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CHAPTER 1 – IN THE GARDEN
"Come on, Laguna! We're going to miss our ride!"
"Just gimme a sec, will ya?!" he hollered back. "Not like it's gonna be an in-and-out job. Gotta make sure I'm not forgettin' anything."
Laguna Loire glanced into the mirror on the inside of his locker door. The navy blue Galbadian military attire should have cut a dazzling figure on him. Indeed, it would have, had he bothered to press and polish its components; the pant legs were visibly wrinkled, the silver breastplate and shoulder mail sullied with grime. He'd let his hair grow freely since completing basic training less than a year earlier; the flowing brown mane was further from the standard crew cut than any other soldier dared to tread the line. Besides inviting the ire of his superiors, it could often prove a challenge to keep stuffed into his helmet. Regardless, he couldn't bring himself to cut it.
He was by all accounts an unmotivated slacker. Though part of him resented the label, he was honest enough to recognize the kernel of truth contained within. His was not the heart of a soldier. He was a free spirit, who dreamed of seeing all the world had to offer. He'd enlisted seeking an opportunity to broaden his horizons, in the hope he might discover his true calling along the way. He never could have predicted the start of the war mere months later. Though things hadn't turned out quite how he'd imagined, his time in the service wasn't without its silver lining. It had led him to meet his two best friends, who both now stood outside, waiting for him to finish up.
He scanned his eyes over his utility belt, perusing the articles he carried: spare ammunition magazines, two grenades, a rappel cable, and a small container of first-aid supplies. All the essentials were accounted for. Satisfied, he reached into the locker and withdrew his weapon. It was a standard issue assault rifle, no different from those carried by most ground troops. For Laguna however, it was so much more; it was the symbol that instilled him with the confidence to face down any enemy, the catalyst which could transform a man who cared little for violence into a hardened dog of war. He slung it over his shoulder, and reached back inside to retrieve his visored helmet from the upper shelf. His preparations complete, he closed the locker door, and stepped out into the hall.
"All set?" the voice from before asked. Its owner stood propped up against the side of the door frame.
Kiros Seagill's tall, lean figure looked too slender to belong to a soldier. His dark features likewise appeared too smooth and fair for a man. In the time Laguna had known him however, he'd proven a force to be reckoned with on the battlefield, particularly in the realm of close-quarters combat. Three braided, beaded dreadlocks extended from the rear of his black crew cut, a constant reminder to Laguna that there were ways to manage his own hair without taking a razor to it. Even so, he could never picture that particular style suiting him.
Flanking Kiros was a man taller still, and at least three times as wide. Ward Zabac was a fearsome giant; he stood at an even seven feet, sporting musculature Laguna and Kiros combined couldn't match. He was never seen anywhere without his signature bandanna on his head, the same vibrant blue as his piercing eyes. A wicked scar like a small river ran from his left temple down to his stubbled chin. To date, he'd never told them how he'd received it. Despite Laguna's curiosity, he knew it wasn't his place to ask.
"Yup, good to go!" he affirmed.
"We're heading into a full-on war zone, you know," Kiros reminded him. "So, no goofing around like last time."
[… where am I?]
"Wh… who was goofing around?" Laguna feigned offense.
He stumbled over his words as a strange tingling sensation washed over him; it dissipated just as quickly.
"We'll be fine. I don't know 'bout you guys, but I've got too much left to do with my life to go keeling over out there."
"Like gawk at the piano lady some more?" Ward asked.
"Don't call her 'the piano lady'! She's got a name!"
Ward pulled his helmet over his bulbous head, and turned down the hall. Kiros followed suit, snickering as he flashed Laguna a knowing look. Such ribbing was part and parcel of their friendship. Putting up with it was a small price to pay; at the end of the day, there were no other two men he'd rather have in his corner.
Kinda wish they didn't have to bust my balls so often, though…
Squall awoke to the sound of merry birdsong. No sooner had he creaked open his eyes, he brought up his arm to shield them; the sunlight streaming through the window over his head was much too bright. A figure rose from the swivel chair by his bedside, slender and wrapped in a shawl. His grogginess paired with the light's intensity kept him from making out anything more. The visitor - likely a woman, judging by her bodily dimensions - rounded the foot of the bed to the exit. She stopped as the automatic doors hissed open.
