Chapter 7 — Thirteen and Unlucky
——
The corridor buzzed with noise—new recruits crammed into shared dorms, the scent of too much deodorant and adrenaline wafting from every open door like a nervous breakdown in aerosol form.
Kun ducked as a shirt flew past him—followed by a shout.
"That's MY bunk, asshole!"
From one room, two rookies were locked in a headlock while a third tried to separate them using a pillow as a riot shield.
Across the hall, a lone girl sat on a bottom bunk, legs crossed—expression smug as three boys argued over who technically called dibs first.
Kun blinked. "Wow. They're speedrunning the 'battle royale' arc."
Suho raised an eyebrow. "And we haven't even unpacked yet."
Further down, a senior cadet was chewing out a rookie who hadn't saluted properly.
"You talk back to me again, and I'll pin you to that wall with your own bootlaces, got it?!"
The rookie nodded so fast it looked like a vibration.
Kun muttered, "Goddamn… I feel like we're walking through the zoo."
"It's only day one," Suho replied, tone low. "Wait till blood hits the air."
Finally, they reached the end of the hall. Room 13.
It didn't look different from the others—same dented frame, same flickering sensor light above the door.
Kun squinted.
"This is it?"
Suho nodded. "Thirteen."
A pause.
Then, just barely—like the world bored him and he knew what came next—
"…Lucky us."
Kun stared at the door for a long beat. Then smirked.
"I swear to god… if there's a guy doing push-ups on the ceiling or someone eating ramen with their feet—I'm out."
He reached for the handle.
Suho rolled his eyes. "Grow up."
Then Kun opened the door.
——
As Kun swung the door open, the two stepped into their assigned dorm room—and blinked.
Six beds. Two bathrooms with MALE and FEMALE signs stickered above the doors. One couch. One desk. Two windows overlooking the academy grounds.
And one guy already inside.
Muscular. Tidy. Quietly making his bed like he was prepping for a military parade. His back was straight, movements sharp. A disciplined kind of calm.
On the upper bunk of his double bed—just barely—a hand dangled over the edge.
Kun squinted. "Yo, is someone already dead up there?"
The guy didn't look up. Just tucked the blanket with perfect corners.
Suho glanced around. "This is… nicer than I expected."
Kun let out a low whistle. "I thought it'd be, like, cinder blocks and toilet wine. Not a couch and a freakin' view."
Then the muscular guy turned to face them.
"You in this squad?"
"Yeah," Suho replied, short and to the point.
He nodded once. "Cool. Pick your bed."
Kun moved fast, tossing his duffel onto the lower bunk of an empty double. "Down. Dibs."
Suho wordlessly took the upper.
The remaining two beds were singles—still untouched. No signs of other recruits yet.
Six lockers lined the wall. Suho moved to one and started unpacking—clean, deliberate, precise.
Kun flopped back on his bed like he'd just discovered gravity. "I could get used to this…"
Then—
SLAM.
The dorm door burst open like it owed someone money.
A duffel bag flew across the room—spinning through the air like a missile and landing squarely on the farthest single bed with a meaty THUMP.
The muscular guy didn't flinch—but his jaw tensed, just slightly. Like he'd already predicted this moment and quietly hated being right.
Kun blinked. "Huh?!"
Then, she appeared.
Short. Athletic build. Black hair, messy and shoulder-length. Black irises sharp as glass.
Perfect figure. Chaotic energy.
She stomped into the room like she owned the floor.
"STRIKE!" she shouted, pumping a fist like she just won a game show.
And then—without hesitation—she sprinted forward and dived onto the bed like a human torpedo.
"Ahhh, what a day!" she groaned into the mattress, limbs splayed.
Silence.
Three pairs of eyes stared at her—Suho, Kun, and the other guy.
Suho blinked.
In his head:
"...God help us. We have another Kun."
——
Kun lay sprawled on his bed, one arm behind his head, idly flicking a crushed wrapper across the floor. Across the room, the muscular guy sat on his bunk with military posture, a weathered book in hand—its spine bent, its pages dog-eared. Silent. Steady. The kind of guy who didn't talk unless he had to.
From behind the bathroom door, water hissed. Suho.
Meanwhile, the black-haired girl was humming some untraceable melody as she unpacked, her movements quick and practiced. She'd already claimed the farthest bed, dumped her stuff, and now arranged her locker like she owned the space.
Then—
Click. The door swung open again.
A soft step. Measured. Controlled.
A girl with muted violet hair stepped in, dragging her bag with quiet confidence. Her eyes scanned the room once—no words, no expression—then she moved to the bed beside the gremlin girl without hesitation.
Kun stiffened. His amber eyes locked onto her.
"Wait... that's her," he thought, the weight behind those words pressing deep into his chest. The senior from the hall... the one with the eyes.
She didn't look at him. Didn't need to. Her presence was enough.
Before he could speak, another figure entered.
A boy—maybe 18—tall, sharply cut black hair, eyes sharp like a blade still sheathed. His uniform was spotless. The kind of rookie who already thought he was part of the higher-ups.
"Are you alright, Miss Mika?" he asked, his tone formal. Too formal.
She gave him the faintest smile, like a cracked mirror catching sunlight.
"Yes. Thank you, Haruto."
Kun blinked, lips parting slightly. Mika...
The boy turned then—his eyes landing on Kun like a slow, calculated blade.
"If there's anything you need, please call for me, Miss," Haruto said, bowing slightly. Still watching Kun.
Mika only nodded.
The boy didn't move. Didn't break eye contact with Kun.
Kun, still laying on the bed, raised one brow.
"You her boyfriend or her butler?" he said lazily.
Haruto's jaw tightened by a millimeter—but he said nothing. Just turned and walked out, slow and stiff.
