Chương 93: 36.Argument 36-2

Harvey walked up from behind, kicked the dummy upright, voice cold enough to suggest he was considering adding all of us to the dummy count.

"Good," he said.

"Now the problem is clear. It's not that you don't know how. It's that everyone's trying to run their own method over everyone else's." That landed harder than the wind. Maki pressed her lips together. Jess rolled her eyes but didn't answer. I crouched, grabbed the carry strap, palms soaked, shoulders starting to burn, the entire situation pressing on me like a lid about to blow.

"Again," I said. Harvey looked at me.

"Plan." I looked up at him, then swept my gaze across the other two.

"Kushima calls the rhythm—she doesn't touch the main carry. Jess pulls primary, no improvising. Harvey corrects from the rear. I handle the front pivot." I pulled a breath, chest still burning.

"Anyone changes the plan mid-run, I deal with them first." Jess laughed through her panting.

"There's the Hoshino we know." Maki looked at me and held the pause for half a second.

"Workable," she said. Harvey nodded.

"Then do it." The fourth attempt finally looked like something. Maki called rhythm only. Short, precise, nothing extra. Left step. Lift. Half-beat hold. Now. Jess kept cursing but followed. Harvey tracked every movement from the rear, one sentence cutting in the instant anyone drifted. My position was at the front, and the dummy's forward weight had a habit of slamming into my knees on turns, which made me want to personally address whoever had designed this training sequence.

But this time, we didn't put it back in the ground. At the finish, I dropped the carry strap and crouched with my hands on my knees, lungs scraped raw. Sweat dripped from my jaw, the fabric across my back was completely soaked, and the skin under the shoulder straps was burning. Jess sat down directly on the ground.

"Wonderful." She wiped her face.

"I now have a genuine personal understanding of dying together. Because I really did want to drag all three of you down with me." Maki stood nearby, breathing heavier than usual, hair damp at the temples. She was looking down at the dummy like she was mentally recalculating where she could have saved two seconds. Harvey looked over all of us, said nothing complimentary, and clicked the timer off.

"Time was bad," he said.

"Thank you for that warm encouragement." I looked up at him.

"But you're starting to look like a team." He added it like an afterthought. …That somehow landed harder than praise. Which was genuinely unsettling. We were just about to unshoulder our packs when the assembly broadcast crackled from the main building across the grounds. The sound came through the old speakers with that particular brand of annoying official authority.

"Notice to all first-year cadets: please assemble at the main building plaza within ten minutes. I repeat—" I looked up toward the main building.

"What the hell do they want this early." Jess peeled herself off the ground with the expression of someone who'd just been informed her inheritance now belonged to the state.

"If this is some post-Family Visitation reflection session, I'm playing dead on the spot."

"You don't fake it convincingly enough." I grabbed my pack again.

"Come on. Let's see what fresh bullshit the Student Council has planned." Ten minutes later, the plaza was packed with first-years still carrying their morning damage. Some had come straight from training, faces sour enough to mop floors with. Others were still wearing civilian jackets, clearly having expected nothing worse than a lecture. On the platform stood Student Council representatives—uniforms razor-sharp, expressions calibrated for announcing some kind of dignified catastrophe.

Stolen content alert: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences. One look at that setup and my temple started throbbing. Right on schedule. Nothing good. The Council officer on stage opened with a full parade of empty phrases: the honor of the live-deployment drill, practical application, responsibility, integration, the Federation's future. Every word was enormous, every sentence hollow—like stuffing bricks into pretty plastic bags.

I stood in the crowd, sweat not even dry yet, and by the third sentence I wanted to walk into the sea. Then, finally, he drew the knife.

"Additional notification: results from this first-year live-deployment drill will be entered directly into your midterm comprehensive performance assessment." The plaza went quiet for half a second. Then the entire crowd detonated.

"What?"

"You're telling us now?"

"Midterm?!"

"I thought this was survival training—" I stood there, brain blanking for a beat, then the anger burned straight from my stomach to the top of my skull. Fuck you. Of course. Of course this academy wasn't just throwing us into the woods for character building. Of course they'd bundled midterms in there too. Thank you so much—two birds with one stone, institutional efficiency at its finest. Jess muttered beside me.

"I knew they wouldn't let us die for free." I gave a short, cold laugh.