"Squall," a feminine voice spoke his name. "It's good to see you."
The girl stepped through, leaving him alone in the vacant infirmary wing. Even without a proper look over his surroundings, he recognized the familiar scent of sanitizer and latex. It was far from the first time he'd been admitted, nor did he expect it to be his last. He sat up in the cramped twin bed, and brought up his wrist to take note of the time. 'Thursday, February 11th, 09:52,' the watch's digital display read. Nearly 5 hours had passed since his and Seifer's appointed meeting time on the rocky plateau.
His hand shot to his forehead as he recalled the excruciating pain. He brushed away the fringe of his unruly brown hair to find a thick bandage beneath; it trailed diagonally between his eyes where Seifer's gunblade had struck. Only as he traced it with his fingers did it occur to him just how fortunate he'd been; even the slightest misdirection of the blade could have cost him one or both of his eyes. Whether it were owed to Seifer's precision or sheer dumb luck, he couldn't say for certain. Neither could he fathom how he'd been returned to the Garden for treatment. Surely it hadn't been Seifer's doing.
The automatic doors hissed open again before he could think it over. Two women stepped inside together, and turned their attention to him.
"Well, look who's awake," the first dryly commented.
She was middle-aged, with her greying hair tied up in a bun. The lab coat she wore reflected her position among the Garden medical staff. Squall would have just as easily recognized her without it, given the number of times he'd found himself in her care over the years. Dr. Kadowaki had been the chief practitioner at Balamb Garden since its inception. She was the very picture of professionalism, offset by an underlying sarcastic streak reserved for her regular patients.
"How did I just know it would be either you or Seifer?" the second sighed.
Squall's lips curled into a frown; hers was another face he could never mistake, much to his displeasure. Of every student to have trained in the Garden, none had advanced through the ranks as quickly as Quistis Trepe. She was the acclaimed prodigy of Balamb Garden, the youngest certified instructor by five years, and something of a celebrity among the student body. Seldom did he see her not dressed in her black SeeD uniform of late; today was no exception. Two golden fringes on either side of her face had replaced the pigtails from years gone by, with the remainder of her hair tied up in a duck tail fashion in the back. Her blue eyes behind her silver-rimmed glasses showed exasperation. Squall averted his own. Her persistent nagging had continued unabated until the present. That she'd become his de-facto instructor six months earlier was almost more than he could stomach.
"How are you feeling?" Dr. Kadowaki asked.
"Okay, I guess. My head hurts a bit, though."
"Yeah, no kidding," she scoffed as she took his medical chart. "That was one deep cut. I managed to stop the bleeding, sanitize the wound, and do some suturing, but you'd better believe it's going to leave a scar. Seifer looked like he had one just like it when he brought you in. What the hell were you two trying to do to each other out there?"
"Seifer… brought me here?"
"Yep, had you slung over his shoulders like a hunter. He'd wrapped bandages around your head and his. Dropped your sword off right there."
Squall followed her pointing finger to the side of the bed. Sure enough, his gunblade stood propped up against the nightstand.
"Stubborn fool wouldn't let me treat him. I also let a friend of yours in to see you, but it looks like she's already left."
"My friend?" he repeated.
"Will he be alright to participate in the exam today?" Quistis interjected. Squall's eyes went wide.
The exam's today? Already?
"I'd say so. The sutures should hold so long as he avoids any more trauma to the head. Seriously kid, forget the scar, you came in looking like you took a real beating out there."
She sighed as she placed his chart on the nightstand, and turned her full attention to him.
"Take it easy out there, alright? I know you love to push your luck, but that was a close call you just had. You might not get so lucky again."
"Tell that to Seifer," he retorted.
"That Seifer… won't listen to anyone, will he? Can't you just ignore him for once?"
"Don't even bother with that, Doctor," Quistis crossed her arms. "I've been trying to get that through his skull since…"
She paused, appearing lost in thought for a moment.
"You know… I think it's gotten to where I genuinely can't remember how long it's been."
"I can't just run away," Squall insisted.
"Hard headed in more ways than one, I see," Dr. Kadowaki snorted. She reached out to carefully remove the bandage from between his eyes. "You want to be cool, huh? Well, don't go getting yourself killed while you're at it. Consider yourself discharged. Just remember to keep the water pressure down when you shower, and try not to stand with your forehead directly under the stream. You're free to go. And seriously, take care of yourself out there."