The door clicked shut behind Haruto.
For a second, the room felt like it inhaled.
Black hair girl, still crouched in front of her locker with one chip halfway to her mouth, blinked toward the purple-haired newcomer. She tilted her head, narrowed her eyes, then slowly mouthed, "Rich girl." Like it was a diagnosis.
Then she popped the chip into her mouth with an exaggerated crunch.
Kun stifled a laugh.
Violet girl didn't react. She unpacked in silence, placing each item with methodical grace. A folded uniform. A black hair tie. A blade case.
Black hair girl squinted, eyes narrowing in suspicion—then shrugged and slammed her locker shut with her foot.
"Well," she muttered, stretching her arms like a cat waking from hell, "squad's already spicy. Guess we're skipping the boring intro arc."
——
The bathroom door creaked open.
Suho stepped out, towel slung over his head, hair damp and messy. He wore a plain white shirt and black shorts, quiet and composed, walking barefoot across the cold floor toward the lockers.
Behind him, the dorm room buzzed in soft layers of chaos and comfort.
Kun sprawled across the lower bunk, arms behind his head, sinking into the mattress like he'd just discovered heaven came with springs. Nearby, a broad-shouldered man sat upright on his bed, flipping through a worn book with a soldier's precision—quiet, composed, unreadable.
At the far end of the room, the black-haired girl lounged on her bed, eyes locked on her phone like the rest of the world didn't exist. The violet-haired one, calm and deliberate, moved with graceful focus as she unpacked—each motion efficient, like she was used to silence.
Then—
THUMP.
Muscular man closed his book, the sound loud enough to draw attention.
"Alright," he said, standing. His voice was deep but warm. "Since it looks like we're all here, might as well introduce ourselves. Squad life gets messy without names."
"I'm down," Kun said, raising a lazy hand from the bed.
Suho nodded silently, still at his locker.
The black-haired girl didn't look up. The violet girl didn't pause her folding.
He rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly. "Bit of a cold crowd, huh? Fine, I'll go first."
He stepped forward like he was giving a field briefing.
"Name's Jackson Drake. Twenty-eight. Ex-military. Class: Defender—or tank, if you wanna be blunt. Rank A. From Kamakura, Alpha-side, District 9."
There was a short silence.
Then the black-haired girl sat up, eyes sharp.
"Zhangwa. I live in Sotobori, Alpha side, D9. Eighteen. Striker class, Rank B. I'm very smart, very deadly, and if any of you flirt with me, I will stab you in your sleep."
Kun blinked.
"...We got another Kun," Suho muttered quietly from the locker.
Kun stood and grinned. "Alright, I'm Kun. Nineteen. Beta District 9. No idea about class or rank. The Admin didn't exactly roll out the welcome mat."
"Beta?" Jackson raised an eyebrow.
The violet-haired girl glanced over, subtle but clear.
"Ooooh, mysterious..." Zhangwa added, leaning forward like it was a drama reveal.
Kun scratched his head. "Yeah, no clue about the class or rank part. They didn't tell us squat."
Jackson looked visibly confused. "You serious?"
"Dead serious," Kun replied with a shrug.
Suho's voice came from above as he climbed into the top bunk.
"Suho. Seventeen. Beta District 9. Kun's my brother. And yeah, same deal—no class or rank info."
Jackson muttered under his breath, "What the hell's going on with Beta…?"
Then, the violet-haired girl finally spoke, calm and composed.
"Mika Tanaka."
Zhangwa froze mid-scroll.
"WAIT—Tanaka?! Like the Tanaka family?"
Mika blinked, unfazed. "Yes."
Zhangwa bolted from her bed and lunged at Mika's bag.
"Do you have cookies?! Snacks?! Hidden black cards?!"
Mika raised a hand to intercept. "Hey—stop that."
"Tanaka family…" Jackson murmured, watching closely.
Mika let out a small sigh. "I'm eighteen. Class: Support. Rank B. Hometown: New Tokyo."
Zhangwa returned to her bed, proudly munching on the stolen cookie like she earned it.
Kun leaned back, raising a brow. "So… who was that guy earlier? The senior who escorted you?"
Zhangwa perked up. "Why? Jealous?"
Kun chuckled. "Just curious."
Mika shrugged. "Haruto. Senior cadet. We've trained together."
Then—
From above Jackson's bunk, a sleepy groan.
"Ughhhh... are we still alive?"
Everyone looked up.
A boy sat up on the top bunk, bleary-eyed, pale skin and tousled blond hair sticking in all directions. His voice was low, smooth—somewhere between sleepy and disinterested.
"Name's Smiley Moreau. Don't ask. I won't answer."
He yawned, waving lazily.
"Home? Classified. Class? Striker… maybe? Rank S, I think."
Zhangwa's eyes went wide like searchlights.
"RANK S?!"
She practically bounced in place. "Why do we have a Rank S in here?! This isn't a squad—it's a disaster mix!"
Smiley laid back down.
"I like rookies. They don't yell as much. Usually."
Zhangwa gasped dramatically, "We're doomed."
Then—
BZZZT.
The intercom crackled to life.
"ATTENTION ALL ROOKIES. TOMORROW MORNING, REPORT TO THE MAIN HALL AT 0800 FOR SQUAD ORIENTATION."
BZZZT.
Jackson stood and flipped the switch on the wall. The lights dimmed.
Mika settled into her bed. Zhangwa scrolled one last post before rolling over. Smiley was already asleep. Suho lay motionless above Kun, who had turned to stare at the ceiling.
Silence took hold.
Jackson stared up at the bunk over him, expression unreadable.
"…Two rookies from Beta, a Rank S nap god, and a corporate heiress."
He exhaled slowly.
"…I'm gonna die here."