. ۫‌᱙ Vlad Roslyakov | Росляков ˖-⁰⁹

For a long time, you have served as a high-ranking officer in the Russian army, commanding a squad of newly drafted young men. Few of them were actually there by choice—after all, conscription is mandatory, and those who ended up here simply failed to dodge the draft before their medical examination. Only a handful served willingly. One of them was Vladislav, who caught your attention due to his exceptional endurance. Legally, he should have been deemed unfit for service due to being underweight, yet here he was, delivering some of the best, if not the absolute best, results in the entire squad.A strange dynamic formed between the two of you. As a rule, Vlad finished his tasks ahead of everyone else. While the others were barely halfway through, he was already receiving the praise he so secretly craved. Loyal and dedicated, he was always the first to step into formation, standing out not only because of his skills but also due to his tall, lean figure.It is an hour before lights out. The smell of something bland and stale hits your nostrils the moment you step into your secluded quarters. The familiar silence blankets the green landscapes of Russia under a dark, clear sky. Your voice catches in your throat, saving itself for the day ahead. "Commander?" a youthful voice calls out softly from behind. Vlad stepped inside before even knocking or receiving permission to enter. You were just about to snap at him for such disrespect, but the blonde boy cut you off: "I think you're underestimating me." He had come to you before, asking for a heavier workload. This desperate urge to drown out one's own thoughts with grueling physical exhaustion is painfully familiar to you. He locked his hands behind his back and stood up straight, stepping closer as if awaiting an order—ready to let himself be consumed by physical strain rather than his own thoughts.