"Noted."
He lifted off the duvet to swing his feet out of bed. His black boots waited for him on the floor beside. He slipped his feet in and laced them quickly; time was of the essence. What little wonder he'd dreamed of being a soldier headed off to battle; the day for which he'd spent his entire student life in training had finally arrived. With his footwear secured, he rose to his feet, and snatched his gunblade from the bedside. He pulled the weapon from its solid black sheath to inspect for wear or damage.
The polished silver blade gleamed in the sunlight, its custom stenciled engraving of a lion's head popping out against the shiny metal alloy. The cross guard was designed in the likeness of a six round revolver. More than a stylistic flourish, each of the six chambers held an explosive round, which could be fired by pulling the trigger on the weapon's hilt. The vibration produced served to further magnify the impact of the strike, allowing the blade to cleave through sturdier material than a normal sword.
Few were the cadets who'd ever selected it as their weapon of choice; the sense of timing required to master it presented a steep learning curve. At the moment, there were only two: himself, and the man who'd brought him to the infirmary, in both respects. The tip of the blade was soiled with a smudge of crimson. Squall could only vaguely recall his retaliation on Seifer, so wholly consumed by the agony his mind had been. He made a mental note to clean it when he got back to his dorm, and re-sheathed the sword.
After clipping it to his intertwined belts, he turned to his instructor, and followed her out the door. They passed through the infirmary lobby into the corridor connecting to the academy's main hub. Through the glass windows lining either side, he could see cadets milling about the adjacent courtyards. Some rushed to make it to their next class. Others less preoccupied aimed to make the most of such a refreshingly mild morning; the last dregs of winter were finally drawing to a close. Picnic tables dotted the expanse, some playing host to Triple Triad card games. A thicket of trees to the south lent their shade to yet more students reading or resting. Such was a day in the life at Balamb Garden, the world-renowned institution where young minds trained rigorously each day. Their collective mission: to join the ranks of the elite mercenary army, SeeD.
The Garden was the place Squall had called home for as long as he could remember. At more than half a mile in diameter, and not much shorter in height, it was visible even from the namesake town of Balamb twenty miles away. The central structure resembled a towering blue, silver, and gold conch shell. A wide suspended ring with a cross-shaped crest floated over top like a halo. The seven primary outer facilities and the front gate branched out from the center, dividing the open space between into eight semi-circular inner courtyards.
"What's on your mind?" Quistis chimed as they strolled along.
"Nothing."
His response sounded in stereo; she'd anticipated and mimicked his reply of choice, intonation and all. She burst into a mischievous giggle the next moment. It never ceased to amaze him that this still juvenile woman, only a year older than him, was now his instructor.
"What's so funny?" he snapped.
"Funny?" she fought to catch her breath. "No, that's not it. I'm just… happy. I feel like I'm finally beginning to understand you is all."
"I'm not that easy to figure out."
"Then tell me more about yourself sometime. If there's anything you want to talk about, I'm all ears."
"That's-"
"-none of your business?"
She'd done it again.
"Fine, you don't have to if you don't want to. Anyway, exam participants are to assemble in the ballroom in cadet attire at 1100. That gives you a little less than an hour to clean yourself up, check your equipment, and make your way upstairs. I'll be the one overseeing your squad."
"How convenient," he muttered as he took his leave.
Wonder what strings she had to pull to make that happen.
The Garden's main hub consisted of an unbelievably vast atrium. A wide circular pathway traced the circumference on the outer rim, branching off in each of the eight compass directions. Beneath the walkways sloshed what was essentially a small lake, the water constantly refilled by a series of fish shaped fountains erected in the open spaces. Four sets of stairs to the north, south, east, and west sides led up to the raised central platform. There, a wide pillar surrounded by glass capsule elevators reached up into the ceiling on the 10th level. An intertwining network of yet more walkways shot off from each of the lower levels like a hive.
Students scurried to and fro as Squall made his way around to the northern dormitories. Along the way, he caught several unnerved glances from passersby. He expected he would be getting a lot of that today. All the same, it piqued his curiosity. He arrived at his dorm after several minutes of navigating the familiar halls, fished his card key out of his back pocket, and unlocked the door. It opened to the central common area he shared with his three roommates. None were present, leaving him to assume they'd already gone ahead to the ballroom. As he entered his room and shut the door behind him, he turned to look in the mirror hung on its back.
