"Is it that easy?"
The recruits stared in disbelief. Lock stood suspended in the air, the two support ropes pulling against him as he balanced without the slightest tremor. Not even his shoulders wavered.
Most of them gawked as if they'd just seen a trick. But Ellis and the other two from Shiganshina remained calm. They'd already seen Lock's terrifying strength yesterday; this much was nothing to them.
"These rookies don't know anything," Ellis muttered. "For Lock, this test is child's play."
"Yeah. Lock's on another level."
Their quiet praise stung the ears of the crowd, especially the recruits who had been knocked flat by him the day before. Biting back resentment, they told themselves they would prove their worth once it was their turn. They couldn't beat him in a fight, but they'd show they weren't inferior in training.
Untying the ropes at his waist, Lock dropped back to the ground with controlled ease.
"You're Lock, right?"
The voice came from behind. He turned to see Instructor Klaus, the stern-faced officer who had replaced Erwin. For the first time, the man's eyes softened with approval.
"Very good," Klaus said, nodding once. "I look forward to seeing how far you can go."
But when the corners of Klaus's mouth twitched into what was meant to be a smile, the recruits nearby shrank back. The expression didn't suit his severe features at all—it was more frightening than reassuring. Klaus seemed to realize it, quickly restoring his hard mask.
"Next!"
Lock smirked to himself. So the man's strict on purpose, but not without some heart. His eyes drifted toward the equipment racks at the edge of the training grounds. Among them was the thing he'd been waiting for: the omnidirectional mobility gear.
"Instructor," Lock called out, "I want to learn how to use the gear."
Klaus's brow furrowed, irritation flashing for a moment—but then he remembered Erwin's words before leaving. His expression eased, and he turned to his assistant.
"John. Take him."
"Yes, sir."
The assistant, a lean soldier with sharp eyes, motioned Lock to follow. "This way. Let's see what you've got."
"Thanks," Lock replied simply.
John gave a thin smile. "Don't thank me yet. Wait until you earn it."
Privately, he scoffed. Another arrogant rookie. They all think talent alone will let them master this machine. Every year, some 'genius' tries to skip the basics and ends up eating dirt. One even broke his leg a couple of years back. Lock will be no different.
The two reached the training area. Rows of freshly polished omnidirectional gear sat ready, steam canisters hissing faintly in the cold morning air.
John began explaining, his voice clipped but thorough. "This is standard issue for all corps. It allows us to fight in three dimensions, using grappling anchors and compressed gas for propulsion. The principle's simple: trigger fires the anchor, gas powers the reels, and you control the trajectory with waist, legs, and balance. But knowing the theory isn't enough—you'll face unexpected problems every second in real combat. That's where most recruits fail."
Lock listened quietly, strapping on the harness piece by piece. The weight settled across his hips and shoulders, heavy but not overwhelming. He ran a hand across the twin handles at his sides, memorizing the feel.
John crossed his arms. "Alright. We'll start slow. Don't touch the trigger yet—"
He didn't finish.
There was a sharp hiss—pfft!—and in an instant Lock was gone, blasting forward with frightening speed. One heartbeat, he stood before John, the next, he was a streak vanishing into the air above the training ground.
John's jaw dropped. "What the—?!"
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