The morning sun had just begun to rise, casting a soft orange glow across the training grounds. Eight-year-old Mitsu stood in formation, heart pounding, a wooden training sword gripped tightly in his small hands. