Year 848

It was late afternoon, the day's exercises were over and the cadets were gathered in groups across the training grounds, some taking a breather after drills, others practicing their ODM gear. The sun cast long shadows, painting the dirt with streaks of amber as laughter and chatter echoed through the grounds.

Markus, a short, scrappy cadet with a wild mop of light brown hair and an infectious grin, was hanging around with a few others when his gaze drifted across the field. Eric was there, as usual, standing slightly apart from the others, his arms crossed, his expression calm and detached. Around him, cadets whispered, casting him glances filled with admiration and a touch of intimidation.

Markus narrowed his eyes, a surge of irritation bubbling in his chest. Eric had always been like this—distant, untouchable, acting as if he was already better than everyone else. To Markus, it felt like a constant reminder that Eric looked down on them, too caught up in his own ego to care about anyone else. And the others just followed him, blindly accepting his skill as reason enough to admire him.

Markus clenched his fists, determination hardening his resolve. For a year, he'd watched Eric tear through sparring matches, ruthlessly putting cadets in the dirt, never offering a hand, barely acknowledging his opponents. And people cheered him for it, like he was some kind of hero. But Markus couldn't stand it anymore.

With a deep breath, Markus strode across the field, heading straight for Eric. Heads turned as he approached, whispers spreading as cadets watched, curious and surprised. No one dared to confront Eric, not openly. But here was Markus, his face set in determination, stepping right up to the most untouchable cadet among them.

Eric looked up, noticing the crowd gathering, and raised an eyebrow as Markus stopped in front of him.

"What's this about, Markus?" Eric asked, his voice calm, almost amused.

Markus took a steadying breath, his gaze unwavering. "I want to challenge you, Eric. Right here, right now."

A ripple of surprise spread through the crowd, cadets exchanging glances. The tension in the air thickened as more cadets gathered around, drawn to the scene.

Eric crossed his arms. "You want to challenge me? That's a bold move." He looked Markus up and down. "Are you sure you're up for it?"

Markus clenched his fists, refusing to back down. "I'm sure. I'm tired of you acting like you're better than the rest of us."

Eric's expression shifted, a hint of irritation flickering in his eyes. "And you think challenging me is going to change that?"

Markus straightened, his voice steady. "Maybe. Or maybe it'll show everyone that you're not as impressive as they think you are."

A few cadets murmured, some nodding in agreement. Eric's reputation had been both inspiring and intimidating, but Markus's words seemed to resonate with those who felt overshadowed, those who'd struggled to keep up with Eric's relentless pace.

Eric's smirk returned, a hint of condescension in his gaze. "So, what? You think you're going to be the one to prove that? You think you can take me down?"

Markus's eyes blazed with determination. "Yeah, I do. Because strength isn't just about winning every fight. It's about lifting up the people around you. Something you clearly don't understand."

Eric scoffed, rolling his eyes. "This isn't a school for philosophy, Markus. It's the Cadet Corps."

Markus stepped closer, refusing to be intimidated. "we're supposed to care about each other, to fight as a team. And I don't see you doing that. Ever."

A murmur of agreement rippled through the crowd, the cadets nodding, exchanging glances. Markus's words struck a chord; many of them had felt the same frustration, had felt overshadowed by Eric's arrogance.

Eric's expression hardened, his eyes narrowing as he looked around at the gathering crowd. "Fine," he said, his voice cold. "If you want to make a spectacle of this, I'll give you your fight."

The cadets stepped back, forming a ring around the two as Markus and Eric squared off, each one bracing for the match.

Markus took a deep breath, steadying himself. He knew Eric was strong—stronger than him, maybe—but this wasn't just about winning. This was about proving a point, about standing up to the arrogance that had infected the training grounds ever since Eric started treating everyone else like they were beneath him.

The crowd fell silent, the tension thick enough to cut. Eric shifted into a fighting stance, his expression unreadable. Markus took his own stance, though his movements were less polished, his form slightly shaky. But his resolve was clear, his gaze locked onto Eric's.

Eric gave him a final look, his voice low. "You can still back out, Markus."

Markus didn't waver. "Bring it."

Eric moved first, lunging forward with the speed and precision that had made him infamous among the cadets. Markus barely managed to block the first strike, stumbling back as Eric pressed forward, his strikes relentless. The crowd gasped, watching as Markus struggled to hold his ground.

"Is this what you wanted, Markus?" Eric taunted, his voice cold as he delivered blow after blow. "To show everyone just how outmatched you are?"

Markus gritted his teeth, refusing to give in. He managed to deflect one of Eric's attacks, swinging back with a punch, but Eric sidestepped, grabbing him by the shoulder and spinning him into the dirt. Markus hit the ground hard, gasping for breath, but he pushed himself up, his face set with determination.

"Get up," Eric sneered. "You wanted this, didn't you?"

Markus staggered to his feet, wiping blood from his lip. He looked Eric straight in the eye, his voice steady despite the pain. "Yeah. I did."

The fight continued, but it was clear that Markus was outmatched. Each time he tried to mount an attack, Eric countered with ease, driving him back. Yet, despite the pain, despite the bruises, Markus kept standing up, kept facing Eric with the same fire in his eyes.

Finally, with one last brutal strike, Eric knocked Markus down for the final time. Markus lay on the ground, gasping, his body aching, but he refused to let Eric see him break. The crowd waited, silent, as Eric looked around, his arms raised in triumph.

"Are you not entertained?" he shouted, a smug grin spreading across his face.

The crowd were silent for a split second, and then the cheers grew, rippling through the crowd as cadets exchanged glances, some amused, others swept up in the thrill of Eric's confidence. A few even whistled, and Eric's grin widened, basking in the attention.

"Hell yeah, Eric!" one shouted. "You're unstoppable!" another called.

Across the ring, his opponent struggled to his feet, wiping blood from his lip and shooting Eric a glare of pure frustration. But Eric barely acknowledged him, his focus entirely on the crowd and the cheers.

"Who's next?" Eric taunted, his gaze sweeping over the gathered cadets. "Come on, don't tell me no one else here thinks they can keep up."

The bold challenge hung in the air, and for a moment, no one moved, no one dared to step forward. His aura was electrifying, a magnetic pull that made people want to cheer for him, even if they resented him for it.

"Don't all rush at once," he added with a smirk, and a few cadets laughed nervously, shaking their heads.

The crowd cheered, clapping and whistling, swept up in the thrill of the victory, but not everyone joined in

Some laughed, clapping for the show of dominance, while others muttered among themselves, caught between admiration and discomfort. They'd seen Eric's skill before, but this—this was different. This was him reveling in it. A few cadets glanced at Markus, admiration and pity mingling in their gazes.

Jean, standing near the edge of the crowd, folded his arms and shook his head. "Unbelievable," he muttered to Connie, who stood beside him, eyes wide.

"Yeah, but you have to admit… he's good," Connie replied, almost reluctantly. "Better than anyone here."

Jean scoffed. "Good doesn't mean he has to be like that."

"You all saw it," Eric called out, letting the cheers wash over him. "If any of you think you can do better, you know where to find me."

The crowd's applause grew, a few cadets clapping Eric on the shoulder as he walked through them, a conquering victor among his peers.

Mina, standing near the back, frowned as she watched him, her face a mixture of concern and disappointment. She leaned toward Sasha, whispering, "Doesn't it seem… I don't know, a bit much?"

Sasha nodded, her expression uncertain. "Yeah. But everyone loves a winner, right?"

Mina shook her head, watching as Eric soaked in the attention. "Winning isn't everything.

As the crowd began to disperse, Sam slipped through the cadets, kneeling beside Markus, who was still catching his breath.

"You didn't have to do that," she whispered, helping him sit up.

He gave her a small, tired smile, his face smeared with dirt. "Someone had to."

The next day, the cadets were lined up in the training yard, the morning air cold and tense. Whispers circulated through the group—everyone knew why they were gathered like this, and everyone was waiting for the storm to come.

Keith Shadis stormed onto the training grounds, his expression thunderous, sending an electric ripple of fear through the cadets. They'd seen their instructor angry before, but this—this was different. The air around him seemed to crackle with tension, and every cadet instinctively fell silent, straightening up, avoiding his piercing gaze.

Keith let the silence hang, letting the cadets sweat under his glare. Finally, his voice rang out, cutting through the stillness.

"I've heard about an… incident that took place yesterday," he began, his tone deadly calm. "Apparently, two cadets thought it wise to settle a 'matter' with a fight." He paused, his gaze sweeping over the group until it landed on Eric and Markus, who stood on opposite ends of the line, both doing their best to avoid his eyes.

Keith's voice dropped, a dangerous edge creeping into it. "Eric Smith. Markus Voss. Step forward."

