A fist came flying.
Tarrin's body moved before his mind could catch up—muscle memory, instinct, fear.
He jerked back, just in time for the punch to miss his jaw by a breath. His hands snapped into a guard, ready for the follow-up. But none came.
Only then did he register the idiot grinning at him from inside the room.
'Who the hell is this clown?' His heart was pounding like a drum in his chest, but his face stayed stone. Calm.
Eyes sharp, hazel and unblinking, locked on the other boy—same age, maybe, wiry build, cocky smile.
"Do you need something?" Tarrin asked, voice cool.
The boy tensed again, jaw tightening, fists clenching like he was about to swing again.
Then—he cracked.
Laughter exploded out of him. Loud, stupid, obnoxious.
Tarrin blinked, unimpressed.
Finally, the boy wiped his eyes and stepped forward, hand extended. "Man, I'm just messing with you. Should've seen your face. Name's Riko. Riko Darnell."
Tarrin's lips curled into a slow, sharp grin. "Wasn't anything on my face, dickhead. Tarrin Vex."
They shook hands—tight, solid. A little too competitive, like both were testing the other.
The sound echoed in the small room.
"You gonna let me in?" Tarrin asked, eyebrow raised. "Or are we gonna stare at each other all night?"
Already, he was figuring the guy out. Riko didn't want respect. He wanted a brawl, a joke, maybe someone who didn't flinch.
Tarrin could work with that.
Tarrin stepped inside, slipping off his shoes as he entered the dorm. The place was cramped but clean—three bunk beds, two lined up on the right, one on the left. A total of six beds, but only three looked lived-in.
His eyes swept the room, then drifted to Riko, who was still lounging in branded clothes like he'd just walked off a stage.
Designer gear? Either this guy moonlights as a rapper or he's faking it better than I ever did.Tarrin's lips twitched into a faint smirk. Riko might've been an idiot, but he didn't seem like a bad one.
"Anyway," Riko said, gesturing lazily to the top bunk. "That one's yours. Your stuff's already tossed up there. Every morning, training starts at six."
He paused, watching Tarrin's face like he was waiting for a grimace or a groan. Tarrin gave him nothing.
Riko snorted. "Right. You look like the type. Still—don't miss it."
He leaned in a little, voice dropping into a conspiratorial tone.
"Drill sergeant's a walking war crime. Real bastard. If you skip out, he'll make you wish your dick fell off—so you could bribe him with your body."
Tarrin blinked once, deadpan.
Riko just grinned wider.
"Something on schedule today? Dunno, maybe another useless ceremony?" Tarrin asked, and Riko nodded.
"Yea, I was freed of duty today, so that means you're coming to drink with me." Tarrin looked at him weirdly.
'Does the military even allow that? If this fucker gets me in trouble, I'll fucking gut him. Swear'
"Is that allowed? I mean, never imagined that the best military institute would allow its underage cadets to drink." He said, a bit of apprehension on his face.
"Nah, if nobody sees us going, then no problem. And stop being a sissy. Nobody cares about us having a little fun." Riko said.
Tarrin felt an almost overwhelming urge to strangle the idiot right then and there.
Riko just shrugged, already throwing on his jacket like this was some grand adventure. "Come on, man. Don't be a pussy—let's go!"
Tarrin narrowed his eyes, jaw tight. Against his better judgment, he sighed. "Fine. But if we get caught, I'm telling them you dragged me into it."
Already halfway out the door, Riko turned with a grin. "Go ahead. Just means the sergeants'll hate you and think you're a little bitch."
He broke into loud, obnoxious laughter. Tarrin followed him out with a muttered, "But man, you either pay, or I'm making you admit your drip's fake."
The door clicked shut behind them as Riko barked a laugh. "Fake? Man, these pieces cost damn near two bands. Relax, broke boy."
Tarrin winced, his pride taking the hit. 'Broke boy. From a thug in a rapper cosplay. Hurts more than I'd like to admit.'
They moved through the hall, quiet for a moment, hoping no one would question where they were going.
After a beat, Tarrin glanced at Riko and asked, "So where the hell do you get that kind of money? You a rapper or something?"
Riko looked at him like he'd grown a second head.
"That's a first," he said, shaking his head. "Nah. My dad's loaded. Owns Darnell Textiles. Never heard of it?"
