MIGHT AS WELL BE OP-Chapter 379: Bond [Ko-Fi Bonus - ]

Another month quietly passed, signifying the eleventh month of their relentless military training.

Only one final month remained before they would ascend to the next military rank, a step closer to becoming true soldiers.

Throughout the past month, their focus had been solely on rigorous hand to hand combat training.

Corporal Samuel ensured that every lesson was etched into their very bones, forging instinct through repetition and pain.

Though none of them had miraculously transformed into masters overnight, the training had given them exactly what mattered most.

Enough skill to survive when death loomed near.

Enough technique to seize a fleeting chance at escape.

Enough precision to catch their enemies unprepared.

It was 3:00 AM, and despite the early hour, several recruits clad in their familiar orange uniforms were already gathered within the cafeteria, quietly collecting their meals.

The hardened, battle ready expressions they wore so naturally on the training grounds had long since faded.

This space was different.

This was their sanctuary, a place untouched by the demands of discipline and survival.

Here, within these walls, they shed their soldier's facade and returned, if only briefly, to their ordinary selves.

The atmosphere buzzed with a quiet energy, soft laughter, hushed conversations, and the subtle ease of camaraderie filled the air.

After eleven grueling months of enduring hardship together, of waking, training, and fighting side by side, many of them had forged bonds deeper than mere friendship.

They were no longer just recruits; they had become something closer to family.

The tension and prejudice that once simmered between races had all but faded over the passing months, a result of the military's relentless effort to crush such divisions from within their ranks.

It was a lesson driven deep into each and every recruit, until unity became second nature.

Laughter echoed intermittently through the cafeteria, light and fleeting, yet genuine.

Some men could be seen casually flirting with the few women scattered among them, their words clumsy but earnest.

Others sat in quiet solitude, eating alone, with no companions to share in their laughter, a silent reminder that not all bonds were easily formed.

At a table not far from the center of the cafeteria, a small group of recruits, each from different races and backgrounds, sat huddled together, deep in casual conversation.

"Hard to believe it's almost been a year since we got here"

One of them remarked, his voice tinged with quiet disbelief.

"No kidding"

Another added with a small chuckle.

"Honestly, I've kinda gotten used to this building... this cafeteria... this routine"

A third scoffed lightly, his tone sharp and direct.

"Not me. I've got no plans of getting comfortable like the rest of you. I just want this training to end next month so I can get out there, start going on missions, start climbing the ranks"

"Man, can you live in the moment for once?"

Another replied with a shake of his head.

"The future's not gonna knock on your door just because you dream about it a million times"

"Let him be"

Someone else muttered with a faint grin.

"Everyone's got their own way of getting through this place"

A brief pause settled over them, until one of the recruits lowered his voice, leaning in slightly.

"I heard from one of the Corporals... out of all the recruits that make it through training, more than half don't survive their first year in the field after promotion"

His words struck like a silent detonation, a sharp, invisible bomb that robbed the table of sound.

The easy atmosphere evaporated, leaving behind only a heavy stillness, as each of them sat quietly with their own thoughts, staring, perhaps, at a future not nearly as distant as it once seemed.

None of them were fools.

They had all heard the whispers, the same rumor that had slithered its way through the barracks like smoke.

No one knew exactly where it had started, or who had first spoken it aloud, but it spread all the same, like all things born from fear and uncertainty.

For a moment, their table remained quiet, the weight of those words lingering.

Then, a soft clearing of the throat cut cleanly through the tension, sharp enough to draw their attention.

A young woman among them, her expression calm, almost amused, broke the silence.

"No need to take those rumors so seriously"

She said, her voice steady.

"If over half the recruits didn't survive their first year, wouldn't the military be practically empty by now?"

A brief pause, then another recruit gave a small nod of agreement, a wry smile tugging at his lips.

"Fair point"

He replied.

"Whoever started that rumor clearly didn't think it through"

The mood lightened, if only slightly.

"Well"

Came a gruff voice from the edge of the table, this one belonging to a stocky dwarf, his braided beard swaying slightly as he spoke.

