Chapter 6 — Squad 13
——
The black car rolled to a halt before the towering gates of COUNTERS Academy.
Kun stepped out first, slinging his bag over his shoulder. His eyes widened like a kid stepping into a high-budget anime convention.
"No way… bro, this place is anime," he muttered.
Suho followed, quieter. His gaze tracked the crowd—rookies saying emotional goodbyes to parents, others standing tall with weapons on their backs. Katanas, greatswords, twin daggers. Most wore rookie uniforms, some custom-tailored already. Everyone looked like they walked out of a cutscene.
Kun nudged Suho. "They even have angels here."
He nodded toward a tall girl with white-silver hair and legs that could crack heaven in half. She adjusted her gloves with a blank expression—emotionless, deadly.
"Shut up, Kun," Suho muttered. "Before someone arrests you for being a walking red flag."
They started walking, dragging their bags behind them. The campus opened like a stage—clean marble walkways, soaring banners of division insignias, drone cameras floating overhead. Digital billboards looped motivational slogans: BE THE SHIELD. BE THE SWORD. BE THE LAST DEFENSE.
Cadets moved in waves—some chatting, some dead silent. An android greeted a family, voice cheery. A pair of twins posed for a selfie under the rookie welcome arch. One kid puked from nerves behind a trash can. The air smelled like polish, ozone, and barely concealed fear.
Kun turned in place like a tourist on drugs. "This place is so wonderful. Holy fuck."
A sharp voice cut through the hum of activity.
"You two."
They turned. A woman in uniform, mid-20s maybe, sharp bob cut, clipboard in hand. Her posture screamed regulation compliance.
"Please proceed to Registration Hall C. The rookie ceremony begins in fifteen minutes. Don't be late."
Kun raised an eyebrow, smirked. "You're so cute when you're stern."
She didn't blink. Didn't react.
Just turned and walked off.
Kun whispered, "Cold-blooded. I'm in love."
Suho sighed, "We're gonna die here."
They kept walking.
——
The interior of the academy grounds didn't scream militarized discipline like Kun expected—it felt… alive. Teenagers in uniform jogged past laughing, a couple sat flirting under a low-humming drone lamp, and a group of older cadets sparred with mock weapons in a training dome off to the side. The energy was chaotic but somehow organized, like a city that refused to die.
"This place hella Counter Academy," Kun muttered, eyes scanning everything. "I thought it'd look like a prison camp. Shit, I was ready to sleep in concrete cells and dodge tear gas for breakfast."
Suho didn't reply—he was observing everything quietly, eyes darting between security cameras, automated turrets disguised as fixtures, and the subtle way every entrance was reinforced.
Then—
"YO! ROOKIES, THIS WAY! REGISTRATION LINE FOR NEWBLOODS!"
A voice like a drill sergeant with energy drink addiction thundered across the courtyard. A tall senior cadet waved a glowing baton toward a sprawling line wrapped around a high-tech checkpoint booth.
Kun blinked. "That's the line?"
The line looked like a human centipede of suffering—rookies stretching halfway across the inner quad, all clutching paperwork or electronic dossiers in panic.
"Fuuuuuck," Kun groaned, already shuffling toward it. "We're not makin' that ceremony in fifteen minutes."
As they moved to join the queue, other new recruits who had been standing around aimlessly snapped to attention.
"Shit—this is registration?" a girl with piercings and white-streaked hair muttered, quickly darting toward the line with her two friends in tow.
A tall boy with cybernetic eyes turned from a vending machine, realized what was happening, and jogged to catch up.
The line grew faster than a panic wave—suddenly the whole courtyard shifted like prey responding to a predator's roar.
Suho stepped into place beside Kun and sighed. "We're already in hell. Might as well sweat before we burn."
——
After a long queue…
"Next."
The voice came sharp and cold from the registration booth—a woman in a blue academy officer uniform, posture rigid, eyes dulled from scanning too many recruits. Her tone had the emotional range of a rusted drone.
"Name. District. Age. Rank," she recited without looking up.
Kun stepped forward, slightly awkward. The sounds of chatter, shuffling boots, and the hum of scanners filled the atrium around them.
"Uh, name's Kun. This is my brother, Suho. We're from Beta District 9—"
"Beta?" Her eyes flicked up for the first time, scanning them both like she was analyzing broken equipment.
For a second, the air between them grew heavier.
"...Age and rank," she said flatly, now typing on her sleek black tablet.
Kun scratched his head, glancing sideways at Suho. "I'm 19. He's 17."
He nudged Suho with an elbow, then leaned in with a whisper. "Yo, what's 'rank'? We didn't get that part."
Suho opened his mouth to ask, but—
RING.
The desk phone beside the officer buzzed loudly, slicing through the moment like a blade.
She picked it up instantly. "Yes. …Yes, understood, sir." A slight pause. "Very well."
Click.
She hung up.
"You may go," she said, tone unchanged—but her eyes lingered on them a moment longer, something almost imperceptible flickering behind the cold professionalism.
Kun blinked. "That's it?"
She didn't respond. She was already typing again.
The brothers moved past the booth and stepped through the inner gates of the academy. The moment they did, the world around them shifted.
Tall halls of chrome and soft-blue light arched above. Monitors and banners floated mid-air, projecting academy slogans and orientation schedules. Counters-in-training walked briskly in formation. Others leaned on benches, laughing like it was a summer camp. An artificial breeze carried the faint scent of sterile steel and synth-cleaners.
