The next few weeks were quiet.

Strangely quiet, to be honest. Nobody seemed to bother me, I hung out with the few friends I had left here, and minded my lecture work. From time to time, I even got the chance to spend extra time practicing for an upcoming match I had with another boxer from Weißerberg's political academy. No beatings, no intense hatred or hazing, nothing.

Though I was worried about today.

Today was our rifle-cleaning exam. Something that the academy pressed upon us was proper use of firearms: though service was a requirement for men between the ages of 18 and 22, the Political Academy focused on things like rifle-cleaning, range-finding, and explosives use much more than the standard school. In-part I think it was because attending the academy got you out of the mandatory service, but on the other hand I felt it had much deeper implications.

What those were, I'd rather not get into. I'm not my father. I'm loyal to my country, after all.

I practiced with my rifle day and night for almost a week straight. The process was easy; check that the gun wasn't loaded, pull the bull to the rear, pull and hold back the trigger, and pull the bolt out of the receiver from behind. If the rifle has a scope, unscrew the bolt that attaches it to the base, and remove it.

It was the dismantling and re-assembly of the bolt itself I had problems with. It wasn't like I couldn't do it; I could, but we were timed, and it wasn't a lot of time either. I think we had to disassemble, clean, re-assemble and present it within five minutes of start time. Any mess up could earn you a failure, and there was hell to pay for that. Not just from the instructor, but from your group as well. A failure was a stain on the class's record. A stain on the school's record. Failure in rifle-training often resulted in expulsion if you failed the make-up test.

And this week, three classes were combined for the examination.

I practiced over and over again; once the bolt was out, you had to unscrew the bolt screw, pry up the tab and twist the bolt out. Then you had to clean, dry lubricate it with oil, and then re-assemble the whole gun after cleaning the barrel itself.

Disassemble the gun, clean the barrel, disassemble the bolt, clean it, lube it, put it back together, insert it into the rifle, and clean the rifle. All in five minutes. Or you could be expelled.

It was a lot, and I was fucking nervous.

That night, I spent hours going it over and over again. I sat there with a metronome on my desk taking it apart time and time again, trying to run under five minutes. Soon enough, I was under four. Then under three. There was a reward for anyone under three minutes, though I can't remember what it was. Maybe some sort of rifle-handling badge to pin on my plaque next to all of the ones I'd received for boxing. At least someone showed pride in me; to the school, despite how much trouble my situation a few months ago with Erik had caused, I was still a "champion boxer".

After hours of practicing, I found myself falling asleep next to my rifle. I awoke early in the morning, probably around four, and retreated to my bed, stripping off the uniform that I'd found I had fallen asleep in and lying in bed under the ceiling fan in nothing but my issued boxers.

And I passed out.

I awoke a few hours later to the blare of reveille and jumped out of bed, gathering my things together and racing towards the showers. I was one of the first to arrive, and was in and out in ten minutes, heading back to my room by the time most of the other guys in my dorm building were heading down the stairs to shower. I had made the mistake in the past of showering at the same time as the others; some of my tormentors were in the same dorm building as I, and what better place to go after someone than when they're most vulnerable?

Pretty gay if you ask me; to go after someone while they're naked in the shower. Then again, that comes from me. A gay guy and little spoon.

Within a few minutes, I was dressed for morning exercises and outside on the parade grounds with my coach; each morning, we exercised with the other guys in our 'squad'; each squad was made up of similar athletic groups, I was surrounded by the other boxers and a few lacrosse players and baseball players whom were overflow from the other, admittedly massive, squads. Baseball, Lacrosse, and Football (not American football, the real Fußball) teams were the largest; boxing, on the other hand, was one of the smallest, though we were respected in our own right. At least, the other guys were.

Morning exercise was usually the same thing; calisthenics, calisthenics, and calisthenics. Push ups, pull ups, chin ups, and all other sorts of physical training. Twice a week we went on a 20-mile jog through the mountains which, while grueling, got us out of our foreign culture lectures, which were even worse. During the off-season, practice was not required for boxing, though it was highly suggested by the coach, and I practiced four times a week during the off-season, usually on the weekends when it was quiet in the gymnasium and everyone was off on leave.