Eric's confident demeanor faltered slightly, but he pushed down the unease that crept up his spine. He stepped forward, standing tall, keeping his expression as neutral as he could muster. Around him, the cadets watched, a mixture of curiosity and fear flickering in their eyes.

Eric and Markus looked at each other, both silent for a moment as if waiting for the other to speak first. Finally, Eric spoke, his voice steady but wary. "It was just a… sparring match, sir. Nothing serious."

Markus nodded quickly, chiming in. "Yeah, just training, Commander. We were just trying to, uh, sharpen our skills."

Keith's gaze flickered between them, unimpressed. "So you're both saying this was nothing more than training?" He arched an eyebrow, his stare piercing.

Eric nodded, but Keith's face made him uneasy. He knew that look—the kind that said Keith could see straight through him.

"Right," Keith said slowly, drawing the word out. "Then why were there over twenty cadets gathered around to watch this so-called 'training'?"

Markus opened his mouth to respond, but Keith cut him off. "And why is it that every cadet I've spoken to seems to think it was more of a brawl than a spar?"

Neither Eric nor Markus spoke, exchanging a quick glance. They both knew Keith wasn't buying it.

Keith took a step closer to them, his eyes narrowed. "Would either of you like to explain to me what possessed you to ignore every rule and challenge each other like this?"

Markus swallowed, glancing nervously at Eric, then back at Keith. "Sir, it… it was just a misunderstanding. I thought—"

"Enough," Keith barked, his voice cutting through Markus's words. "You thought it was appropriate to challenge a fellow cadet outside of training and put on a spectacle in front of everyone?" He shifted his gaze to Eric, his eyes narrowing. "And you, Smith. I suppose you think this makes you look tougher?"

Eric met Shadis's gaze, his expression carefully blank. "Sir, we… were just settling a dispute."

"Settling a dispute," Shadis repeated, his voice a low, dangerous rumble. He stepped closer, looming over Eric with a look that would have made most cadets tremble. "And who gave you the impression that this camp exists for you to settle your personal disputes, cadet?"

Eric held his ground, though he felt every eye in the room on him, including Markus's uncertain gaze. "Sir, it was just a matter between Markus and me. It didn't affect the others."

Shadis's glare deepened. "Didn't affect the others? Do you think they were there to watch a private show, Smith?" He turned to address the entire room, his voice booming. "This isn't some back-alley brawl where you can indulge your petty rivalries! You're training to become soldiers of humanity—every action, every move, reflects the discipline and unity this Corps demands!"

Keith's voice rose, addressing the whole line of cadets. "What happened yesterday was a disgrace. Every single one of you stood by and watched instead of stopping it. This is not a place for your petty rivalries and egos."

The cadets stood frozen, their faces paling as Shadis's words echoed in the hall. Shadis turned back to Eric and Markus, his face twisted in anger. "Since you both seem to have so much energy for unapproved training, I think some additional conditioning is in order. Perhaps you'd benefit from a good, long run—fifty laps around the entire grounds."

Eric's eyes widened, and Markus's jaw dropped. "Fifty?" they both blurted out in unison.

"Yes," Keith replied, a glint of satisfaction in his eyes. "Fifty. And don't think I won't be watching to make sure you finish every single one of them. Now, start running."

Eric's fists tightened, but he held his tongue, his gaze fixed on the ground.

"And don't think I'm done with you yet," Keith continued, his voice hardening. "You'll also be running laps every morning before dawn, until you drop if necessary.

Markus's face went pale, but he nodded, mumbling, "Yes, sir." Eric's jaw clenched, but he gave a curt nod, refusing to show any sign of weakness.

But Shadis still wasn't done.

"Oh, and one more thing,"Keith said, his voice dropping, icy and controlled, "for your complete disregard for the principles of this Corps, for using this training ground as your personal arena, and for humiliating your comrades, you will be given disciplinary action. Effective immediately, you'll spend every evening this week doing manual labor—cleaning the barracks, maintaining equipment, and scrubbing the mess hall. Since you seemed so keen on providing entertainment. I'm sure the rest of the cadets will find it… entertaining."

A murmur of surprise and stifled laughter rippled through the ranks, and Eric's face flushed as he glanced around, feeling the eyes of every cadet boring into them.

"Understood, sir," he forced out, barely keeping his voice steady.

Shadis folded his arms, his gaze pinned on Eric. "And don't mistake this for leniency. You pull a stunt like this again, and I'll personally make sure you are a janitor for the rest of your time in the Corps."

