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Chapter 17
Even the least imaginative person couldn’t have predicted this. The topic of their practical combat training was so far beyond expectation that everyone froze stiff on the spot. Only Theodore seemed lost in thought, calculating something.
Chloe realized he was trying to determine whether he could actually kill her right now—and somehow, the future imperial commendations she was supposed to receive were now in danger.
“Cadet Chloe Winslet of Class 87, I have a question.”
Standing in for her stunned classmates, Chloe raised her hand.
“Yes, what is it?”
“When you say ‘kill,’ does that mean there are specific conditions for counting someone as deceased?”
After the CBRN drill and basic marksmanship training, Chloe had a vague understanding of how Northfort operated.
Surely this time as well, the words would be threatening, but they wouldn’t actually kill anyone!
“No. I literally mean, stop their breathing.”
…So much for that.
The tactics professor’s face still wore a warm smile as he demanded a death match in the lecture hall. Of course—if the school had lost its mind, the professors must have lost theirs long before.
“All right, begin.”
The moment the order was given, a chair shot through the air. So much for honor and morals—these lunatics didn’t have a shred of either!
Shockingly, the one who launched the chair toward Chloe’s team wasn’t Theodore, the person she had been wary of, but someone else entirely.
To think there was another personality as twisted as Theodore’s in the same class—what a cursed generation this was.
That chair became the starting gun. Without hesitation, the two teams rushed at each other, and a full-blown brawl erupted. The professor’s expression as he watched them was somehow a mix of astonishment and resignation.
“Wait!”
No matter how loud Chloe screamed, her classmates—eyes glazed over—ignored her and continued to attack each other.
Their only weapons were classroom chairs, yet every single person was fighting with the intent to kill. Truly, they were diligent in the most useless things.
Among them, the most eye-catching was Altair, beating people up while smiling.
A few shotgun rounds fired into the air would have stopped this immediately, but unfortunately, Chloe did not have a gun.
“Attention, everyone—!”
If she couldn’t have a gun, then something else would have to do. Chloe grabbed the first thing she could, lifted it high, and hurled it at the wall with all her strength.
“Cut it out, you bastards!”
KWA-BOOM!
With a deafening crash, the chair leg embedded itself into the wall, leaving a massive crack. It was a flawless chair shot.
The terrifying noise and sight froze the chaotic room, and every pair of eyes turned toward Chloe.
“If no one dies in the next five minutes, then every one of us can pass this training without exemptions!”
In truth, the method to complete this drill without casualties was absurdly simple: do nothing for five minutes.
If only everyone had realized that. Judging by the disaster around her, very few people had actually thought that far.
“But didn’t the professor say to kill the other team? That the team with more deaths would all be expelled…?”
One of her classmates—who’d been choking another moments ago—timidly objected, cowed by Chloe’s presence.
“That’s the point! If neither team has any deaths, then there is no ‘team with more deaths,’ and therefore no one to expel!”
Still holding the classmate by the collar, Chloe shook him vigorously as she delivered her fiery explanation.
Her wild gaze swept over the room. Slowly, everyone stopped fighting and retreated to their respective sides.
Two and a half minutes had already passed. Somehow, despite the chaos, no one had died.
“Five minutes have passed. That concludes the exercise.”
The professor surveyed Class 87 as though he was beholding the worst disaster known to mankind.
“I’ve been at Northfort for a very long time, and this is the first time in fifteen years I’ve seen a class actually attempt to kill each other.”
In other words, Chloe had somehow ended up assigned to the once-in-15-years disaster class.
Living as a fake delinquent among born delinquents was proving far more difficult than she’d expected.
“But it’s also been a long time since someone correctly grasped the core of this training.”
The reason previous classes had passed was simple—they might have beaten each other senseless after three days of living together, but they couldn’t bring themselves to kill. So everyone had just stood around for five minutes.
No class had ever begun with a chair shot at the starting signal.
It had been ages since someone uncovered the hidden trick to this drill, and the professor wore a satisfied smile.
“So next time, I’ll prepare an even more difficult practical exercise suited to your level.”
An exercise more difficult than this? The faces of Class 87 collectively paled.
“Cadet Chloe Winslet. Professor, I may have accidentally damaged the wall. How should I handle the repairs?”
“Taking today’s circumstances into account, I’ll simply withhold the bonus points you would have received for this class. The school will handle the wall repairs—you needn’t worry.”
With a gentle smile, the professor dismissed the class.
Thank goodness she wouldn’t have to file a repair request to the Intelligence Operations Division for the wall.
‘I might have shown too much of my elite side today…’
Her natural competence leaked out whenever she relaxed even slightly. If this kept up, her infiltration mission might be exposed.
Living like a thug was harder than it looked. She even felt—just a teeny, tiny bit—respect for her classmates. How on earth did they live like this?
Of course, the sight of her slamming a chair into the wall hardly resembled an elite soldier. It would never expose her cover. In fact, it could be featured in a textbook titled How to Be a Delinquent.
Northfort’s daily schedule was quite lax compared to the Royal Central Military Academy, where Chloe had trained.
Morning roll call, breakfast, two lectures, lunch, physical training, and dinner was optional.
However, over the past two nights while searching for materials for her temporary lodgings, Chloe noticed something odd: the upperclassmen never returned to their dorms or barracks after hours.
What were nearly a hundred people doing on campus at night?
Asking them was impossible—that was the most maddening part.
The Royal Academy had a mentoring system. Seniors helped newcomers adjust, explaining rules and giving survival tips at the start of every semester.
Northfort’s seniors, on the other hand—
“Hey, Class 87! Are you insane? When you see a senior, you bow ninety degrees! If you make us get called to formation again because of your disrespect, I’ll kill every last one of you worthless brats!”
“Are you out of your minds? First-years walking around with their uniform jackets unbuttoned? And who was the idiot wandering around in fatigues after hours? Come out! You think first-years get to wear fatigues except for sleeping?!”
“You don’t feel anything when you see us stuffing food into our mouths? You think you get to leisurely savor your meals? First-years don’t get to finish after seniors!”
“Head on the floor, you garbage maggots! Leaving food behind? You worthless first-years dare produce food waste?!”
…They did pass on survival tips—by beating them into the freshmen’s skulls with kicks and slaps during late-night forced assemblies.
It had been only three days since admission, and they’d already been summoned over seven times—that was more than twice per day.
The worst offenders were Class 86, the seniors just one year ahead.
It was tradition: the closest seniors always hazed the harshest. Rage rolled downhill—getting scolded by someone above you meant you needed someone below you to take it out on.
The higher the anger was passed down, the crueler it became.
Chloe, who had already survived four years of academy life and a year and a half as an officer, understood the dynamic well and bore no grudge.
Still, it would’ve been nice if they allowed questions. Instead, they merely glared at her like she was dirt.
Back in my day, when first-years arrived, the second-years prepared a list of anticipated questions!
Sighing inwardly, Chloe wandered the campus again, gathering materials for her temporary lodging.
Then she stopped—her eyes had caught a notice posted on a bulletin board.
At the top was a sheet labeled:
[List of Tasks Eligible for Merit Points]
There it was—clear as day: the ways to earn merit points at Northfort.