His casual attire was the same as always, a bleak and somber wardrobe comprised almost entirely of black; black boots, pants, gloves, and his leather bomber jacket with a white fur-trim collar. He wore a pair of brown belts intertwined in an X around his waist. A silver pendent in the shape of a roaring lion's head dangled from his neck; it was the same design he'd had engraved on his gunblade, and the ring on his left hand.
As his eyes finally met themselves in the mirror, he saw for the first time the freshly cut swathe between them amid some noticeable bruising. It began above his right eye, and continued across the bridge of his nose to just under the corner of his left. Surprisingly, the scar seemed to suit him; it gave him a more battle hardened appearance. His only disappointment came with the knowledge of who it had been dealt to him by.
At least I didn't end up like Fujin.
He strolled into his private bathroom, and began to undress. While he was forced to share the central common and kitchen area with his roommates, each of their bedrooms came with their own attached bathroom and shower combo. He stripped down, turned the faucet on, and stepped into the stream. Per Dr. Kadowaki's advice, he took care not to raise the pressure too high. As he rinsed the grime and sweat away, his thoughts turned to the forthcoming battle.
The SeeD field exam was held annually, traditionally within a month prior to the school term's end in mid-March. Each was a full-fledged military operation, conducted for the purpose of testing the skills of Balamb cadets on the battlefield. Those who passed were awarded the title of SeeD. As each was to be a real assignment, scheduling a suitable operation in advance was impossible. Therefore, all registered students were given a two week period in which to prepare, and be ready to roll out at a moment's notice. In the event one could not be arranged within the timeframe, the objective would default to reconnaissance of the southern Centra continent, where there would be no shortage of adversity to overcome. It had only been three days since the standby order, a surprisingly quick turnaround based on prior years.
At 17, this year would be the first in which Squall was eligible to attempt the exam. Garden regulations dictated that each cadet pass before the age of 20; those who did not would be dismissed from the academy. In essence, every student had three potential attempts, though it wasn't unusual for some to abstain in their first year so as to better their skills, and all but expected of students transferring from Galbadia and Trabia Gardens. Seifer and Quistis had made their first attempts the previous year. The former had failed for his unprofessional conduct, while the latter had performed so well, she'd been offered the chance to apply for an instructor's license immediately after graduation.
I will pass.
Squall stepped out of the shower, dried himself, and strode back into his bedroom. He threw on a fresh set of undergarments and dress socks before retrieving his cadet uniform from the closet. Its dark blue pants and jacket were lined with silver flourishes, the shoulders patterned with the SeeD crest on either side. As he donned the familiar attire before the mirror, he was struck with a sudden sense of deja-vu; the color scheme was indeed similar to the Galbadian army's, now that he thought about it. He dressed himself, checked his gunblade was fully loaded, and wiped away the smudge at its tip with a sheer white cloth.
Transferring all necessary articles from his belt-harness to his uniform's standard one proved a tedious chore. He clipped on his ammunition reserve, medical supply pouch, sheathed weapon, and finally reached for the last and arguably most important of all. Seconds passed as he ran his fingers up and down the intertwined leather straps. His heart caught in his throat as he realized it was nowhere to be found.
Where is it?!
He frantically double-checked the belts before throwing them on the bed in frustration. His breathing erratic, he proceeded to comb over the entire room for it; surely it couldn't be far. After five minutes spent searching every drawer, his anxiety became full-blown panic. Had it fallen off on the way back? In the infirmary? Or worse still, when he'd been carried back to the Garden, at which point it might be beyond recovery? With less than 15 minutes before the assembly, he would need to move quickly.
He bolted out the door, his eyes fixed to the ground every step of the way. He retraced his steps back to the atrium, taking the outer rim counterclockwise towards the infirmary. Evading the mob of oncoming students was difficult enough without fighting to peer through a moving flurry of shoes.
"'Scuse me, sorry!" one girl's voice rose above the rest of the chatter. "Sorry, coming through! Oh geez, I'm late, I'm late, I'm late!"
