The rise of the unorthodox

With the inter-base contest commencing this weekend, all the squads in the school had been drilled with an intensity unmatched in recent memory.

It was expected, of course. No one wanted their squad to be left behind, especially in a contest that carried so much prestige. The best course of action was to ensure we were as prepared as possible, ready to go the distance.

Mr. Sayo, our squad master, had been especially relentless. He put us through grueling drills with hardly any breaks, testing both our physical endurance and mental resilience. Personally, I had sustained a few fractures during the training. Thankfully, the school's healing elixirs worked wonders, patching me up in no time.

Things, for the most part, were going well. Devin and I had resumed training together, though the sessions carried an unspoken tension. He had made it abundantly clear that he didn't approve of my association with Wyatt.

I refused to let his disapproval faze me. I wouldn't let the emotions of an unstable teammate derail my progress. However, a small part of me sympathized with him. Devin had always been a complex character, and I couldn't help but consider how his family's harsh treatment might have shaped him. Perhaps my time with Wyatt had triggered some past trauma. I wouldn't know for sure—I had no intention of asking.

Still, both Wyatt and Devin had contributed to my growth, and for that, I was grateful.

In recent weeks, I had developed two new sub-abilities, thanks to their guidance. They weren't earth-shattering powers, but they were practical and valuable additions to my skillset.

The first, which Devin helped me refine, I called Hair Web. My hair, naturally responsive to my emotions, could now weave itself into ultra-thin, flexible webs. These webs were strong enough to entangle and immobilize my foes. Devin had come up with the concept after the show-and-tell event, insisting it would make for an excellent defense mechanism. I was glad I didn't miss out on training with him for this—it was proving to be a game-changer.

The second ability, developed with Wyatt, was something I called Tactile Memory. Wyatt theorized that, since my hair often acted independently of my control, it might be capable of "learning" and recalling complex movements. Through careful practice, we found a way to train my hair to replicate maneuvers I couldn't always focus on during combat. This ability allowed me to fight more efficiently, as my hair handled certain techniques while I concentrated on strategy.

With these new tools at my disposal, I felt confident about the upcoming contest.

The intensity of preparation around the school was palpable. Everyone was on edge, practicing relentlessly. I decided to take one of my usual strolls to clear my mind. As I wandered the grounds, I observed my fellow students training in small groups, their faces set with determination.

It was only two days until the contest, and the atmosphere was electric.

My walk eventually brought me near the staff faculty building. From a distance, I watched as high-ranking officials moved in and out, some stepping into sleek black cars that sped off shortly after. These were undoubtedly important figures in the military—a realm I hoped to join one day.

As I stood there, lost in thought, a black SUV approached and slowed to a stop before me. The tinted window of the back seat lowered, revealing a striking woman.

Her hair was black and curly, her skin a smooth, radiant brown. She carried herself with an elegance that commanded respect. Her eyes met mine, and she gave me a smile that was both warm and intimidating.

She extended her hand toward me in a subtle gesture, and instinctively, I reached out.

"You're a beautiful girl," she said, her voice smooth and melodic. "Truly a sight to behold."

I felt my heart race. Was this woman a high-ranking official? And she was complimenting me? I struggled to maintain my composure.

"Thank you, ma'am," I replied, my tone respectful but tinged with excitement. "I'm truly grateful."

Her smile faded slightly, replaced by a look of quiet seriousness. "Heed this warning," she said. "The more you exert yourself, the more your features will begin to evolve. It will be both a blessing and a curse. Goodbye, girl. I'll be watching."

With that, the window rolled up, and the SUV sped away, leaving me stunned. Her words echoed in my mind. Evolve? What did she mean by that?

I shook my head, trying to dismiss my confusion. The encounter had unsettled me, but there wasn't much I could do about it.

As I returned to the dorms, the intercom system crackled to life, filling the halls with a sharp, commanding voice.

"Attention students," it announced. "The first-year qualification program will begin in a few days. Please listen carefully to the following instructions."

The dorm building fell silent as everyone stopped to listen. Though most of the instructions were things our squad masters had already covered, the air was charged with a mix of excitement and apprehension.

"Report to your squad rooms first thing tomorrow morning for further details," the voice concluded before the intercom switched off.

I entered my room and noticed Delight wasn't back yet. She had been pushing herself hard in training lately, determined to give her all in the contest. I knew I'd have to match her effort if I wanted to keep up.

The next few days would be pivotal. The contest was more than just a test of skill—it was an opportunity to prove ourselves. And I wasn't going to let anything hold me back.