I wake up early, the sunlight filtering through the window of my sparse room. I stretch, feeling the weight of the day ahead settle in. Today's the real deal—my first actual day at the CCG Academy. My heart races slightly at the thought of how much ground I have to make up. Urie's been here for four months, but I've only just arrived—three months, three weeks, and six days behind everyone else. Great.
But I remind myself—I'm an adult. I should be able to catch up easily on theoretical knowledge. The real challenge is the physical training. I'm confident in that part. If there's anything I can excel at, it's pushing my body beyond its limits.
I throw on my uniform, a simple but crisp CCG-issued set, and head outside. The cold morning air hits my face as I step into the courtyard. I'm greeted by the sight of my fellow students splashing cold water on their faces, preparing for the day ahead. Their eyes are sharp, determined. It's clear these people are serious, but they've had time to adjust. Me? I'm still getting used to the routine, still figuring out my place here.
I make my way toward the mess hall, keeping to myself. Nobody approaches me, thankfully. After all, Urie wasn't exactly Mr. Popular. He wasn't friendly, and neither am I, so it works out. I grab a tray and start filling it with a simple breakfast—eggs, toast, and a cup of black coffee. The cafeteria is busy, but no one pays me much mind. They're all wrapped up in their own world, each one lost in their thoughts as they eat and prepare for the day.
As I sit down to eat, I glance around the room. A few familiar faces stand out. I spot Tooru Mutsuki, and Ginshi Shirazu is seated at a corner, deep in conversation with Saiko Yonebayashi, both of them discussing something in hushed tones—probably games or some class-related subject.
I finish my breakfast quickly, and after a moment of quiet reflection, I head to my first class of the day: Ghoul Anatomy. It's a subject I'm sure I'll pick up easily—after all, it's mostly about understanding the physical and biological makeup of ghouls. It's fascinating, but also necessary knowledge if I'm going to be dealing with them on a regular basis.
Next, it's Strategy and Tactics. This class focuses on the mental side of the job—how to outsmart, outmaneuver, and overpower ghouls in the field. It's about more than just brute strength; it's about brains and brawn. I sit through the lecture, taking notes and absorbing as much as I can. I'm ready for anything, but the class is a bit more challenging than I anticipated. Still, it's manageable.
Case Studies follows, where we go over historical incidents, ghoul encounters, and how they were handled by previous CCG Investigators. I find myself taking mental notes, already thinking of ways I could apply the lessons learned from these situations to my future missions.
Then, General CCG History and Facts. I know a lot of this already—the major milestones, the founding of the CCG, and the major operations they've executed over the years. It's interesting, but it doesn't challenge me as much as the previous classes. Still, it's important to understand the bigger picture.
After class, the real fun begins—Physical Training. This is the one I've been waiting for. Unlike the theoretical subjects that come and go, this is where I can truly shine. Urie was always strong, always capable—but I plan to surpass him. No, I don't just want to match his level—I want to outdo him in every way. I want to dominate this class, and I'll start with sparring.
The gym hums with the energy of focused students, each one pushing themselves, preparing for their turn in the sparring ring. The sharp clack of wooden swords against each other echoes throughout the room as two students clad in full kendo gear clash fiercely in the center. The sound is crisp, punctuated by the occasional shout as they practice their strikes. I watch closely, my eyes following their every move. While I've never sparred with a sword before, I can feel the weight of Yorichii's swordsmanship talent within me. It's just a matter of time before I pick up on the subtleties of their movements.
I step into the line with the other students, my gaze fixed on the sparring ring. The atmosphere is intense,
The instructor blows the whistle, signaling the start of the next match. I'm paired up with a tall, broad-shouldered student I don't recognize. He stands with confidence, the typical smirk of someone who assumes his strength will be enough to win the fight. He's clearly underestimating me.
We both don our kendo gear—men, kote, and hakama. The wooden sword feels unfamiliar in my hand, but my body knows what to do. With Yorichii's instincts guiding me, I step into the ring with confidence. The instructor gives the signal, and the match begins.
The student lunges at me immediately, swinging his sword down in a wide, powerful arc. He's relying purely on brute strength, no finesse—just raw force. I can feel the weight behind his strike, and for a moment, he has the upper hand. But I'm faster. I sidestep his swing, letting the tip of his sword cut through empty air. In one smooth motion, I bring my own sword up to meet his side, delivering a quick strike to his ribs.
The impact is solid, and his eyes widen in surprise. His body shifts to compensate, but it's too late—his movements are too slow. He takes a step back to reset, but I'm already on him.
With the advantage now mine, I don't waste time. I press forward, using swift, clean cuts to create openings. His movements become more erratic, desperate. He swings wildly, but I dodge with ease, my sword slicing through the air in a precise counter. A clean strike to his shoulder knocks him off balance, forcing him to stagger backward.
He's already starting to show signs of frustration. His smirk fades, replaced by a look of concern. He tries to recover, but I can see his hesitation. He doesn't know how to handle someone who isn't simply reacting with power, someone who's faster, more precise.
He goes for a high strike, swinging down with both hands, trying to overpower me. But I'm already moving. I step inside his reach, bringing my sword up to deflect his blow and immediately countering with a sharp strike to his head guard. It's not a heavy blow, but the force is enough to rattle him.
He stumbles back, visibly shaken. The instructor steps forward, raising a hand to signal the end of the match.
"Stop," the instructor calls, his voice calm but firm.
I lower my sword, stepping back. My opponent stands there for a moment, trying to catch his breath. The look on his face says it all—he's shocked, perhaps even embarrassed. He thought he could overpower me, but he didn't count on the speed and precision behind my strikes.
I don't wait for him to speak. I turn and walk away, my gaze focused on the instructor, who's already looking at me with approval. The other students watch in silence, their gazes shifting from me to him, no doubt wondering what just happened. I can feel the weight of their attention, but I don't care.
The instructor nods. "Good work."