Squall was knocked off balance as the girl in question slammed into him. She fell backwards onto the floor with a yelp, prompting the surrounding students to momentarily slow.
"Are you okay?" he asked, extending his hand.
Her hair was brown and shoulder-length, curled upwards on either side of her round face. She paused for a moment at the gesture. Her green eyes returned it with an apprehensive stare, making Squall all the more self-conscious of his new scar and bruises. He opened his mouth to assure her, when the look just as quickly faded away. She took his hand.
"Yeah, thanks," she smiled as she rose to her feet. "Sorry about that. I'm kinda in a hurry."
"Aren't we all?" he chastised her.
He turned to leave; he had his own urgent matter to attend to. A hand caught his sleeve from behind before he could move.
"Um, actually," she started sheepishly. "Could you maybe… point me to where the ballroom is?"
"The ballroom?" he repeated, turning back around. "Are you taking the field exam?"
"Yeah, that's right! Sorry, I just transferred here from Trabia, and I'm still trying to figure out where everything is. This place is so much bigger than back home!"
"You just transferred from Trabia?"
"Yup, moved in about a week ago!"
"And you're already taking the exam?"
"Yeah. Why? Is there a problem with that?"
The ditzy girl's naivete stunned Squall. She seemed completely oblivious to the risks she would face by jumping in right away. Her instructor must have recommended she wait until next year; virtually every other transfer student did so. Charging into battle without mastering her new piece of equipment would put her at a steep disadvantage, and only make her a liability to her assigned squad. Given the manner in which they'd quite literally bumped into one another however, she did seem to be of the 'leap-before-you-look' persuasion.
"No," he lied. "The ballroom's up on the 15th floor. Anyway, good luck. I'll be taking the exam, too."
"Oh, cool! Then since we're heading the same way, can you show me there?"
Damn.
He glanced at his watch: 10:53. What little time he'd had to locate his missing piece of equipment was gone. Even if it were in the infirmary, he'd never make it to the assembly before 1100. Tardiness was expressly frowned upon at Balamb Garden; showing up late could potentially bar him from taking the exam altogether.
"Alright," he reluctantly agreed. "Let's go."
"Woohoo!" she rejoiced. "Thanks so much!"
The two climbed the stairs to the circle of glass capsules around the pillar. As the girl stepped aboard ahead of him, the pair of nunchaku strapped to her back caught his eye. Both iron bars were painted solid red with smatterings of gold, each as long as one of her arms. She pressed the button for the 15th floor as he boarded. The doors slid shut a moment later, dooming Squall to his fate. And yet, if this girl had the courage to face the exam at such a detriment, then so could he. He only hoped Dr. Kadowaki had found his missing piece of equipment; the prospect of having lost it out on the Alcaud Plains was soul crushing.
The elevator shot up, providing them a bird's eye view of the atrium. Figuring he might spare other students from further headache, he took the opportunity to give her a brief overview of the Garden's layout.
"The bottom floor is the connecting hub for all the main facilities. On the north side you have the dorms, the cafeteria, and the parking garage. Then there's the quad to the west-"
"Yeah, I know the quad," she cut him off. "I'm on the committee for this year's Garden Festival. I'm sure it's gonna be great!"
"Whatever. Anyway, going counterclockwise from the quad is the infirmary, the entrance, the library, and the training center. Most of the upper floors are classrooms and lecture halls. Except the physical fitness center on the 10th, and the ballroom on the 15th."
"That's… a lot to take in at once."
"Sorry," he apologized, only half meaning it. "The floors above the ballroom are the living quarters and meeting rooms for faculty and staff. You need special clearance to access those floors. And the 20th floor at the top is the headmaster's office."
"Question! What's the headmaster's name?"
"Headmaster Cid Kramer," he answered as the doors opened. "He'll probably be making a speech to send us off. Come on."
They emerged into a circular antechamber through which the main pillar stemmed. Elaborate golden flourishes of various flowers and trees decorated its walls. He gestured to the double doors standing ajar at the north end of the chamber. They opened into a grand, glass domed ballroom rimmed by towering golden arches. A stage with a speaking podium had been erected against the far wall. Majestic banners hung from each of the room's supporting pillars, set in place for the coming graduation ball. The archways furthest from the door opened to a series of outdoor balconies; the remainder led to the catering and preparation areas which took up most of the rest of the floor. A dense crowd of cadets and SeeDs stood in the middle of it all, gathered in their assigned squadrons.
