A week passed, and Benimaru found himself sitting at the back of a large lecture hall. The room was set up like a stadium, with rows of seats descending toward a wide platform at the front. A massive chalkboard dominated the wall behind it, already covered in neat, precise handwriting.
Standing in front of the room behind a desk was an older man who had a sharp, angular mustache that tilted down slightly and slicked-back black hair with streaks of gray running through it. A cigarette dangled from his lips, smoke curling lazily upward as he talking about something, but he wasn't exactly sure what since he wasn't listening. He wore what looked like a dark suit jacket over a white collared shirt, the top button undone in a way that suggested he didn't much care for formality despite his professional appearance.
Benimaru rubbed at his arm as it felt incredibly sore. Matter of fact, his whole body felt like it was going to fall off from the ridiculous soreness he was feeling. Instructor Voss was literally killing them with the amount of physical training he was doing. Which from a realistic standpoint should've killed him already, but somehow he was fine.
But also between his physical conditioning, he'd been shuffled into various classrooms with other instructors who taught lessons on navigation, basic first aid, Marine regulations and protocol, weapons maintenance, pirate identification, and even fundamentals like reading and writing. If anything, it was just like being in school, albeit in a different way.
The fact that they were learning how to read and write had honestly surprised him at first. But then he'd realized that in this world, not everybody had access to education. Plenty of people, especially those from smaller islands or poorer regions, never learned to read or write beyond recognizing their own name. The Marines didn't just recruit from academies and wealthy families; they pulled in people from all walks of life, and that meant bringing everyone up to a baseline standard.
Which also meant tests, which even in his new life he still hated. Although it makes sense from a practical standpoint. The Marines couldn't afford to have soldiers who couldn't read mission briefings or fill out incident reports.
But Benimaru mainly didn't pay much attention to this particular class. Most of the information being covered was pretty useless to him since they were basic stuff he already knew or had no real value in the long run. He already basically knew everything he'd need to know for now, at least when it came to this subject.
"As part of your development as Marine recruits," The instructor said in a increasingly louder tone that caught Benimaru's attention, "you'll be assigned to teams that will work alongside active-duty Marine officers on actual cases."
That got everyone's attention, as a few recruits sat up straighter in their seats.
"Now, before anyone gets excited," he continued, holding up a hand, "these will be low-level assignments. Nothing dangerous or overly important. Think patrol duty, minor theft investigations, assistance with paperwork and evidence cataloging, crowd control at public events...basic support work. Your job isn't to solve cases or apprehend criminals. Your job is to follow along with the Marine officers assigned to you, observe how they operate, and help however you can."
He began pacing along the front of the room.
"The purpose of this assignment is to give you real-world experience outside of the base as a marine. It also teaches you how to work as part of a unit and follow the chain of command in actual field conditions. And, it exposes you to the kind of day-to-day work that Marines actually do..."
He stopped and turned to face them.
"Each team will consist of two to three recruits and will be paired with one or two Marine officers depending on the assignment. You'll report to them, take orders from them, and they'll evaluate your performance. These evaluations will factor into your overall assessment as recruits. Perform well, and it reflects positively on your record...Slack off or cause problems, and it will be noted."
Benimaru glanced around the room and could see most of the recruits looked either nervous or excited, some combination of both. But he wasn't necessarily worried, since the assignment didn't seem that hard.
But... it could be used to his advantage.
"You'll be doing these field assignments twice a week for the next couple of months," the instructor continued. "The rest of your time will still be dedicated to physical training, combat drills, and basic Marine adequate. This is supplementary experience, not a replacement for your core training regimen."
He then went to pick up a stack of papers from his desk.
"Teams will be announced at the end of this week...Remember, you'll be representing the Marines in public, even if you're not officially enlisted yet... Act accordingly."
Troy leaned over slightly, whispering from where he sat right beside Benimaru. The rest of their group, were scattered nearby in the rows. "You guys wanna team up?" Troy said with a cheeky smile on his face, his voice low enough that he thought only they could hear.