This morning, though, we didn't have our jog. We finished our hour of exercises, showered off, and went to the foreign culture lecture, which I almost slept through. The next few hours of lectures went by at its regular pace, sometimes interesting and sometimes not. By the end of the forth hour I was starving and looking forward to lunch.

I have to say, the food here is good. A lot better than my mother and father used to make.

My moms food... I still miss her.

Though I know I can't go back, especially considering how my father feels about me, especially given that I came out to him then forged his signature on the slip allowing me to attend here the next day. Neither of which he was happy with.

He screamed most of the night after I came out.

I spend that night in the fields, hoping not be found and beaten.

The lunch hall was massive; extremely long tables were lined in long columns down each side, four tables deep. There were a few tables offset to the side for the high-ranking squad-leaders and commanders, and the occasional teacher whom so happened to not want to sit in the instructor's lounge down the hall. With the sounds and smells of hundreds of 16-22 year old guys in the same hall, I can assume you know how often the instructor's table was used.

Today's menu was one of my favorites; American-style barbecue ribs, corn, and mashed potato. As part of the foreign culture lectures, the instructor arranged to have a different countries food served at least once a week in the mess-hall. That was possibly the only perk to listening to a two-hour lecture about the effects American Military Doctrine had on our European counterparts. The line was long, but the food was worth it. It was so much better than the usual pork sausage.

I found myself sat at the same relatively empty table I usually sat at; I was used to sitting and eating alone ever since the case became public within the school grounds. People really seemed to change their opinions about me after that, and though at first I figured it would pass, it never did.

I'm not whining, its just that... I dont know. It'd be nice to sit and chat with someone during lunch for a change. The other guys that sit at the table I sit at are the... artsy type. Not to say theres anything wrong with that, but to be frank, I don't give a rats ass about the "anime" they spend all of lunch talking about. Its too strange to me.

They've probably got some sort of fetish for that kind of stuff.

I found the guys across the table from me, once again, trying to involve me in their conversation. I couldn't frankly figure out what the hell they were talking about; some sort of new app on their phone where they spent the weekend wandering around looking for creatures. I didn't have a cell phone; I couldn't afford one. I didn't have the financial backbone of my parents like the rest of these had, and the little money I made through my 'military service' at the academy I sent home.

I felt bad for abandoning my mother.

I was mid-way though a bite when the guys across me started nagging me about what kind of 'pokemon' I had captured recently and if I had anything to trade. I politely declined, but they both seemed to freeze.

I looked at them confused, but they seemed to be looking behind me. As I went to turn around, I felt a firm hand on my shoulder.

I held my breath for a moment, the air rushing out of my body. I tried to examine the facial expressions from the boys across me, but I gathered nothing more than the hand on my shoulder told me.

It was quiet for a moment before the voice behind the shoulder spoke up.

"The hell are you sitting alone for, Friedrich?" A familiar voice questioned.

I exhaled in great relief as I turned to see Siegfried standing behind me, his left hand holding a plate of ribs and his right on my shoulder. He had a broad smile on, his jet-black uniform contrasting with his bleach-white teeth.

"Hey, whats up Siggi?" I responded, smiling.

"Not much dude, not much. Why are you sitting alone, come chill with us!" He remarked. I looked over at where he pointed to; the officers table.

"I, uh-"

"Don't bullshit me" he said, seemingly getting serious.

"I'm almost done though" I tried to excuse myself out of the situation as best I could. While I appreciated the offer, I didn't really... belong there.

"Your plates still fuckin full, dude. Come on; don't make me drag you there". He gave me a stern glare, almost as if he was half tempted to order me to go there. I knew he wouldn't (and probably couldnt), but I didn't really want to test how much he'd changed since being promoted.

Siegfried and I had started on relatively equal footing; Though He was a lieutenant when I first arrived, he was still very low on the chain; like me. He was a lieutenant because of his service in the national youth programs when he was younger, which granted him immediate officer ship if he was so chosen to attend an academy. He and I had gotten along from the time we first met, and he never seemed to forget me as he climbed all the way up the ladder.

I hesitantly rose from my table, picking my plate and silverware up, along with my rifle bag, as I followed behind him. We crossed the large room filled with people, away from the thingly-populated side and onto the heavily-populated section filled with guys my age. I found myself heading right towards a table occupied by nothing but black-uniformed commanders; company, brigade, and divisional. I scanned across the group and immediately recognized most of them; they were all important.

