First, strip naked."
I couldn't believe my ears. What?
"S-say that again...?"
Coren echoed me. The guy who'd been primed to bolt seconds ago actually questioned it.
"Move your asses! Our initiation is..."
"Jerking off naked in front of the vets."
"Got your family photos?"
"Heh. Sister or big sis pics are prime."
"Don't forget to cum on 'em. We keep going till you hit."
War drives men mad—spot on. This was the living absurdity of the battlefield.
"Why the fuck do you gay shits wanna watch other guys jack off?"
I shot up, incredulous. My killing intent flared; the vets flinched back.
"Th-this is our platoon's tradition! A rite to check if warriors can roll through bullet hell!"
"Bullshit. This gay-ass tradition? This a jerk-off unit? I was gonna play nice, but you faggots? Can't stomach it."
Barracks bullshit weakens combat power. I, Baek Jaesung, can't tolerate contradictions like this. For a better world, I'll sacrifice this body to purge the nonsense.
"Psycho! Talking back to superiors!?"
"Never had a faggot superior. You're my subordinates, faggots."
Reminded me of Tevez from Solari World—real soldier with his head on straight. Comparing these shitstains to him was an insult to Tevez.
"Old saying: Beat the salted fish and fags every three days. Fine, it's settled. Duran Dos hereby takes over as 1st Platoon's training officer. Class starts now."