Benimaru was about to answer when the instructor's eyes snapped directly to their section of the room.
"Of course," he said, her tone making it clear she'd heard exactly what Troy had said, "you'll be paired at random to build chemistry with other recruits. We don't want anybody teaming up with their friends. The point is to learn how to work with people you don't already know and trust. In the field, you won't always get to choose your squad mates."
Troy's smile disappeared immediately, replaced by a look of disappointment and he slumped back in his seat. "damn..."
A few scattered mummers rippled through the classroom, though they died quickly when the instructor's gaze swept across the room.
"Any other questions?" she asked.
. . . .
"Good, now let's move o—..."
🔔DRRRRRRRRRIIIINNNNGGGG!!!🔔
Suddenly a bell rang out through the room, cutting through the instructor's words mid-sentence. Immediately, everybody in the lecture hall stood up, chairs scraping against the floor as they all headed toward the mess hall. It was lunch time, and the collective energy in the room shifted from drowsy boredom to barely contained hunger.
Immediately Troy shot up from his seat like a rocket. "Beni! Let's go, bro! I'm trying to be first in line today... I heard they're serving lasagna." Troy said, rubbing at his stomach as he licked the corner of his lips. He could already imagine the lasagna touching the tip of his tongue, that perfect combination of cheese, sauce, and pasta that made mess hall food actually worth eating.
Benimaru stood up, stretching his sore shoulders. "Lasagna sounds pretty good right about now."
"Hell yeah it does," Reina said from the row in front of them. "Better than whatever meat they served yesterday."
"That wasn't meat. That was an insult to food everywhere," Marcus added with a disgusted look as he joined them in the aisle.
Kai simply nodded in agreement, not saying anything as usual. He wasn't much of a talker, but his expression made it clear he shared Marcus's sentiment about yesterday's meal.
They made their way through the crowded hallways, joining the stream of recruits all heading in the same direction. The mess hall was already packed by the time they arrived, with lines forming at the serving stations.
"So much for being first in line," Benimaru said, eyeing the crowd ahead of them.
Troy groaned. "Man, I swear half these people teleported here or something."
"You're just slow," Reina teased, falling into line behind them.
"I'm not slow! The hallway was packed. What was I supposed to do, parkour over everyone?"
"Would've been faster," Marcus said with a slight grin.
Troy shot him a look. "You know what? Next time, I'm doing exactly that. I'll run on the walls if I have to."
"Please do...I want to see Instructor Voss's face when you get written up for that," Reina said.
Troy trembled at the thought. "Yeeeaaahhh....I'm good." he said brushing off to the side.
. . . .
Ten minutes later, they were still standing in line, barely having moved forward.
Troy grabbed at his hair and groaned dramatically. "Can they hurry up this damn line already!" he yelled out angrily, swinging a hand through the air in frustration.
And as he did, his hand knocked into a tray belonging to someone walking past them. The plate went flying out of the guy's hands, flipping through the air before clattering to the floor with a loud crash. Lasagna splattered across the ground in a messy heap of cheese, sauce, and pasta.
The entire cafeteria seemed to go quiet for a second.
And as he did, his hand knocked into a tray belonging to someone walking past them—a recruit who'd already gotten his food. The plate went flying out of the guy's hands, flipping through the air before clattering to the floor with a loud crash. Lasagna splattered across the ground in a messy heap of cheese, sauce, and pasta.
The entire cafeteria seemed to go quiet for a second.
The man was a tall, skinny guy with perfectly styled blonde hair and a face that screamed "I've never worked a day in my life." He wore his Marine training uniform like it was designer clothing, somehow managing to make the standard-issue shirt and pants look almost pressed and pristine despite everyone else looking worn down from training. His posture was rigid, and his chin was tilted up slightly in that way people did when they thought they were better than everyone around them.