The two of them exchanged one last glance, both too stubborn to back down but clearly stunned by the severity of the punishment. They started their laps, each running in silence, the distance between them wide as they both processed the daunting task ahead.

With that, Shadis turned his glare on the rest of the cadets. "As for the rest of you who stood by and cheered on this little show—you'll be joining them for those laps. Maybe that'll teach you to think twice before cheering and encouraging this."

A collective groan rose from the group, but none dared to voice their complaints.

"Now, get moving!" Shadis barked. "All of you!"

The cadets scattered, and Eric and Markus broke into a jog, leading the group around the training grounds. Eric's face was a mask of barely-contained frustration, but he kept his pace steady, refusing to give Shadis the satisfaction of seeing him falter.

As they ran, Sam fell into step beside him, giving him a sidelong glance. "So… how's that 'entertainment' working out for you?"

Eric shot her a glare, but she just shrugged, a faint smile tugging at her lips. "Just saying. Next time you want to settle a score, maybe think twice about inviting an audience."

"Didn't need the lecture," he muttered, keeping his gaze forward.

By the tenth lap, sweat dripped down their faces, their breaths growing heavier. Markus shot Eric a sidelong glare. "This was all your fault, you know."

"My fault?" Eric huffed, his voice dripping with indignation. "You were the one who challenged me."

"Maybe I wouldn't have if you weren't always acting like you're better than everyone," Markus shot back, his words stinging with frustration.

Eric rolled his eyes, picking up his pace just slightly to gain a small lead. "Well, I am better. Which is why I'll finish these laps long before you do."

"Oh yeah?" Markus sped up to keep pace with him, not about to let Eric get the upper hand. "We'll see about that."

They continued to push each other, each one determined not to let the other get ahead. By the twentieth lap, their competitive energy was practically palpable, each step spurring the other to go faster.

Around the thirtieth lap, exhaustion began to settle in, their breaths ragged and their legs aching. But neither would admit defeat. Markus glanced over at Eric, a grudging respect beginning to replace his irritation. "You're… stubborn as hell, you know that?"

Eric shot him a tired grin. "Takes one to know one."

They fell into a rhythm, no longer running against each other but beside each other. By the time they reached the fortieth lap, they were too exhausted to bicker, and a silent understanding began to form between them—a shared respect forged in their stubborn refusal to quit.

But each time they completed a lap, Keith was there at the end, expression impassive. "Again," he ordered, not allowing them so much as a moment's rest.

Lap after lap, they ran, their bodies growing more battered with each turn. Sweat poured down their faces, their breathing labored as they pushed themselves beyond their limits. By the forty fifth lap, Markus was barely able to stand, his legs shaking, but Eric still maintained his pace, though exhaustion was starting to creep into his movements.

As they reached the end of yet another lap, Keith raised his voice, addressing Eric directly. "Is this what you wanted, Smith? To show off how tough you are?" he demanded, his voice dripping with scorn. "Are you entertained now?"

When they finally completed the fiftieth lap, both of them collapsed onto the ground, gasping for air. After a moment, Markus broke the silence with a breathless chuckle. "Alright… maybe you're not so bad."

Eric gave a faint grin, staring up at the sky. "Same goes for you."

By the time they finished, his legs burned, his breath coming in labored gasps, but he forced himself to stand tall, even as Shadis approached again.

"Finished already?" he asked, raising an eyebrow.

They both nodded, too drained to speak.

Keith glanced between them, his gaze hard but almost approving. "Let this be a reminder: if you waste your energy on pointless fights, you'll end up running in circles. But, if you can learn to push each other without tearing each other down… maybe there's hope for you yet."

"Smith," Shadis said, his voice lower but no less stern. "If you think strength is about putting others down, about proving yourself at any cost, then you're more naive than I thought. This Corps isn't a place for self-serving glory. Get that through your thick skull, or you won't last a day."

Eric's face flushed, but he nodded, swallowing back his pride. "Understood, sir."

"Good," Shadis said, his gaze lingering on Eric for a moment. "I hope, for your sake, that you do." With that, he turned away.

Eric and Markus shared a tired look, both realizing that, in their rivalry, they'd found a kind of respect.

That week, at the crack of dawn, they ran and in the evening, they scrubbed the barracks, the mess halls and the equipment while enduring the amused glances of their fellow cadets.

Author Notes: Expect longer time between updates now, I have posted all the chapters that I had somewhat Pre-Written.

My Boy Eric was just quoting a famous dialogue but alas no one would get the reference.