Chapter 9 — Welcome to Hell
——
Squad 13 exited the cafeteria like a half-formed battalion, still digesting the mystery protein and social chaos.
A rookie sprinted past them—shirt untucked, tray sauce still on his cheek, and pants completely unzipped.
"Bro—your fly!" Zhangwa called after him.
He didn't hear. He tripped on his own bootlaces instead and went sprawling across the corridor.
Up ahead, a senior cadet was dragging another rookie by the collar like he was a bag of trash. "Didn't salute? That's a sprint lap, dumbass."
Kun watched it all unfold, deadpan. "This place is a prison with cafeteria privileges."
No one disagreed.
The main hall loomed ahead—tall ceilings, steel support beams, fluorescent lights buzzing like hornets. Rows of empty seats quickly filling with squads, the volume rising with nervous chatter.
At the front stood Mr. Park.
Arms crossed. Scowl locked. Black coat draped like a storm cloud.
"Faster, you piece of shit!" he barked at a rookie lagging behind. The poor guy practically tripped over his own legs trying to get into formation.
Squad 13 filed into their row near the center. Mika crossed her arms. Suho stood with hands behind his back. Kun slouched slightly, whispering to Zhangwa, "Is it just me, or does that guy look like he eats coffee grounds raw?"
Before she could answer, Mr. Park's voice hit like thunder.
"Today, I'm going to explain why your ass is here."
Silence dropped like a blade.
"You think you're special? You think you're the next big thing because some test said you had potential?" He scanned the crowd like a hawk, eyes piercing through faces.
"Let me crush that delusion for you."
A rookie in the back straightened his posture. Another swallowed hard.
Mr. Park stepped forward once, boots clicking.
"You're not here because you're the strongest. Even the strongest die like trash."
Kun blinked. "…Damn."
"You're not here because you have power," Park continued. "Power means nothing without control. Without discipline. There are Counters out there with zero natural ability who've survived longer than S-ranks."
"Wait… there are Counters without powers?" Kun whispered, eyebrows raised.
Zhangwa leaned in. "Yeah. They're called maniacs."
Nobody paid attention to them.
Park's voice sharpened.
"You're here because you might become useful. Might. Not will. And believe me—most of you won't even make it through the first dive."
The murmurs stopped.
Mr. Park's voice thundered through the hall.
"Not all of you will survive your first dive, rookie."
Silence fell like a blade.
Kun's mouth hung open slightly, but no words came. Even he didn't have a joke for that.
Mika stood still, expression unreadable—but her fingers curled ever so slightly around the edge of her sleeve. Just once. Then loosened. Like a breath held and let go before it could be seen.
Smiley let out a loud yawn, drawing a few looks from nearby squads.
But for a flicker of a moment—just a flash—his eyes opened fully, staring ahead. Not lazy. Not tired. Sharp. Almost calculating. Then it vanished. He scratched his head like nothing happened and muttered
"Man, this guy needs decaf."
Zhangwa leaned closer to Kun. "Did he just say we might die on the first mission?"
Jackson's jaw clenched, arms crossed tighter across his chest.
Suho's amber gaze didn't move, but his fingers tapped once against his thigh—steady, quiet, like a mental metronome counting down.
"You want a title? You want to be called a real Counter?" Park shouted.
"Then you'll earn it by walking into hell, facing something that wants to wear your face like a mask—and walking back out."
His tone dropped.
"But don't expect applause."
He let that hang. Then nodded to someone offstage.
A large screen behind him flickered to life. Static. Then video.
Raw footage.
A squad mid-dive. Screams. COs flooding the screen—black tendrils, smoke, claws, bone. A rookie screaming as he was pulled out of frame.
Gasps erupted across the hall.
"THAT is what waits for you."
"You wanna survive? You'll train. You'll bleed. And maybe—maybe—you'll come out with your mind intact."
Park stepped forward again. One hand raised.
"Look to your left."
They looked.
"Now look to your right."
They looked again.
"Two out of three of you won't make it past your first year."
His voice went cold.
"Now smile for the camera, rookies."
The screen showed the hall from above—every squad, every face.
Park smirked.
"Welcome to hell."
——
Mr. Park's glare swept across the hall like a blade searching for excuses.
"Next!" he barked. "Today I will assign a squad leader to each of your teams. The leader will step forward, report their details, and I will declare your squad's designation."
The room shifted with subtle tension. A few rookies sat straighter. Others looked sideways, calculating their odds.
Zhangwa leaned toward Kun with barely-contained excitement. "Ooooh, what if we're like... Maze Division? Or Fenrir Squad? Or—wait—Coffin Squad?!"
Her eyes sparkled like she was naming Pokémon.
Kun stared at her, horrified. "Are you okay in the head? This isn't a JRPG menu screen."
"But the names are so cool, man!" Zhangwa whispered.
"I swear, if our squad gets named after a rejected video game faction—"
"ENOUGH!"
Mr. Park's voice cracked like thunder.
Kun visibly flinched.
"I will now assign all rookie squad leaders. When your name is called—stand and report!"
A thick silence settled as he started.
"SQUAD ONE! ZACHARY!"
A tall guy with military posture stood immediately.
Mr. Park didn't look impressed.
"Squad One… BLACK HAZE!"
Kun blinked. "That's actually kind of metal."
Then Squad Two. Then Three. The names came fast—Phantom Line, Nova Depth, Graveclaw…
Zhangwa kept bouncing in place like she was waiting to be called into a boss fight.
Then—
"SQUAD THIRTEEN!" Mr. Park shouted.
Every rookie flinched.
Kun felt the shift in the air before the name hit.
"JACKSON DRAKE."
Jackson's head snapped slightly. "Huh?"
He muttered under his breath, "Wait—me?"