Behind him stood three other recruits, all with similar clean-cut appearances and that same air of superiority. Which Benimaru assumed was his little posse, of spoiled brats.
The blonde guy stared down at the tray of food splattered across the floor, his face twisting into an expression of pure disgust and outrage. "Are you fucking kidding me?!" he snapped, his voice sharp and grating. "Do you have any idea what you just did?"
Troy held up his hands. "Yo, my bad, man. It was an accident—"
"An accident?" The noble recruit's voice got louder, drawing more attention from the surrounding tables. "An accident?! You're telling me you're so incompetent you can't even stand in a line without destroying other people's property?"
Troy's expression tightened slightly, but he kept his cool. "Look bro, I said I'm sorry. You can just take my plate when I get mine, it's fine."
Instantly, the noble's eyes shot up, his face contorting with rage. "Don't call me 'bro'! I'm not your bro!...You're a filthy slum dweller! How dare you drop my food with your careless, peasant hands!"
The words hung in the air for a moment.
Troy's brow instantly furrowed and his smile completely disappeared from his face. His whole demeanor shifted in a heartbeat. "What did you just say to me?" His voice dropped lower. "I'll beat your ass right here, right now!"
The noble recruit kissed his teeth dismissively and crossed his arms. "Please. You wouldn't dare lay a hand on me. Do you have any idea who my father is? One word from me and you'll be scrubbing toilets until—"
"I don't give a damn who your daddy is!" Troy stepped forward, his fists clenching into a tight ball.
Benimaru felt his own annoyance flaring up. This guy was really starting to piss him off with his entitled attitude, even though Troy had apologized. He opened his mouth to say something—
But before he could get a word out, Marcus stepped between the two groups.
And suddenly, both sides hesitated.
Marcus was big, not just tall, but built like he'd been training his entire life. His broad shoulders and thick arms made him look more like an instructor than a recruit, and when he planted himself between Troy and the noble, it was like watching a wall materialize out of nowhere. He didn't say anything at first, just stood there with his arms crossed, his expression calm but firm.
There wasn't much either group could do when the man was bigger than both of them combined.
The noble actually took half a step back, his eyes widening slightly as he had to crane his neck up to meet Marcus's stare.
Benimaru took the opportunity to speak up. "Everyone needs to calm down. It was an accident. Nobody needs to fight over spilled food."
The noble's attention snapped to Benimaru, and he sneered. "This doesn't concern you—"
"It does now," Benimaru said flatly. "Troy apologized. You can either accept it, or you can take it up with Instructor Voss. I'm sure he'd love to hear about recruits fighting in the mess hall...over food."
Marcus didn't say anything, but for some reason that made him even more intimidating.
The mention of Voss seemed to give the noble pause. His jaw worked for a second, clearly weighing his options. His eyes darted between Benimaru, Marcus, and Troy's still-angry face.
One of his posse members leaned in and whispered something in his ear.
The noble's face twisted with a barely suppressed anger, but after a moment, he stepped back. "Fine. But you—" he pointed at Troy, "—stay out of my way from now on. Trash like you shouldn't even be here."
He turned on his heel and stalked off, his little group trailing behind him like obedient dogs.
Troy looked like he wanted to chase after him, his whole body still tense with anger. "That spoiled piece of—"
"Let it go," Benimaru said quietly. "It's not worth it."
Marcus placed a hand on Troy's shoulder in agreement.
Troy exhaled sharply through his nose, still glaring at the noble's back. "Yeah... yeah, you're right."
Benimaru honestly wanted to punch that guy's face in for some reason. Partially because he was annoying as hell, but he also hated people who were spoiled, greedy, never had to work a day in their life and still had the audacity to be so demanding. He hated them in his past life and he still hated them now.
Plus, he had a really punchable face..
Reina shook her head. "What a bitch..."
Kai just frowned, his silence somehow conveying exactly what he thought about the situation.
. . . .
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