"We're not honorable soldiers, and we’re not athletes who need to worry about doping tests either," said Lee Wooshin, his voice cool. "Blast Corp soldiers are supposed to be strong and fit because that’s what sells. Around here, steroid injections aren’t even considered a flaw."

"......."

"The company even has dedicated drug coaches. They mix Dbol tablets with Anadrol 50 and hand them out to the recruits. Hell, some crazy bastards even shoot up adrenaline just to get a temporary strength boost before missions."

He was faintly frowning, but his voice softened like bait. He even relaxed his stiff face, grabbing Seoryeong’s shoulder firmly, like he was trying to coax her.

"...Yeah. If you were strutting around because you were juiced up, at least it would make sense."

Then he grabbed her wrist. His body heat was so intense it startled her—it pressed into her bones, then carelessly shook her wrist, so thin it looked like nothing but skin and bone. Her arm flopped back and forth like a rag.

"I’ve been watching you, wondering what the hell you were relying on—"

Lee Wooshin smiled faintly, without a trace of expression reaching his eyes.

"Even you have to admit—it’s not normal to be climbing pull-up bars with wrists like these without steroids."

"......!"

"Just say you’re juicing."

He pressed a spot on the inside of her elbow with his fingernail. It felt like he pinned a tack into her nerve—sharp pain flared even through her sleeve.

"If the doubts are gone, I won’t need to keep observing you. I’ll lose interest. If you tell me it’s because of drugs, it’ll actually ease my mind."

"What do you mean by 'because of that'?"

"You’re different."

His gaze at her was deep and heavy.

"You’re way more dangerous and volatile than when we first met."

Seoryeong felt something strange scrape at her nerves.

The first time they met was inside the company, at best. The first real conversation they had was in the car on the way to the factory. Back then, she’d been wearing a housekeeper uniform, delivering lunchboxes—she must have seemed completely different.

Still, he murmured with the same steady posture.

"It also means there are more problems I don’t know about."

"I don’t see how keeping up with training qualifies as a problem."

"It’s going to be my problem soon."

"......."

"If Recruit Han Seoryeong doesn’t drop out."

Seated with the sun at his back, there was even a hint of compulsion in him. Normally, he acted like nothing mattered—but sometimes, like now, he would suddenly trap people like a deep, black swamp.

Was it because she was a female recruit? Or was it something else entirely?

Seoryeong narrowed her eyes, unsettled.

"Anyway, I’m not using drugs."

"That’s unfortunate."

A flash of sharpness skimmed across his face.

"But you do have something you trust."

This was what made him so uncomfortable to deal with. He was annoyingly good at making people talk—and in front of him, Seoryeong found herself loosening her guard in all the worst ways.

Maybe it was because their first meeting had been a mess, their second had involved the smell of raw eggs, their third had her killing a man live on comms, and now she was showing him every pathetic side of herself.

Sometimes, even things she hadn’t meant to say would tumble out.

"I’ve had impulse control issues since I was a kid."

It was always toward people who scratched at her nerves the way he did, that she showed the worst parts of herself.

It was the exact opposite of what her old teachers had drilled into her. But somehow, she wanted to make mistakes in front of him. She wanted to deliberately show him her flaws—wanted to make him disappointed and lose interest.

Every time she wanted to defeat him, she ended up using herself as a weapon. And when she broke her old rules, it somehow felt perversely good.

"That’s why even now, I’m not really afraid of much. Pain doesn’t bother me. Hurting others doesn’t bother me either. I always figured, at some point in my life... I’d probably kill someone."

"......!"

"I just ended up doing it a little earlier than expected."

She lowered her voice as if sharing a secret.

"That’s what I believe in."

Seoryeong casually tapped the front of his uniform as she spoke. Lee Wooshin didn’t flinch, didn’t even glance at where she touched him—he kept his focus glued to her.

"I’m not afraid of anything. Except for my husband."

"......."

"I survived all that gymnastics training when I was a kid. This shitty training is nothing compared to that."

