Five years passed.
The training grounds didn't change, but Gabriel did.
His body was stronger than before, though he didn't see it as a victory.
Endless runs through the jungle. Weighted jogging. Jumps. Crawling through mud. Push-ups until his vision blurred.
And when the body stopped responding, something else followed:
Learning how to shoot, disassemble and reassemble weapons. Then martial arts. Then beast hunting—always with the risk that one bite or one mistake could take you out for good.
There was also magic training.
A different instructor than Bart made them focus, breathe, move their hands, repeat words, control impulses.
Some trembled at first, then laughed when something finally happened.
A jet of water. A spark. A blade of wind that lifted leaves. A small block of earth barely rising off the ground.
And over time, some awakened unique abilities.
One managed to move faster for a few seconds.
Another lifted a weight he couldn't before.
There were small celebrations every time someone "awakened." Pats on the back. Smiles. Congratulations.
But Gabriel only watched from the side.
He never awakened anything.
Not a spark. Not a warm sensation in his hands. Not a strange change in his body.
Nothing.
The others moved forward, and he stayed the same.
In evaluations, his physical performance was acceptable. With weapons, average. In hand-to-hand combat, clumsy—but he had learned to endure, to guard, to take hits without going down so easily.
In beast hunting, he survived more by following orders and staying with the group than by any real merit.
In magic, he had zero.
That made him worse than an ordinary recruit.
A burden.
Instructor Bart didn't sugarcoat it. He said it like he was spitting an obvious truth.
Bart was still the same. Same hard face. Same loud voice. Same threats—though over time, he didn't need to hit as much.
A look was enough to make Gabriel grit his teeth and keep going.
Still, what hurt Gabriel the most wasn't Bart.
It was the birthdays.
At the academy, there was a rule everyone knew.
On your birthday, parents or relatives could visit the recruit for thirty minutes.
Sometimes they brought a small package. Sometimes a letter. Sometimes just words—a quick hug, a promise of pride.
And if the recruit stood out, their peers organized something.
Not a big party, but a different moment.
But Gabriel never stood out at anything.
He didn't expect a celebration.
He didn't expect gifts.
He didn't expect the academy to spend anything on him.
But he did expect to see his parents.
The first time they didn't come, Gabriel stood in the assigned spot for the entire time.
He watched every group that entered. Counted the minutes. Convinced himself something had happened.
A delay.
Maybe an illness.
Maybe some kind of problem.
'It's fine…' he told himself that day. 'Next time, for sure.'
The second time, he waited the same way.
With less hope, but still believing.
He felt dumber when time ran out and no one came.
The third time, he didn't look around as much.
He just waited with his arms crossed and his throat dry.
The fourth, he felt empty.
The fifth, he understood.
They weren't coming.
That broke something inside him that he didn't know how to fix.
He didn't cry in front of anyone—he didn't even have the strength for that anymore.
As the weeks passed, he began to ask himself questions he used to avoid.
Why was he even trying?
He had no friends. He spoke to no one more than necessary. The other recruits either barely respected him or ignored him.
Some mocked him sometimes, though not openly anymore.
Not because Gabriel inspired fear, but because Bart had made it clear that anyone who messed with Gabriel would be put through the same hellish routine he'd assigned him.
And now, on top of that, he had confirmed something heavier than any training:
His family had left him alone.
'Even if I manage to escape… where would I go?' Gabriel thought, listening to the snores of other recruits, smelling old sweat and damp fabric.
That night, Gabriel was awake while almost everyone else slept.
The recruit dormitory was located in a higher section of the building.
It wasn't luxurious—wood and stone, lined-up beds, a narrow hallway.
In front of him, just a few steps away, there was a large window facing outside.
From there, he could see part of the courtyard and, beyond that, the shadows of the jungle.
Gabriel sat on the edge of his bed. He still wore his uniform, wrinkled. His face looked tired even while doing nothing.
He looked at the window.
An idea crossed his mind—cold, direct.
If he took a step, if he got closer, if he stopped holding himself back…
At that moment, the dormitory door opened.
The sound was sharp in the silence.
Clack.
Gabriel turned his head instantly. His breath caught.
The last person he wanted to see walked in.
Bart.
