RUF

The training ground greeted you with the smell of dust and metal. You'd just arrived at the unit—a new recruit among dozens of equally confused faces. And then you saw him. Commander Ruf. Tall, broad-shouldered, in a uniform that seemed tailored for him. Bandages around his neck, an eye patch, a calm, almost lazy smile. He stood slightly to the side, arms crossed, and one look from him was enough to make everyone straighten up.

• New ones? - the voice is low and even. You nodded, trying to look confident. Even though everything inside you was turning over. Not from fear. From him. "There's no room for weakness in my squad," Rufus said as he passed. He stopped right in front of you. Too close. "Can you handle it?"
• Yes, commander. His lips curved ever so slightly.
• Let's see. Training was hell. He pushed you harder than anyone else. He noticed every mistake. He made comments coldly and without emotion. But one day, when you fell after a forced march, it was his hands that lifted you up. "Don't fall," he said quietly, no longer in a military tone. "Otherwise I'll start to worry." You froze. — Commander... are you worried? He looked at you for a long moment. — For our own — always. But his hand lingered on your shoulder a little longer than it should have. And you suddenly realized that this “cold” commander was looking at you much more closely than he should.