Tarrin just shook his head, playing it cool. But inside?
'Pure joy. Couple hours in and I've already bagged a rich friend. Man, this might be easier than I thought.'
The walk to the bar was filled with back-and-forth banter—half-jokes, half-truths, and the kind of easy talk that settled in faster than either expected.
Eventually, they reached it. The same place Tarrin had spotted on his walk earlier. He slowed his pace, eyeing the entrance with suspicion.
"This place is way too close to the main road," he muttered. "You don't really give a shit, do you?"
Riko waved a dismissive hand, already pushing open the door. "Chill. This bar's for privates, and they don't snitch. Well… most of the time."
'Comforting.'
They ordered drinks and dropped into a booth near the back, the low hum of conversation around them providing just enough cover.
Then Riko snapped his fingers like he'd just remembered something crucial. "Right. Who was your nanny for the ceremony?"
Tarrin leaned back with a scoff. "Some bald freak. Never gave his name. Just screamed like someone lit his soul on fire. I swear, what kind of psych test do they not do for these guys?"
Riko winced in sympathy—then grinned like the devil. "Yikes. Hope you smiled real pretty. 'Cause that bald freak? He's your trainer starting tomorrow."
Tarrin's smirk evaporated. He choked on his drink, coughing mid-swallow, eyes wide.
Riko nearly fell out of his seat laughing.
Tarrin, finally done choking on shock and liquor, leaned back with a casual stretch, already shifting gears.
"Anyway," he said, voice easy, "who's the third roommate? What's his deal?"
Riko paused, thinking for a second before shrugging.
"Bit of a weirdo, not gonna lie. We don't talk much. Just know he's the type to spend his nights reading up on Scarred history for fun. Real bookworm. I heard he treats the library like it's his second home."
Tarrin nodded slowly, lips curling into a half-smirk. 'This thug could probably learn a thing or two from the guy.'
But then—just for a second—Simon's face slipped into his mind. That dumb, over-eager grin. His worn-out scarf and deck of knockoff scar-cards he treated like sacred relics.
Tarrin's smirk faded.
'Damn. I already miss my nerd sidekick.'
Riko caught the shift in his expression. "What's up? You know him or something?"
"Nah," Tarrin muttered, staring into his glass. "Just reminds me of someone back home. A real nerd. Like, ten-binders-of-scar-cards kind of nerd."
He lifted the glass and took a long sip, trying to drown the ache in alcohol.
Riko's tone shifted, the usual playfulness gone. "Best not to get too nostalgic, man. First day's tomorrow—you should be worrying about surviving that."
Tarrin let out a quick laugh, shaking off the mood. "Then what the hell am I doing in a bar on my first day?"
"Good question." Riko chuckled. "Should've picked your room better."
The next couple of hours blurred together—three drinks in and Tarrin had wrung Riko dry of every bit of useful info. Daily routines, who to suck up to, who to avoid, which sergeants had anger issues, and which ones had actual war crimes under their belts. Nothing was off the table.
But when Tarrin finally checked his Telcom and saw the time, his stomach sank.
Shit. I should bounce before this guy drinks me into an early grave.
He tried to refocus, just as Riko rambled about someone with a permanent death glare. "Yeah, that one's ice-cold. Always looks like you kicked her puppy... Tarrin? Hey!"
Tarrin blinked, snapping back to reality as Riko waved a hand in his face.
"We should probably head back," Tarrin said with a grin, swaying just enough to feel the liquor in his blood. "Not tryna wake up tomorrow looking like roadkill."
As he scanned the bar, his eyes landed on a small group nearby—young, fresh-faced. Recruits, probably. And they were watching. Hard.
Riko was still trying to drag out the night, but Tarrin cut him off with a look.
Not only a thug, but a drunk too. Yeah, great role model. Exactly who I want beside me in a trench.
They stood and moved toward the counter—Riko, being the rich bastard, was covering the bill. But just as they passed the group, the recruits stood up too.
As they crossed paths, one of them clipped Tarrin's shoulder with just enough force to be noticed.
Tarrin turned, calm and casual. "Sorry, man," he said reflexively.
The guy didn't respond. Just kept walking like he hadn't heard.
Riko, on the other hand, wasn't feeling so generous.
"Hey! Dickhead!" he barked, voice slurred but sharp. "He apologized for you bumping into him!"