Several of the Garden's enigmatic faculty stood guard around the room's perimeter. Each wore flowing red and white robes topped by a golden, disk-shaped headpiece. Known collectively to the student body as the 'Thorns', they were a mysterious group charged with upholding the Garden code, possessing a level of authority beyond even instructors and SeeD captains.
"Wow," the girl breathed in amazement. "How many people are signed up for this?"
"Most of the 12th year class," Squall replied. "Plus any stragglers that didn't make it the last two years. Probably somewhere in the 200 range, not counting the SeeDs who'll be accompanying us."
"Squall, over here!"
He turned his head to see Quistis waving from off to the side. A single cadet stood beside her; he was slightly shorter, sporting a similar shade of blonde hair which had been spiked up at the front. Squall's heart sunk as he recognized the tattoo on the left side of his face: a mass of strange black tendrils framing his eye.
Oh, please no…
"That's your squad?" the girl asked.
"Unfortunately," he sighed.
"Aw, don't be such a downer!" she playfully nudged him. "Now, if I can just find my own…"
"Well, I can't help you there. Good luck."
"Wait! Er… 'Squall', was it? My name's Selphie. Thanks for showing me here. And yeah, good luck to you, too!"
She shot off in the opposite direction, wrapping her way around the assembly. Squall trudged over to Quistis and his presumptive squadmate. Much to his dismay, it was exactly who he'd suspected.
"So, I'm with you, huh?" the young man greeted him. "Let's do our best out there, 'kay?"
"Whatever," Squall muttered; he now desperately hoped the exam would be a brief one.
Zell Dincht was a personality entirely opposed to Squall's own: obnoxiously cheery, yet hot-headed and easily riled. He was both a superb martial artist, and a gear-head with a penchant for all things technology. Despite the general laxness he gave off, he wasn't stupid. Yet for all his mechanical know-how, his emotional intelligence matched that of many an underclassman yet to reach basic weapons training.
"Heard Seifer whooped you pretty bad this morning. Well, I can see that now."
"I got him back for it. And it wasn't a fight. We were training."
The lie escaped his lips with greater ease than he'd expected.
"Betcha he doesn't think so. Look, Seifer's just being a pain in the ass like always. All you've gotta do is ignore him."
"That's-"
"-none of your business," Quistis finished for him again, tagging on a small chuckle. "Speaking of which, that 'pain in the ass' as you put him happens to be your squad leader."
"Say what?!" Zell reeled.
It just got worse.
"I'm sorry. It wasn't my decision, and it can't be changed. He gets preferential standing for being the most combat experienced of you three."
Seifer being given any modicum of authority truly frightened Squall. He dreaded to consider what manner of abuse awaited him on the battlefield today.
"And, here he comes," Zell groaned. Squall turned back to the entrance as Quistis flagged him down.
Seifer Almasy strode into the ballroom. He was flanked by his two partners in crime, both underclassmen not participating in the exam. To his left was Raijin, a tall, tanned exemplar of fitness; his abs bulged proudly from his stomach, exposed courtesy of his vest left hanging open. His pants were of a baggy black fabric secured by a red cloth-belt. At only 16, he'd already developed a wealth of dark stubble on his jaw.
To Seifer's right was Fujin, a pale young woman with short silver hair. An eye-patch covered her left eye, her right an unnatural red, and yet her most peculiar oddity was not related to her appearance at all. Her manner of speaking was absurdly concise, coming in one word bursts rather than fully formed sentences. Having a proper conversation with her was impossible. Indeed, Squall would at times wonder how the three ever managed to communicate effectively.
The man of the hour was still clad in his casual grey jacket; he would face a deduction for failing to assemble in uniform. He was just as Squall had seen him that morning, save for the fresh scar on his face. It was a mirror image of his own, trailing from below his right eye to just above his left. Squall could hardly believe he'd managed to leave such a precise mark; the rage had been so blinding he could barely remember it. The cut looked slightly more shallow, which was likely what had allowed him to treat it without Dr. Kadowaki's assistance.
"Man, they're like twins now," he heard Zell mutter to Quistis.
Squall frowned; with one ill-advised sword fight, their shared reputation was now etched on their faces for all to see.
