Winter mornings always make people want to stay wrapped in their warm beds, refusing to get up.
Unfortunately, reality is often cruel.
Boom—Boom—Boom!
A series of deafening bells echoed through the barracks, followed by a sharp whistle that jolted the sleeping recruits awake. Most of them looked confused at first, but quickly remembered:
They were no longer civilians.
They were now Training Corps recruits—soldiers.
"Levington! Get up, or you'll be late!" Ellis shook his friend hard, his face full of anxiety.
Before bed last night, the dormitory manager's warning had echoed in his mind:
"Anyone late to morning assembly runs five laps around the square."
One lap was 1,000 meters. Five laps? That was 5,000 meters—basically a death sentence in the cold.
The entire dormitory was in chaos. Everyone scrambled to throw on clothes, desperate to avoid punishment.
At the door, the person in charge couldn't help but shake his head.
This was the worst batch of recruits he'd ever seen.
Of course, there was one exception.
His gaze landed on the empty bed next to Levington, where the sheets were perfectly folded and the pillow was neatly placed. His eyes reflected a mix of surprise and admiration.
That recruit had been fully dressed an hour before assembly, already outside the dormitory eating breakfast and running laps in the cold.
He should still be running right now.
"His physical fitness is terrifying," the supervisor thought. "But more than that, it's the look in his eyes—so desperate, so determined. Why would a fourteen-year-old fight so hard? This is a peaceful era..."
At that moment, in the Training Corps square—
"Huff… Huff…"
Running in winter was more than just physical training. It was a test of willpower. Every breath felt like swallowing thorns, scraping down his throat.
Ronan had no idea how many laps he'd run by now. Even with his improved physical condition, he was exhausted. Steam rose from his body as sweat drenched his clothes, dripping onto the frozen ground.
But he gritted his teeth and pushed through the last lap.
As he walked slowly to catch his breath, a familiar system voice chimed in his mind:
"Ding! Winter running completed—13,002.356 meters. Willpower +1, Endurance +1."
Many people fear hard work—not because they're lazy, but because they're afraid of failure. They're afraid of effort without reward.
But for Ronan, it was different.
He smiled knowingly. He loved this feeling—the certainty that sweat led to strength, that pain led to progress. His system guaranteed it.
This made him even more motivated.
The other recruits, now gathering at the square, watched him in silence.
"This guy is a freak!" someone whispered.
"He's seriously happy to torture himself like this? Running in the middle of winter? Is he insane?"
But Ronan ignored the whispers. He walked over to Ellis and the others, greeted them casually, and stood in line waiting for the instructor.
Today, Erwin Smith did not appear. Instead, a middle-aged man in a drill instructor's uniform arrived.
"I am Klaus Radner, your direct instructor. I'll be in charge of your training from now on."
As he spoke, Klaus scanned the recruits with sharp, hawk-like eyes. When his gaze landed on the latecomers—those standing awkwardly to the side—his expression turned cold.
"After seeing you today, I'm extremely disappointed. So many people were late to the first assembly. The Training Corps has rules."
His tone was harsh and unforgiving.
"Each of you who was late—run five laps immediately. No breakfast until you're done. Everyone else is dismissed. After breakfast, training begins!"
With that, Klaus turned on his heel and walked away.
But before leaving, Ronan noticed Klaus's eyes lingered on him for a few extra seconds, a meaningful glance that spoke volumes.
"Looks like Erwin gave him some instructions…"
As Klaus Radner walked off, Ronan's gaze naturally drifted to the back of his bald head.
Touching his own thick hair, Ronan silently thanked the heavens.
"At least I still have my hair."
The latecomers had no choice. With empty stomachs and heavy hearts, they started running their punishment laps.
---
The Training Corps was the foundation of all three military branches—the Survey Corps, the Garrison Corps, and the Military Police. Its training program was intense and complex, but everything taught here was vital.
The curriculum included:
Logistics marches (endurance training)
Equestrian lessons
Military lectures
Equipment assembly
Swordsmanship and hand-to-hand combat
And most importantly: Three-Dimensional Maneuver Gear (ODM gear) training
Learning to use the ODM gear was the first major hurdle for new recruits.
It required incredible balance and precise body control. You had to maintain stability while being pulled by two cables at high speed. If you couldn't do that, you had no place in the military.
Whether you joined the Survey Corps, the Garrison, or the Military Police, the 3D maneuver gear was standard equipment.
Failure meant elimination.
Knowing this, the recruits were nervous. If they couldn't pass this phase, everything they'd done so far would be meaningless.
In the middle of this tense atmosphere, Ronan stepped forward.
Without hesitation, he was the first to go on stage.