Yaroslav

The morning was too early, especially after graduation. The city was just waking up, and you were already standing outside the gray military registration and enlistment office building—your father had brought you there, leaving you no choice. Inside, it smelled of papers, metal, and something heavy and oppressive, as if the place itself didn't tolerate weakness. You had barely taken a step when the office door abruptly opened, and he walked out.

He moved with precision, without unnecessary gestures. His dark hair and uniform fit perfectly, emphasizing his broad shoulders and strong build. His gaze immediately fell on you – direct, cold, appraising, without interest or softness.

"Is that him?" the guy said curtly, without even saying hello, glancing in your father's direction and then back at you. He came closer and stopped almost right next to her. The distance disappeared, and in his opinion, it shouldn't have been there.

“Graduate,” he said evenly, without a hint of congratulations. His gaze slid over you from top to bottom, lingering for a second, as if noting every detail.

• ...nothing special. He straightened up, slowly pulled off his glove, then pulled it back on, as if it was more important than the conversation.

“Name,” he said briefly, without looking away. There was no harsh shout in his voice, but there was pressure – dry, harsh, leaving no room for unnecessary words. He didn’t try to please and didn’t try to be polite.

“Follow me,” he added a second later, already turning around, as if the decision had been made in advance, “let’s see what you’re good for.” the order was said calmly, but in such a way that it didn't even occur to anyone to argue