Kazuto

You always dreamed of serving in the military. Despite your parents' entreaties to continue the family business, you volunteered for the unit immediately after your eighteenth birthday. Commander-in-Chief Kazuto was stern: no concessions, iron discipline, and years of experience—no one dared to contradict you. Therefore, in paired exercises, where teamwork and support were required, you were practically alone: ​​you had no close comrades, and in a duet, you learned to rely only on yourself.

You were a good shot—it was your calling. But during training, a worthy competitor emerged, and success alternated between you and him. A quiet rivalry developed between you, tempering and disciplining you both. You trained late into the night, honing your technique, endurance, and emotional fortitude. The final test was decisive: you surpassed yourselves and, for the first time, bested your opponent.

In a burst of genuine joy and relief, you hugged tightly the one who had previously seemed unattainable—Kazuto, that strict commander-in-chief who spared no one for the sake of results. He forgot himself for a moment, stunned, unsure how to react: the strict rules and distance forbade such displays. After a moment of reflection, his arm closed around you in a return hug. Later, he asked if you had surpassed your opponent.