Kun looked around, his voice low. "Yo… this place is nuts."
Behind them, the officer tapped once on the screen beside their file. A glowing sigil unfurled above their profiles, visible only from her side of the interface.
Rank: S
One letter. A thousand meanings.
She stared at it for a breath longer—expression unreadable—then moved on to the next name in the queue.
"Next."
——
The academy's main hall buzzed like a warzone dressed in ceremony.
Kun and Suho stepped in through the lobby entrance, eyes catching on the mix of chaos and order inside. Dozens—no, hundreds—of rookies packed the massive space, most in casual clothes that looked ripped from whatever slums or safe zones they'd crawled out of.
But the seniors? Different story.
They moved in packs. Sleek blue vests over pristine white shirts, Counter Academy insignias stitched clean into their collars. Polished, practiced, and sharp-eyed. Like lions watching sheep file in.
One senior barked at a pair of confused rookies: "Hey! That's the wrong hallway, dumbasses!"
Another leaned against the wall, smirking as he clicked his boots together. "Fresh meat season, huh? Smells like rookie fear."
"Smells like you need a breath mint," Kun muttered under his breath, dodging a taller senior with a broadsword across his back.
Suho kept close, eyes flicking across exits, guard drones, and the long registration tables now empty and cordoned off.
"Feels less like a school, more like a battlefield with nicer curtains," he said.
Then—
"YOU'RE LATE, LITTLE SHITS!"
The voice cracked like a gunshot.
Every rookie froze.
At the far end of the hall, a man stood atop a raised platform—classic blue Administrative uniform, golden trim, sharp gloves tucked behind his back. His eyes burned like they'd personally survived ten wars and hated every second of it.
"GET INTO THE HALL OR I'LL SEND YOU TO COUNTERSIDE MYSELF!"
Chaos snapped to order. The stragglers—including Kun and Suho—sprinted in. A few nearly tripped over their own bags. One girl dropped a tactical case. No one dared help.
Kun whispered, "Dude's got lungs like a war horn."
Suho muttered, "Probably eats rookies for breakfast."
Once everyone crammed into the central rows, the man—now pacing with militaristic control—lifted one hand.
"WELCOME TO COUNTERS ACADEMY!"
A cheer followed. Scattered, confused, nervous.
"MY NAME IS PARK. CALL ME MR. PARK OR I'LL PUT YOU THROUGH A WALL."
Kun's eyes widened slightly. "Okay, I kinda love him."
"YOU'RE HERE TO LEARN, FIGHT, AND BLEED FOR THE WORLD. NOT TO FLIRT OR GOOF OFF."
He glared at someone in the front row who might've blinked wrong.
"AS THIS IS YOUR FIRST DAY, YOU'LL BE ASSIGNED ROOMS AND SQUADS. IF YOU WANNA DIE EARLY, DO SOMETHING STUPID."
More rookies gulped than nodded.
But Kun had stopped listening.
His eyes drifted across the rows. Past the lecture drones and floating banners. Toward the far end of the room—where a group of seniors stood in a loose semi-circle.
One of them stood out.
A girl.
Sleek, elegant. Just slightly taller than average. Her hair was a muted violet, tied in a half-knot that still fell past her shoulder blades. She wasn't talking, wasn't smiling. Just watching. Cool and unreadable.
Her eyes were sharp enough to slice air.
"Bro," Kun nudged Suho. "That's—"
"Huh?" Suho turned to look, but—
Another figure stepped beside her. A boy. Senior uniform. Confident gait. He handed her a drink like it was ritual. She accepted with a faint nod.
"Too bad," Suho said, smirking slightly. "Looks like she's taken."
Kun sighed. "Of course the badass angel has a sponsor."
But then he shook himself, peeling his gaze away.
Focus, dumbass. You're not here to fall in love with a war goddess.
You're here to survive.
Mr. Park's voice came crashing back into clarity.
"WHEN I CALL YOUR NAME, YOU GO TO YOUR SQUAD TABLE. EACH ONE HAS ROOM ASSIGNMENTS. FIRST UP—SQUAD ONE. FEI HAN, RINALD—"
The list kept rolling. Names called. Students peeled off toward the far wall, where metal tables were labeled in glowing blue digits.
Kun crossed his arms. "Hope we get Squad 7. Lucky number, y'know?"
"Maybe we'll get Squad 404," Suho deadpanned. "Squad not found."
Mr. Park kept going.
"SQUAD SEVEN—VERMONT, SANCHEZ…"
Kun perked up. "Come on…"
Nothing.
No "Kun." No "Suho."
Kun slouched again. "Figures."
Then—
"SQUAD THIRTEEN—KUN, SUHO, JACKSON DRAKE, MIKA TANAKA, ZHANGWA, SMILEY MOREAU!"
Kun blinked. "Wait… that's us, right?"
Suho gave a small nod, already stepping forward. "Yup."
They moved through the crowd while Mr. Park's voice boomed on, the names growing blurrier behind them.
Kun muttered, "I hope our roommates are curved and cool, not cracked and crazy."
Suho didn't answer—but the faint twitch of his lip said it all.
The corridor ahead glowed cold, leading them toward their next chapter.
And maybe, finally, out of survival—and into something more.