And the Crown Prince was included with them.

My heart started to beat faster; though I hid it, I was really starting to find myself attracted to him as I seemed to see him more and more. It was a pipe dream, but he was gorgeous, had a great personality, and was infinitely kind. It was a shame he was straight.

Siegfried caught the group's attention with a resounding "Whats up", and they all seemed to reply in unison with different greetings. I followed cautiously behind as he set his plate down at a seat that had an extra one next to it. To Siegfried's right was the crown prince.

"Guys, this is Friedrich" He said, pointing to me. "He's cool"

"Wait, the boxah?" One of the black-uniformed commanders responded. I looked him over; a heavy British accent, his hair cut mid-fade with a hard part and long comb over. That was Drew, our only British exchange student, and one of the British Royals. I didn't really know him well, but he'd never treated me wrong.

"Yeah the boxer. The one that broke that guy from Mendelberg's nose and knocked him out in the first round!"

"Hell yeah, whats up bud!" another one of the black-uniformed guys at the table said, this time directed at me. He had a smile on his face.

Tjaden, Divisional Commander, and apparent close friend of Prince Albrecht's. The guy that saved my ass from that group of guys a month or two ago.

I smiled in return. Not a faked one, but a real one. All of the guys at the table seemed happy to see me. They seemed to welcome me as I was ushered to sit down at the table next to Siegfried.

Then, I felt something tap my shoulder.

I turned to see Prince Albrecht's fist out behind Siegfried's back, extended towards me. For a moment I sat, staring confused, before he shook it a bit. It suddenly dawned on me; he wanted to bump fists.

I did so.

I don't know why, but simply touching him made my heart go absolutely insane. I could feel my heart beating faster than It had since the last stressful boxing match I'd had. He smiled at me before returning to his plate.

"So mate" Drew said, seemingly directed towards me. He looked around a bit before leaning in, and questioned me;

"Whats it like bein' able to beat the shit outa other schools blokes infront of the heads without gettin' in trouble?"

I couldn't help but laugh.

"Honestly" I responded "Its pretty fuckin great."

The group laughed. I laughed. Before they all began to eat, they joined hands and the Prince said a prayer. It was weird; like they were all family, and they included me in it.

After that, we sat and talked for almost an hour, the rest of the lunch period, about all sorts of stuff. Before long, I seemed to forget whom I was surrounded by. We talked about everything; they were super interested in my boxing matches, but they also talked about the girls they were trying to hook up with, some of the drama going on in the real-world outside of the academy, and more.

Some of them even had their rifle-exams the same period as me.

That included the crown prince, whom, when surrounded by the rest of these guys, seemed completely at ease. He practically ordered me to allow him to sit next to him. As he passed the basket of bread towards Siegfried, I could see the rifle bad propped up against the table next to him. Officers had an assault rifle which, compared to the bolt-action the normal guys like me had, was better but also much harder to master.

I accepted, not really having the option to say he couldn't sit with me.

After all, sitting that close would be great. To be able to smell his cologne...

What the hell am I thinking!? Its the fucking Crown Prince for fucks sake. Come on Friedrich, You've spoken 10 words to him, he isn't going to fuckin suddenly turn gay for you and make out with you on national television.

My mind turned back to the conversation at hand just as the period bell rang loudly through the halls, and everyone got up at once, slowly piling out. I picked up my rifle bag and slung it over my shoulder as I joined the line to file out of the mess hall and towards my exam.

It felt different, walking out of the lunch room after an experience like that. I... I dont know. Maybe I felt refreshed.

I entered the exam hall and took a seat at one of the hundred or two of two-seat tables, and began to un-pack my rifle. I set up all of my cleaning supplies, organized everything, and took the few minutes to practice.

All of a sudden, something bumped into my left side. I felt a book press up against mine, and I looked over. Prince Albrecht had slid onto the seat next to me. He appeared to be looking over at another one of the commanders, I think Brigade Commander Phillip. I moved my foot out of the way of his, though he was still sat close to me, his uniform rubbing against mine. His jet-black uniform contrasted with the dark gray of mine.

My heart rate started to increase. I watched as he started to unpack his cleaning supplies and tools, everything seemed custom made for him. He pulled out a large, polished assault rifle from his bag and set it on the table in front of him. I saw out of the corner of my eye him looking at my rifle.

