"Amae, don’t listen to them! We are not leaving you behind!" Zilla whispered firmly. Beside her, Meyra ran in sync with Amae’s stumbling steps, nodding in grim agreement.

  "Can I... just be alone?" he croaked. But his voice was drowned by the rhythmic thuds of Reyna and Nugia’s boots right behind him.

  "Amae... once we're back, I’ll let you..." Meyra paused, her face flushing. "Rest!" she added hesitantly. "But only this once! Tomorrow, you’re back to doing my laundry, understood?" She spoke with her eyes squeezed shut, hiding her worry behind a mask of irritation.

  Amae clenched his fists with all his might, forcing his unstable legs to move faster. Meyra peeked with one eye, hoping her cheap provocation would offer some semblance of comfort in this hellish reality.

  ***

  CYCLE 06:00: BREAKFAST & DAILY ROLL CALL

  Heavy footsteps echoed through the steel pillars and barracks of Sector 7. The breakfast call felt more like a funeral procession. There was no small talk, no morning greetings. Only the sound of boot soles grinding against frozen concrete—a rhythmic tolling of a death knell.

  Unit 009 marched in a jagged formation. Amae trailed at the very back, head bowed so low he seemed to be counting every crack in the floor. He no longer tried to match Zilla or Meyra’s pace. To him, every inch of distance was a sanctuary, a desperate attempt to keep his "failure" from infecting the others.

  Inside the vast, frigid dining hall, the scent of bland, synthetic nutritional porridge hung thick in the air. For other cadets, this was fuel. For Amae, it was a stage for public humiliation. He felt the eyes of Unit 001 and the others tracking his every move. They didn't need to speak; their stares screamed a single word: Parasite.

  Amae sat far from the group, choosing a seat at the very edge of a cold bench. He created a visible chasm, as if his friends were victors of a war he had already lost.

  "Amae! If you don’t get over here right now, I’m going to hit you!"

  Meyra’s shout pierced the low hum of the hall. Her voice was raspy, a volatile mix of rage and suffocating anxiety. But Amae didn't budge. He didn't respond, didn't even look up. To him, Meyra’s voice was an echo from a world he could no longer reach.

  "You’re always so selfish," Meyra snapped, standing up to drag him back. But Zilla’s hand shot out, catching her shoulder. Zilla simply shook her head, her eyes reflecting a wound just as deep.

  They fell into a heavy silence, gripping their metal forks so hard their knuckles turned white. At their table, the air was stagnant, filled with words choked back in their throats. While everyone else stared hollowly at their lumps of gray porridge and dry bread, Nugia ate without a shred of guilt. The clinking of his spoon against the tray was the only rhythm of life left.

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  "You don't like your food?" Nugia asked innocently. His mouth was full of the tasteless gray mush. His clear eyes scanned his teammates' clouded faces.

  "Oh... Nugia," Zilla exhaled, a bitter, faint laugh escaping her lips. She looked at him and forced a smile that felt like it was about to shatter. "You truly never disappoint me, Nugia."

  Zilla realized that Nugia’s innocence was the only thing keeping them grounded. Slowly, they began to eat. It tasted bitter—not because of the ingredients, but because of the reality they had to swallow.

  Meyra stabbed her porridge violently.

  "Look at that... Unit 009 has finally dropped its '1 Newton' weight," someone whispered from the next table, loud enough to trigger a sneer. "A 1N piece of trash and that '00' freak don't belong with girls like them. That unit would be much lighter without the dead weight."

  Meyra’s grip on her fork tightened until the metal groaned. Amae heard everything. Every "trash" felt like a nail driven into his skull. He gripped the edge of his tray. He wasn't angry at them—he agreed with them. And that was what hurt the most.

  Zilla’s gaze locked onto the whispering cadets. She didn't use words. She simply set her fork down with a sharp clang, silencing the immediate area.

  "Eat," Zilla whispered to Meyra and Reyna, her voice as cold as the permafrost. "Save your strength. At the 07:00 sparring session, we will plug those trash-talking mouths with concrete."

  Nugia stopped chewing for a moment, looking at Zilla, then at Amae in the distance. "Amae’s heart rate is unstable," Nugia murmured to himself, though the others heard. "Is he not hungry... or is he just in pain?"

  The question hung in the air, a raw observation that tore their wounds wide open.

  CLATTER!

  Suddenly, Nugia dropped his utensils. They hit the concrete with a deafening ring. The gray porridge splattered across the floor and his boots like vomit.

  "Cadet of Unit 009! What do you think you’re doing?!" barked a barrack overseer.

  Nugia remained silent, staring at the fork on the floor without a hint of guilt. The consequence was instant: Unit 009 was sentenced to extra duty cleaning the hall.

  ***

  SIKLUS 007: THE BETON ARENA

  At the morning roll call, Nugia acted out again. While other units stood with surgical precision, Nugia faced the wrong direction, breaking the symmetry of Unit 009 in front of every cadet in Sector 7.

  "Duck walk! Five laps for Unit 009!" the instructor roared.

  Meyra was fuming. Her breath came in short gasps as she endured the punishment, glancing at Nugia’s expressionless face. Zilla could only sigh, trying to maintain her unit’s dignity while it was being trampled by their comrade’s strange behavior.

  Opposite them stood five figures in spotless uniforms. Unit 10. They didn't whisper. They didn't laugh. They simply stood in a hollow, perfect symmetry.

  "Nugia... if you mess up one more time, I’ll make sure you won't have legs to walk home!" Meyra growled.

  Nugia tilted his head slightly. "How would I get home without legs?" he replied flatly.

  "Enough," Zilla cut in, her commander voice returning. "Next is the spar. Focus. Our opponents are Unit 10. They are stable across all fields."

  Zilla activated a small hologram on her wrist. "Accuracy: Top 10. Agility: Level C. And Strength..." Zilla paused, her eyes narrowing. "...their strength is uniform. Exactly 500 N. No more, no less."

  Her face hardened. "They are a collective unit. If one moves, they all move."

  She glanced at Amae, who stood trembling at the back. In a fight against the perfect symmetry of Unit 10, their one "flaw"—Amae—would be the first target crushed.

  "Amae," Zilla called without turning. "Don't look into their eyes. Stay behind me. In Peterumman, predators always strike the part that trembles the most.

  Nugia shifted his position. He didn't stand beside Zilla as usual. He took an awkward, diagonal stance—as if he were preparing to "pivot" at the most crucial second.