Arin walked back to his assigned quarters with heavy footsteps, the echoes of the earlier fight still pounding inside his skull. The memory of that last punch—how easily he lost control, how much power surged through him—made his fist tremble. He glanced down at his hand. Slight bruising. Not from being hit…
From being stopped.

“…too close,” he muttered.

Perin, the strange lion-bear creature, was curled up in his hoodie pouch, softly snoring with a tiny whistle noise that sounded like a squeaky toy. Arin gave it a light flick on the forehead.
“Hey. Don’t snore like an old man.”
Perin snorted, rolled over, and drooled on his shirt in retaliation.

By the time they got back to the small room, the sky was already turning deep blue. Arin threw himself on the bed with a dull thud. Perin jumped onto his chest, circled three times for absolutely no reason, and plopped down like a fluffy rock.

“…You know,” Arin whispered, staring at the ceiling. “I don’t even understand myself. What am I?”

No answer came—except for Perin farting quietly in his sleep.
“…Bro.”

Exhaustion dragged him under faster than he expected.

Knock knock knock!

Arin groaned awake with messy hair. After yesterday’s chaos, he half-expected someone to shout at him or recruit him into a secret experiment again—but no. Silence. Only a small note under the door:

“Be at the MEU training arena by 9 AM. – Commander Aisha
P.S. Don’t be late again.”

Arin yawned, stretched, then looked at Perin.

“…You need a bath.”

Perin blinked at him like, No I don’t.
“Yes. You stink like fried socks.”
Perin dramatically flopped sideways like he had been mortally wounded.
“Stop acting. Let’s go.”

The next ten minutes were absolute chaos.

Perin refused to get into the bath.
Arin chased him around the room.
Perin clung to the ceiling like a koala-ninja.
Water splashed EVERYWHERE.
A shampoo bottle was used like a weapon.
In the end, Arin had to bribe him with a piece of leftover bread.

Perin sat in the bathtub with a dead-eyed expression, foamy ears sticking sideways.
“You look ridiculous,” Arin laughed.
Perin splashed water into his face.

But after the bath, Perin’s fur was extra fluffy like a tiny cloud. He proudly climbed onto Arin’s shoulder with majestic swagger, as if he had just survived war.

Arin wore the MEU-issued coat, simple but comfortable. It had his new temporary ID stitched:

ARIN – TEMPORARY RECRUIT

He whispered to himself, testing the name again.
“Arin… yeah. That’s me now.”

The morning streets were slowly waking up. People were sweeping storefronts, some were preparing stalls. Arin noticed everyone wearing different colored badges—rank, profession, or unit maybe.

Perin sniffed the air from his shoulder, tail wagging slightly.

That’s when Arin stopped.

He saw a man holding a round piece of bread stuffed with a golden fried patty. Steam rose from it, and beside him, a bottle of bright red sauce sat open.

“What… is that?” Arin asked like a caveman discovering fire.

The stall owner, a cheerful man with a band tied around his head, turned. “This? Brother, this is the legendary city-saver! The soul of the streets! The undefeated champion of breakfast! VADA PAV!”

“Wada… paw?” Arin repeated, confused.

“Vada PAV,” the man corrected with passion. “Only half piece for 10 Grams. Try it—you’ll ascend to another realm.”

Arin gave him the money. The man prepared it with flair, slapped the patty inside the bread, poured spicy sauce like it was sacred nectar.

Arin took a bite.

His eyes widened.

“…Oh… oh… WHAT IS THIS MAGIC?!”

Perin also demanded a bite with aggressive squeaks.

Arin nodded, mouth full. “Yamee… very tasty… I never eat… thing like this before…”

The seller leaned forward smugly. “First Vada Pav, then addiction, then loyalty.”

Arin gave a thumbs-up with sauce on his cheek.

Full stomach, slightly nervous, and Perin sitting proudly like a battle-captain on his shoulder, Arin stood before the massive metal doors of the training arena.

He inhaled once.First training session… let’s see how bad this gets.

The arena grounds were already buzzing when I arrived. Soldiers from various units were training, sparring, calibrating weapons, or just watching with folded arms. I stood there awkwardly for a moment, unsure where to go next. Then I heard footsteps behind me.
It was Aisha, arms folded, expression unreadable.

“About yesterday…” she said, eyes briefly shifting away. “I may have… pushed too aggressively.”

I shrugged. “It’s fine. Wasn’t your fault.”
(Yes, it was, I thought.)

Aisha exhaled slightly, annoyed at herself more than me. “As for the man who stopped you — his name is Om Sai. Top combat authority in this region.”

A slight pause.

“He doesn’t usually step in,” she added quietly. “So take that however you want.”

“Why is he involved in my training?” I asked.

“Because someone made a request for a private evaluation… for you,” she said. “Go. He’s waiting.”

She stepped aside and nodded toward a separate pathway. “Your training session is in a restricted division. A special request came through. Someone wants to evaluate you personally.”

“Someone?” I repeated. “Who?”

“You’ll know when you see him,” she said, turning away. “Good luck… you’ll need it.”

I followed the path alone. The further I walked, the quieter it got. Normal training noise faded. Eventually, I reached an enclosed arena behind thick steel gates covered in hazard markings.

The door opened with a loud creak.

Inside, sitting casually on a broken combat dummy like it was a comfy chair, was the man from yesterday.

Long black hair slightly messy, sleeves rolled up, eyes half-lidded like he hadn’t taken anything seriously in years. He looked like someone who could sleep mid-battle and still win. His presence felt heavy… but also weirdly relaxed.

His head tilted slightly when he saw me.

“Ohhh,” he said lazily. “So this is the rookie musclehead who almost turned our commander into modern art.”

My lips twitched. “…Modern art?”

He smirked and jumped down from the dummy, landing with a casual thud. Only then did I notice a vicious-looking scar at the side of his neck—like deep claw marks from a massive beast. Whatever left that mark had tried to rip his throat open.

But he was still alive. Still calm. Still smirking.