"I plan to join the logistics division anyway. Let the rest of you glory seekers chase after danger. I'll be moving crates and managing supplies where it's safe and quiet"

"I thought you lived for the thrill of battle"

One of them remarked with a teasing smirk, voice laced with playful mockery.

"What's with the sudden change of heart? Don't tell me that little rumor already got to you?"

The words hung in the air, drawing a few chuckles from around the table.

But the dwarf didn't flinch.

Didn't even look offended.

The logistics division was, after all, still the military.

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It wasn't some safe haven for cowards looking to run from the frontlines.

The logistics corps handled everything behind the scenes, rune inscription, weapon crafting, armor forging, healing arts, potion brewing, and a dozen other essential roles.

They were the invisible backbone of every soldier's survival.

Without them, war would grind to a halt.

Soldiers could charge into battle without hesitation only because they knew someone was ensuring their weapons wouldn't shatter mid fight, their potions wouldn't run dry, and their wounds wouldn't go untreated.

But being in logistics didn't excuse anyone from the harsh reality of military life.

No matter your mana rank.

No matter your background.

No matter your achievements.

It was an ironclad law, one set in stone long before any of them were born:

Every single person, regardless of their future role, had to endure one full year of brutal, unforgiving military training.

No exceptions. No shortcuts.

Even Anthony, the genius who had claimed first place in a galaxy-level competition, was no different.

His fame, his accolades, his overwhelming talent, none of it had earned him a free pass.

The military didn't care for trophies.

They cared for discipline.

So when the dwarf heard the taunt, he simply shrugged, his voice calm and firm.

"I just feel like I can help more people working from behind the scenes"

He said without hesitation.

The others exchanged knowing glances, faint grins tugging at their lips.

They didn't buy it. Not entirely.

But they respected it.

Because in this place, behind the scenes didn't mean weakness.

It just meant a different kind of strength.

Because even behind the scene requires talent.

Anthony sat quietly at the far end of the cafeteria, detached from the noise and laughter that filled the room.

He wasn't isolated, he chose to be.

Calm. Composed.

At peace with his silence.

There was a certain weightless ease about him, as if none of this chatter or noise could reach him.

But that fragile peace shattered in an instant.

A voice tore through the air like a blade through still water.

"It's already 3:30 AM!"

Conversations died mid sentence.

Laughter froze on lips.

Forks and spoons clattered softly against plates as recruits everywhere paused.

As if bound by invisible chains of discipline, every single person in the cafeteria stopped what they were doing, and stood.

Chairs scraped back in unison.

Plates were left untouched.

After months of enduring the same routine, bonds had quietly formed among the recruits, not just as comrades, but as people.

Without needing to speak it aloud, they had developed an unspoken rule:

Whenever 3:30 AM arrived, they would head to the training grounds together.

No one was left behind.

They moved as one.

By now, it was habit, ingrained into muscle and mind alike, to arrive at their designated grounds a full twenty minutes before the appointed time.

As they stepped out of the cafeteria and into the cool, silent darkness of the early morning, a subtle transformation took place.

Their laughter faded.

Their casual smiles vanished.

The flirtations, the relaxed postures, gone, like mist swept away by the rising sun.

What remained were soldiers.

Disciplined. Focused.

Sharpened like blades before battle.

Their presence shifted, backs straightened, gazes hardened, footsteps synchronized.

This was not a time for friendship or comfort.

This was military time.

Anthony walked alongside his own group, his pace unhurried, his every step light, almost soundless.

There was a calmness about him that set him apart, not forced, not practiced, but deeply natural.

By the time they arrived at the training grounds, it was already 3:40 AM.

Without needing to be told, they each lowered themselves into a lotus position upon the cold earth, eyes shutting in perfect unison.

No words were exchanged.

No whispers dared disturb the air.

For twenty long minutes, they waited in absolute silence, still as statues, knowing full well that Corporal Samuel would arrive exactly on time.

Not a second early.

Not a second late.

And so, they sat.

Breathing in silence.

Waiting.