"Don't worry. It's more efficient now. We get graded on the way to the grave." The guy on stage wasn't finished.

"Furthermore, these results will serve as one of the preliminary reference factors for end-of-term integrated exercise grouping. Upper House cadets with cross-division application eligibility may, based on these drill results, submit requests before the final exercise to join, retain, or withdraw from joint teams—" I went completely still. … Wait. Hold on. I hadn't just heard an announcement. It felt like someone had fired an artillery shell into my skull. Midterm. Finals. Cross-division applications.

Join, retain, withdraw. Translated into human language: this live-deployment drill wasn't just a grade—it was a showcase. Whether you could survive, whether you were worth cooperating with, whether you'd drag people down, all of it was going on display right here. Before finals, those Upper House cadets with selection privileges could look at your performance and decide whether to join you, keep you, or pull out before you became a liability. I almost laughed out loud. Not from joy.

From being so angry I was losing my mind.

"Perfect." I stared at the platform, voice dropping low.

"Midterm: throw us into a fire-breathing forest to see who survives. Finals: what, load us directly into cannon barrels to test thermal coatings?" Jess somehow still had enough energy to nod.

"I support that analogy. And I think you're being conservative." The pressure didn't just rise—it dropped like a sheet, covering everything. Because this wasn't just about surviving three weeks anymore. If Group 144 tanked this, it wouldn't just be embarrassing. It meant that before finals, our entire squad would be pre-labeled: usable, not usable, worth investing in, not worth wasting a slot on.

Those Upper House people who already stood above us could use these scores as justification to step in, cherry-pick, or step away—all with institutional backing. Which meant before the team had even finished forming, the blade was already at our throats. A blade written into the regulations. Heat crept up my temples, frustration practically trying to push through my skin.

Last night's bring her back alive from Aki hadn't even faded, and now the Student Council had delivered the follow-up cut: sorry, survival isn't enough. You'd better survive with numbers, or you don't even get to decide who you're tied to come finals. Shit. The pressure was heavy enough that I genuinely wanted to bite someone.

"Hoshino." I snapped back. Maki was calling me. She stood beside me, expression equally grim, but not chaotic—just colder by a layer.

"What."

"You're breathing too fast."

"Obviously." I turned on her, anger still spilling over.

"Your Student Council President sister came by yesterday to scare me half to death. Today the Council announces this is our midterm with a bonus finals elimination bracket attached. You want me to demonstrate a stable heart rate right now?" Maki looked at me without flinching.

"Finals will be harder," she said. I glared at her.

"Did I need you to tell me that?"

"But I'm not withdrawing." I paused. She said it completely flat—like reporting weather—but somehow it cut straight through the bristling layer I'd built and just lodged there. I frowned.

"Did I ask?"

"No," she said.

"I'm stating it first." Jess looked between us with an expression of extraordinary complexity—like watching two live explosives exchange status reports.

"Wow," she said quietly.

"I genuinely don't know whether to applaud or start writing my will."

"Shut up," I said.

"I don't think I'm the suicidal one here—" Harvey cut in from the other side, voice ice-cold.

"The broadcast isn't over. Save the commentary." Jess went quiet immediately, though her mouth kept twitching with suppressed laughter. I turned back to the stage, jaw tight enough to ache. Twenty-four hours. Only twenty-four hours left.

Group 144 had just learned on a broken rock slope not to drag each other into the ground—and immediately the Student Council turned around to tell us: congratulations, this isn't just training, it's midterms; not just midterms, it's public valuation before finals; not just valuation, but people standing higher will use these numbers to decide if you're worth keeping. I finally understood what it meant when people said the system didn't need to hit you directly.

It just posted the rules one by one, and the pressure grew its own teeth. I stood in the crowd, back still aching from the morning's weight, palms slick with sweat, with only one thought left—spectacularly unprofessional but completely sincere: If this is how they're playing midterms, what kind of nightmare are they planning to use to collect the bodies at finals? And what was worse—I'd already started caring about something else entirely.

When that time came, and someone actually looked at these results and decided to join, stay, or withdraw— In Group 144, who would still be here? And who would get cut loose? I didn't like that question. Not even a little. Because the moment it surfaced, it felt like it had already planted a flag in my head.