CHAPTER 1: THE ONLY MAN
The morning sun cast long shadows across the pristine grounds of the National Police Academy as Yoon Jiho stepped out of the transport vehicle, his duffel bag slung over one shoulder. At eighteen years old, with sharp features, dark eyes, and an athletic build that suggested hours spent in the gym, he cut an impressive figure—though his nervous energy betrayed his inexperience. His jaw clenched as he took in the sprawling compound before him: rows of barracks, training grounds, and an imposing administrative building that seemed to loom with authority.
He wasn't supposed to be here.
That was the first thing that struck him as he walked toward the registration desk. The academy had been exclusively female for the past decade, ever since the national mandate that redirected men away from traditionally male-dominated occupations. The shift had been gradual but absolute—women now filled every rank, every position, every role that men had once monopolized. And now, through some bureaucratic anomaly or perhaps a clerical error that no one had bothered to correct, Jiho had been accepted into the most prestigious all-female police training academy in the nation.
The registration officer, a stern-faced woman with steel-gray eyes and silver streaking through her black hair, looked up from her desk as he approached. Her nameplate read "Commissioner Mikooma." She was Japanese, with an air of authority that seemed to radiate from her very presence. Her sharp gaze swept over him with undisguised contempt.
"You're the mistake," she said flatly, not bothering with pleasantries.
"I... I received my acceptance letter," Jiho stammered, pulling the official document from his jacket pocket. His hands trembled slightly—whether from nerves or the intensity of her stare, he couldn't say.
Mikooma snatched the letter, her perfectly manicured fingers brushing against his for just a moment. Even that brief contact sent an electric shock through him. She scanned the document, her lips pressing into a thin line. "Well, it appears the paperwork is in order. You'll be assigned to Barracks Seven with the other recruits. Try not to cause any trouble." She handed the letter back without meeting his eyes again. "You're dismissed."
As Jiho turned to leave, he could feel her gaze burning into his back—not with warmth, but with something far more complex. Disdain, certainly. But beneath it, something else he couldn't quite name.
The barracks were chaos.
Women in various states of undress moved between lockers, their athletic bodies on full display. Some wore sports bras and shorts, others were wrapped in towels, their skin still glistening with moisture from the showers. Conversations died the moment Jiho stepped through the door, replaced by a suffocating silence that made his face burn crimson.
"What the hell?" a voice cut through the quiet—sharp, commanding, and dripping with hostility.
The woman who emerged from the crowd was striking: tall, with short black hair that framed sharp cheekbones, and a muscular frame that spoke of years of rigorous training. Her name was Errai, and she was the academy's most feared trainer. Her dark eyes fixed on Jiho with an intensity that made him want to shrink into himself.
"I'm... I'm a new recruit," he managed, his voice cracking embarrassingly.
"I can see that," Errai said coldly, circling him like a predator assessing prey. "What I don't understand is why. This is an all-female academy. We don't need men here. We've proven we don't need men anywhere." She stopped directly in front of him, her face inches from his. He could smell her perfume—something floral and intoxicating. "You're going to be a problem, aren't you?"
Before he could respond, another woman pushed forward—petite, with blonde hair and delicate features that seemed almost doll-like. She was beautiful in a way that made Jiho's breath catch, but her expression was pure venom.
"My name is Mira," she said, her voice dripping with disdain. "And I speak for most of us when I say you're not welcome here. This is our space. Our academy. Our future. You don't belong."
"She's right," came another voice—this one deeper, with an accent Jiho couldn't immediately place. A tall woman with dark skin and striking features stepped forward. She was regal, commanding, with the bearing of someone accustomed to being admired. This was Kali, the former Miss Universe turned police officer. Even her hostility carried an air of elegance. "We've worked too hard to build something for ourselves. We don't need a man undermining that."
Jiho felt his chest tighten. He'd known this wouldn't be easy, but the sheer weight of their collective disdain was suffocating. He opened his mouth to speak, to defend himself, but before he could, a softer voice interrupted.
"Maybe we should give him a chance?"
The woman who spoke had vibrant red hair and kind eyes that seemed genuinely sympathetic. Her name was Amai, and she was smiling at him—the first genuine smile he'd received since arriving. She was cute in an approachable way, with curves that filled out her training uniform in a way that made Jiho quickly look away.
"Don't be naive, Amai," Jenny said, stepping into view. She was tall—taller than most of the other women—with short dark hair and a powerful build that suggested she could snap him in half without breaking a sweat. Despite her intimidating appearance, there was something almost playful in her eyes as she looked at him. "The boy's here now. Might as well make his life interesting."
There was something in the way she said it—something that made Jiho's pulse quicken despite his fear.
The days that followed were brutal.
Errai seemed to take particular pleasure in pushing him to his absolute limits during training. She'd bark orders at him with a harshness she didn't direct at the other recruits, her voice cutting through the morning air like a whip. Yet sometimes, when she thought he wasn't looking, he'd catch her watching him with an expression that didn't quite match her harsh words. There was something in her gaze—a flicker of something that might have been concern, or perhaps something far more complicated.
Mira made a point of excluding him from group activities, her blonde hair catching the sunlight as she deliberately turned her back to him. But he noticed how she'd position herself where he could see her, how she'd stretch during breaks in a way that seemed almost deliberate, her petite frame moving with practiced grace.
Kali maintained her regal distance, but there were moments—brief, fleeting moments—when their eyes would meet across the training grounds, and he'd see something in her expression that contradicted her earlier words of rejection. It was as if two versions of her existed: the one who despised his presence, and another who was curious about him in ways she couldn't quite suppress.
Jenny's bullying took on a different character. She'd "accidentally" bump into him during drills, her strong body pressing against his in ways that seemed far too deliberate to be accidental. She'd challenge him to sparring matches and pin him to the ground, her weight on top of him, her breathing heavy and close to his ear. There was something almost flirtatious in her aggression.
And Amai... Amai was different. She'd leave extra portions of food for him in the mess hall. She'd offer to help him with training techniques, her hands guiding his movements, lingering just a moment too long. Her kindness was genuine, but there was an undercurrent of something else—something that made her blush whenever their hands touched.
On the seventh night, as Jiho lay in his bunk unable to sleep, he heard footsteps approaching. A figure emerged from the darkness—it was Errai, still in her training clothes, her dark hair slightly disheveled. She stood over his bunk, silhouetted against the moonlight streaming through the window.
"You're not as weak as I thought," she said quietly, her voice stripped of its usual harshness. "That doesn't mean you belong here. But..." she paused, and in that pause, something shifted between them. "Maybe you're not a complete waste of space."
Before he could respond, she reached down and touched his face, her fingers tracing his jawline with surprising gentleness. For a moment, the air between them crackled with tension—raw, undeniable, and terrifying in its intensity.
Then she was gone, disappearing back into the darkness, leaving Jiho alone with his racing heart and the growing realization that his time at this academy was going to be far more complicated than he'd ever imagined.