"Great," Seifer moaned as he drew near. "I've got to deal with Zell the chicken-wuss this time?"
"What'd you call me?!"
'All you have to do is ignore him.'
"Oh, and before I forget… catch!"
Seifer fished something out of his jacket pocket, and tossed it underhand to Squall. He reflexively leaned forward to grab it with both hands. The small metallic sphere plopped into his cupped palms; it was roughly the size of a billiard ball, with the SeeD emblem engraved on its casing. Taking it in one hand, he depressed the two switches on the top and bottom of the device with his thumb and middle finger. Its two halves parted by half an inch to reveal a blazing energy within.
"Figured you'd still need your training wheels after this morning," Seifer derided him.
Squall unflinchingly stared at the sphere in awe. He ought to have been relieved after getting so worked up over the last half hour trying to find it. Instead, he felt only anger; he recalled the sideswipe Seifer had made past him during their battle, the one that had knocked him off balance. He hadn't lost his Guardian Force, nor faltered in conjuring its power. He'd been pick-pocketed.
"That's enough!" Quistis asserted herself. "Like it or not, these are the teams that have been decided. You three will make up Squad 19, and will be under my jurisdiction. So please, Seifer, don't antagonize your squadmates. Teamwork is one of the most important criteria you'll be judged on. I really do want you to pass."
"'Course he will!" Raijin boasted. "Seifer's gonna clean up this time, y'know?"
"Redemption!" Fujin barked.
"I hope your faith hasn't been misplaced," Quistis replied. "Well, Seifer, you're the squad leader. Good luck to you."
"Please, instructor," he scoffed, the sarcasm dripping from his voice. "I can't stand it when people wish me luck. Save those words for a bad student who needs them, will you?"
"Okay, then. Good luck, Seifer."
Zell stifled a snicker. Even Squall couldn't help letting a smug grin cross his lips. Seifer's eyes narrowed in resentment; he stared daggers at Quistis for several beats before a booming voice reverberated through the hall.
"Attention, students!"
Squall jumped at the sudden swell in volume, and turned to face the stage. A single Thorn stood at the microphone-equipped podium with a stout, middle-aged man by his side. The exam was about to commence. He disengaged the active sphere in his hand and clipped it to the holder on his belt.
"It is 1100 hours," the robed man proclaimed. "The SeeD field exam will begin henceforth. Before the operation commences however, the headmaster would like to say a few words to you all."
The Thorn swiftly abdicated the podium to the elder, brown-haired man. He was dressed in a sharp burgundy vest, with a white dress shirt and emerald tie. His wrinkled face lit up as he gazed out over the crowd, his bespectacled eyes meeting them with a kindly look. Every cadet and SeeD promptly snapped into the Balamb Garden salute; it involved standing at attention with one's right arm held directly upward, palm facing in.
"At ease," Headmaster Cid commanded, clearing his throat. "Good morning, everyone. It's been quite a while, hasn't it? I'm happy to see you all well. I expect you will demonstrate this same confidence and professionalism in the field today. This year's exam will involve a total of 225 participants, split up into 75 squads of three. There will be an even 100 SeeDs dispatched alongside you; should you fail, they will get the job done. There, that should be one less worry on your minds!"
The headmaster chuckled at his own remark. Stony silence enveloped the rest of the room.
"For many of you, this will be your first experience in a real, life-or-death battle. Always keep in mind the lessons you have learned here at this Garden. Allow them to inform your actions in the line of fire. Remember the years you have spent training for this very day. This is your moment to prove your mettle, to earn your place among the ranks of SeeD, the elite mercenary army of Balamb Garden. Learn from them, obey their commands, and accomplish the mission. I wish each and every one of you the best of luck. Let the exam begin!"
The room burst into applause as the headmaster bowed his head to them. Squall joined in with the rest of his team, save for Seifer. It was true. The day of destiny had finally arrived.
"To the parking garage," Quistis ordered. "We're taking the transports into town. Let's move, everyone!"
She made for the ballroom doors. Zell followed in her footsteps just behind. Squall took one step forward and stopped; a hand firmly gripped his shoulder, holding him in place.
"Listen up," a familiar voice menacingly whispered into his ear. "Teamwork means staying out of my way. It's a squad rule. Don't you forget it."