𝗙𝗔𝗧𝗔𝗟𝗜𝗧𝗜𝗘𝗦 𝗕𝗘𝗔𝗨𝗧𝗬 , 𝗔𝗢𝗧

𝟎𝟕:𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐑𝐄𝐂𝐎𝐕𝐄𝐑𝐘

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ᴀᴄʀ ᴏɴᴇ 104ᴄᴀᴅᴇᴛ

ᴄʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀ ꜱᴇᴠᴇɴ

ꜰʀɪᴇɴᴅꜱ ꜰᴏʀ ᴛᴏᴍᴏʀʀᴏᴡ

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THE SUN WAS RELENTLESS,

pouring its scorching rays down upon Morgan with an intensity that felt almost punishing. She stood there, amidst the formation of cadets, feeling as if she was simmering in her own skin. Sweat trailed down her forehead, and she fought against the primal urge to swipe it away.

Her mouth was parched and desperate for even the smallest drop of water. Time seemed to stretch and warp under the oppressive heat; Morgan had no clear sense of how long they had been standing there, but every fiber of her being screamed that it was far too long.

Her feet throbbed with the kind of pain that only comes from prolonged standing, the kind that whispers promises of relief if only she would sit down for just a moment.

As her gaze flickered across the ranks of her fellow cadets, she noted the sheer number of individuals eager to serve, to join the ranks, to be part of something greater. This was their common ground, their shared trial.

The drill instructor, circled like a hawk, his voice sharp as he corrected and admonished the cadets. Morgan counted herself fortunate that his attention had not yet zeroed in on her.

A puff of breath attempted to clear her bangs from her forehead, but they clung stubbornly, stuck by her sweat. She silently cursed herself for not heeding Jean's advice to secure her bun more tightly. It sagged at the nape of her neck.

The length of her hair had become a silent concern. It had been ages since she had last cut it, and now it hung long and chaotic. Jean's comments on her hair echoed in her memory, ironic considering his own preference for short hair.

Then, a voice cut through the haze of heat and tension.

"Connie Springer from the Ragako Village in Wall Rose's southern district, sir!"

"You have it backward, Connie Springer."

Morgan's heart skipped as her eyes darted to the periphery, resisting the urge to turn her head fully towards the exchange. The knot of anxiety in her stomach tightened; she hadn't bothered to remember the instructor's name, and now the possibility of being called upon next was a looming threat. She could only hope that her mental prayers would be enough to keep his scrutiny at bay, just a little longer.

Connie dangled, swinging slightly, his face contorted as drool escaped the corner of his mouth. His cheeks were compressed under the firm grip of the bald man. Connie's head bore the signs of a recent shave, with tiny hairs just beginning to emerge on the otherwise smooth scalp.