The instructor closed the door with a firm motion and advanced with heavy steps. His instructor uniform was immaculate. His face was serious, as always. He didn't even seem surprised to find Gabriel awake.
Bart raised his voice just enough to be clearly heard.
"Gabriel."
It was an order disguised as a call.
Gabriel knew what came next. The military salute. Proper posture. A firm response.
But he didn't do it.
He didn't stand up quickly.
He didn't raise his arm.
He didn't say "yes, sir."
He stayed seated, staring at Bart with dry eyes.
Bart stopped a few steps away and looked at him with disgust.
"What is this?" he asked. "Aren't you going to salute?"
Gabriel let out a slow breath.
"I don't feel like it…"
Bart frowned as if Gabriel had spit on him.
"You don't feel like it?" he repeated. "Since when do you decide when to respect an order?"
Gabriel looked at him without changing his expression.
'If I push him enough…' he thought. 'Maybe he hits me. Maybe he goes too far. Maybe…'
It wasn't a nice thought, but it made sense in that state.
If Bart hit him hard, if he knocked him to the ground, if he shoved him into something…
Gabriel didn't finish the thought, because Bart spoke again.
"Why didn't you go get your results?" Bart asked bluntly. "They handed out the reports today. You were supposed to show up."
Gabriel blinked.
"What for?" he replied. His voice came out low.
Bart looked at him like he'd just heard something stupid.
"What for?" he said. "And what do you know? Think you're a fortune-teller?"
Gabriel slowly shook his head.
"I don't stand out at anything," he said. "I'm not interested in seeing a piece of paper repeat it."
Bart clenched his jaw. His hand closed, but it didn't move toward Gabriel's face.
Not yet.
"You're an idiot," Bart said. "Do you know how many people work to make those reports? How many people review your performance, your conduct, your records? And you come here saying you don't care?"
Gabriel shrugged slightly.
"Yeah," he said weakly. "I'm disrespectful."
Bart stayed still.
There was a brief silence.
Gabriel looked at him, waiting for the hit.
Bart let out a long, heavy sigh, like he was holding back something he didn't want to say.
Gabriel noticed.
And that was strange.
Bart didn't sigh like that.
Bart took another breath and spoke.
"You're leaving tomorrow," he said.
Gabriel froze.
"What?" he asked, not realizing his voice had changed.
"Tomorrow," Bart repeated. "You're finally going on a military mission. Training is over. Drills are over. You'll be deployed with a support squad."
Gabriel's body shuddered.
It wasn't exaggerated.
It was a real, brief tremor.
Battlefield.
Military mission.
It wasn't hunting beasts in a controlled forest.
It wasn't weapons training in a safe environment.
It wasn't falling in the mud and getting back up with insults.
It was something else.
Gabriel felt a strange impulse rise in his chest.
A smile appeared on his face, though it wasn't pure joy.
It was crooked—made of nerves and a craving for something different.
'Finally…' he thought.
Finally, he could try to escape.
Or die.
Bart saw him smile and, for the first time in a long while, didn't insult him right away.
Instead, he stepped closer and gave him a hard pat on the back.
It wasn't a hit, but it was rough.
"Remember something," Bart said, staring forward, not at the window. "The battlefield is cruel. Your talent doesn't matter. Your position doesn't matter. Your dreams don't matter. One mistake and you're dead."
Gabriel glanced at him from the side, the smile still there.
Bart continued.
"So you need to stay alert so—"
Gabriel interrupted him in a flat voice.
"So I don't embarrass the empire."
Bart went silent for a second.
"Good," Bart said. "Looks like you learned."
Gabriel's smile faded slightly.
He didn't like Bart saying it that way—as if it were some shared achievement.
Bart turned around, ready to leave.
"I expect good results from you," he added, without looking back.
Gabriel clenched his fingers against the bed.
That was the last thing he wanted to hear.
Bart opened the door, and before stepping out, threw one last line over his shoulder.
"And go get your results. Don't make me come back again for that."
Then he left.
The door closed.
Clack.
Gabriel remained seated in silence, staring at the spot where Bart had stood.
The smile didn't amuse him.
The "congratulations" didn't amuse him.
Nothing did.
Gabriel just wanted tomorrow to arrive.