He stood slowly, posture instinctively falling into that ex-military stance. His back straightened. Shoulders squared.
Kun leaned over to Zhangwa. "Brooo… Jackson's our new dad."
"I am not calling him Dad," she deadpanned.
"You will if you want an allowance."
Up front, Jackson marched with clean, practiced steps and stood before Mr. Park. He didn't blink.
"Jackson Drake. Ex-military. Twenty-eight."
"Oldest in your squad," Mr. Park said, circling him once. "Congratulations. You just became their spine."
"Yes, sir," Jackson said firmly.
"Take care of them," Park growled. "Or I'll feed you to a Category-2 CO myself."
Jackson almost laughed—but clenched his jaw instead, managing only a tight-lipped smirk. The man clearly wasn't joking.
"Your squad name is…"
A pause. The tension pulled taut.
"…OBLIVION."
He turned toward the crowd.
"SQUAD THIRTEEN—OBLIVION!"
The name echoed through the chamber like a nail hammered into fate.
Zhangwa's jaw dropped.
"Oblivion?! Is that a name or a death threat?"
She flailed dramatically. "I KNEW it! Fenrir was better! Even Coffin Squad was better!"
Kun shrugged. "Honestly? Oblivion kinda slaps."
Suho glanced up at the announcement, silent. His gaze flicked toward Jackson, then downward. In his head, only one word repeated:
"Fitting."
Mika said nothing, but her eyes sharpened. Oblivion. The name wasn't dramatic to her—it was efficient. A summary. An omen. It carried weight. She didn't blink.
Smiley, who had been quietly peeling the wrapper off a protein bar under the table, looked up.
"Oblivion, huh?" he said softly.
He popped the protein bar into his mouth.
"…Dibs on dying last."
Mr. Park snapped his fingers.
"Return to formation."
Jackson turned sharply and marched back toward Squad 13's row.
Zhangwa was still mid-rant. "We could've been Spark Wolves! Or—Ghost Viper Hydra Strike Battalion!"
Jackson sat down without a word.
Kun clapped him on the back. "Hey, Captain Oblivion."
Jackson exhaled through his nose. "Don't call me that."
"You're our leader now," Suho said dryly. "You'll get nicknames. It's inevitable."
Mika finally spoke. "Oblivion fits."
Everyone looked at her.
"…Because?" Kun asked.
She met his eyes, expression unreadable.
"Because people forget what they fear. Oblivion is what's left after that."
Zhangwa blinked. "...That's kinda spooky-hot, not gonna lie."
Mr. Park resumed announcing squad leaders.
But for Squad 13, the moment had crystallized.
Their name—Oblivion—wasn't just a title.
It was a warning.
And a challenge.
——
Mr. Park's voice rang out once more—sharp, final.
"That concludes squad assignments."
The tension in the room began to unravel. Rookies glanced around, some with nervous relief, others already sizing up their squadmates like rivals in a battle royale.
Mr. Park raised a hand.
"All squad leaders, remain here."
His voice cut through the murmur like a scalpel.
"The rest of you—dismissed!"
A ripple of movement surged across the main hall as hundreds of rookies began filing out. Boots scuffed floors, whispered curses bounced between squads, and some whooped quietly as they left, like they'd survived a boss fight. Others didn't say a word.
Squad 13 stood up slowly.
Kun yawned. "Welp. Guess Dad's got homework."
Jackson didn't look back. He simply gave a short nod to his squad and stepped forward, joining the other chosen leaders at the front of the hall.
"Don't mess up," Suho murmured as he passed.
"I'll keep the name from getting downgraded to 'Squid 13,'" Jackson replied without missing a beat.
Smiley trailed behind the others. "Hey, if you die, can I have your pillow?"
Zhangwa shot a double thumbs-up back at Jackson. "MAKE US PROUD, OBLIVI-DAD!"
Mika walked in silence, her gaze trailing once—just once—over her shoulder toward Jackson. Nothing in her expression changed. But her pace slowed for a step before resuming.
——
At the front, the squad leaders stood in a wide semi-circle—maybe thirty in total. Some still looked shell-shocked. Others stood tall, chests out like they'd been born for this moment.
Jackson didn't puff himself up.
He just stood solid. Calm.
Park paced in front of them, boots echoing off steel.
"This Academy is not a battlefield," he said. "Not yet."
"But make no mistake—your job as squad leaders begins now."
He pointed to the side of the hall. Doors slid open.
Beyond them, a dozen administrative officers and instructors waited, clipboards in hand, tablets glowing.
"You will each be assigned a classroom schedule. This isn't just combat training. You will study the Corrupted. Their types. Their origins. Their weaknesses."
He stepped forward, gaze burning through them.
"You'll learn about dimensional friction. Mental distortion. You'll study history. Strategy. Even ethics."
A pause.
"And if you think 'ethics' sounds boring, ask the last rookie who accidentally opened a gate inside a civilian zone."
No one spoke.
Park's voice dropped.
"This Academy is not just about how hard you hit."
He tapped his temple.
"It's how long you can think straight before something inside you breaks."
He stepped back.
"Your squads will follow your lead. You stumble? They fall."
One final glance across the line of rookies.
"Dismissed."
——
Outside, Squad 13 waited near the stairs.
Zhangwa paced in a circle like she had caffeine in her bloodstream.
Mika leaned against the railing, arms crossed, eyes locked on nothing.
Kun sat on the steps, staring up at the sky through the glass dome. "…We're really in this now, huh?"
Suho nodded, quiet. "Yeah."
Smiley stretched like a cat. "I give it three weeks before someone tries to quit."
Zhangwa spun. "Not us, though!"
Kun grinned. "Nah. We're Oblivion. We don't quit."
Mika didn't say anything. But the faintest flicker of a smile crossed her lips.
Just for a moment.