"I'll trade you" he joked.

I laughed, shaking my head.

My heart rate was off the charts.

"Oh come on, not going to talk to me?"

I smiled, trying to continue with my practice. I was trying my best not to lead on how I was feeling.

"Just trying to get a bit more practice in" I said, probably stuttering mid-sentence.

"Alright then" he said. I could see out of the corner of my eye him take apart his rifle, clean everything, and re-assemble it extremely quickly. Probably under two and a half minutes. It was nuts.

But I couldn't give anything away. 'Just ignore him, Friedrich.'

After his first practice, he set the rifle down and looked back over to his friend and continued chatting. I kept practicing, but my hands had started shaking.

'Come ON Friedrich, fucking stop it' I thought to myself.

I practiced until the instructor blew his whistle. A group of guys walked down the aisles, setting down metronomes on the tables. A large timer was broadcast across the board.

"You have five minutes." He declared.

My heart was beating a million times a minute.

"Begin."

I started as fast as possible. My hands few across the rifle, and I continually repeated the instructions in my head as I took the rifle apart.

The rifle isn't loaded, good. Now pull the bull to the rear. Come on, pull back. Why the fuck is this thing having trouble now. Good, now pull and hold back the trigger with your other hand, and pull the bolt out of the receiver. Done.

I set the bolt on the table and started cleaning the barrel, running a cloth on the end of a long wire stick through it multiple times. I couldn't pay attention to the timer right now.

No scope. Good. Some people had been assigned scopes and other parts right before the exam; the threat forced everyone to practice for that eventuality. I quickly started to pull apart the bolt of the rifle, first unscrewing the bolt itself, then holding the tab back and twisting the bolt out. The spring gave me a bit of trouble, but it was alright.

I had all of the parts out before me. I cleaned everything, and lubricated it with the oil.

Alright, now re-assemble it.

I had just started to put it all back together now. I looked up to read the timer; two minutes.

I saw Albrecht already in line to present his rifle. A few attendants walked between the aisles, ensuring nobody was cheating.

Holy fuck, Albrecht...

I started to hurry, putting the pieces together. I pressed the bolt back into place, screwing it in and inserting the bolt back into the barrel. It all fit into place.

Holy fuck.

Then, I went to adjust the bolt, and it wouldn't move.

FUCK

I pulled the bolt back out of the rifle and tried re-inserting it, but nothing happened again. I started sweating profusely, and before I knew it I was drenched. I noticed a tan set of uniform slacks with a long, red stripe standing over me; one of the instructors.

I took the barrel out again and tried examining everything. Time was slipping away. I started praying.

Please... just please...

The instructor walked away.

I pressed the bolt back in and tried to adjust it; nothing again.

I'm screwed.

I looked up; three minutes and twenty seconds had passed. My heart skipped a beat.

I looked down and didn't know what to do. I froze.

Suddenly, a hand reached across the table. I froze; an instructor?

I looked over.

Albrecht's hand was stealthily reached across the table as he stood, swinging his rifle bag over his shoulder, not even looking at me. I watched as his thumb pressed on the tab of the rifle.

I forgot to press the tab back into place. That's why it wouldn't let me unload or reload.

My heart froze. I heard a distinct 'snap' and pressed the bolt back into place. I went to move the bolt back to reload.

Please.

Please.

I closed my eyes and gripped the handle, sliding it back.

It worked.

It slid perfectly.

I quickly rose up as I slid the chamber shut and got in line.

Three Minutes and thirty five seconds.

The instructor took my rifle and examined it. He went through everything, pushing a cloth into the barrel and checking for residue.

"Perfect."

He un-cocked the trigger and released the break of the rifle. He then pulled the handle of the bolt back to reload it. It worked.

"Perfect"

He pulled the bolt back and disassembled it, examining each piece, before putting the pieces back together. He looked up at me, and smiled.

"Perfect. Very nice cleaning condition. I'll knock off some time for that."

Thank god.

He scribbled down something in his book before saluting me. I clicked my heels together and saluted back. I was dismissed.

I was sweating profusely, and looked around. Albrecht was nowhere to be found.

I rushed to clean my stuff up, swinging my rifle over my should along with my bag. I hurried out the door, trying to find where he went.

Gone.

Why did he help me...?