For the first time, Lee Wooshin furrowed his brows slowly, like he was genuinely hearing something new. Of course it would be the first time—she’d never told anyone before.

"When you were a kid?"

"Yeah."

"How young?"

"Uh..."

Seoryeong trailed off, then hesitated. When... exactly had it started?

Ah. She first wore a gymnastics uniform in late elementary school. But she formally joined a team and competed starting in middle school. She frowned slightly. So why had she instinctively said "very young"?

A flicker of discomfort rose in her chest—but it was soon smoothed over by the clear memories of her middle school gymnastics days. Probably just a slip of the tongue.

"So, those injections you were talking about—do they really make you stronger?"

Seoryeong asked casually, as if she wasn’t switching topics. Lee Wooshin immediately stiffened, as if he realized he’d said too much.

He straightened his knees and turned his back on her.

"Where can I get some? Which floor of the building...?"

"Don’t even think about it. Just stick to vitamins."

"But you said it’s not even a big deal for people in this line of work."

Lee Wooshin walked away, looking like he had a headache.

"Instructor...!"

She called after him, almost pitifully, but he just waved a hand lazily, not even looking back.

After that, when morning training ended, the barracks were filled with the sharp smell of menthol balm.

***

"If you get on the instructor’s bad side, you lose motivation and drop out real quick," one trainee muttered at the mess hall table, glancing at Seoryeong.

She was shoveling rice into her mouth from the first normal food tray she’d gotten in ages. Her jaw barely worked, but she kept forcing it open and closed, cramming food inside.

Suddenly, the atmosphere around her grew subdued.

When she looked up, the other trainees were all watching her with faces full of awkward pity.

"Why are you staring at me like that?"

Her words were muffled through a full mouth. The trainees quickly ducked their heads back down toward their trays.

Until recently, Seoryeong had always eaten last, scraping up whatever garbage was left.

The instructors forced them to finish their meals within five minutes, so the serving stations were always a mess. It was impossible to tell whether they were eating side dishes or food waste.

There was no concept of manners—only the demand to finish everything as quickly as possible.

Seoryeong had been choking down that trash every day. Today was one of the rare times she got a full tray, and she wasn’t about to waste time chatting. She gripped her spoon tight and shoveled rice into her mouth nonstop.

Some trainees, losing their appetite, set their spoons down—but it wasn’t even funny.

At first, they'd all treated her with cold hostility just because she was a woman. But recently, little by little, they started talking to her.

Maybe it was because the brutal training had worn down their walls—or maybe it was just mutual exhaustion and pity.

She couldn’t pinpoint exactly when it started.

Maybe it was when they watched the sun rise over the ocean together for four days straight without sleep. Shit... just remembering it made her want to curse instinctively.

She was still human. Every day, the temptation to quit gnawed at her. But every time, she shoved that feeling down along with her food.

For someone who’d vowed to endure, she was constantly on the verge of collapse. What kept her going wasn’t even Kim Hyeon anymore—it was the sheer, ugly competitiveness she felt toward Lee Wooshin, the sadistic bastard who took such pleasure in breaking people.

Now, Seoryeong ran 5km every morning. Some days, she had to live with a 4kg weight belt strapped to her waist, by his orders.

He would scatter coins and bolts across the bottom of the pool, then blow his whistle at random. The trainees had to dive down without goggles and retrieve them.

Nausea and dizziness were daily occurrences. Even the guy running beside her threw up while sprinting. The training was relentless to the point of madness.

After the runs, their feet were so swollen they couldn’t even pull their boots off without untying the laces all the way down.

Their heels, inner knees, groins—there wasn’t a single intact spot left. They crawled around like broken dolls.

If you finally gave in and crawled to the infirmary, the medic just drenched cotton balls with red disinfectant and slapped them onto your skin.

"Ugh..."

Seoryeong bit ✧ NоvеIight ✧ (Original source) down on her lip against the burning pain. Beside her, one trainee broke down into loud sobs.

"Go dry yourself out in the sun on the roof!"

The medic didn’t even bother wrapping them in bandages. He just told them to go dry off in the sunlight.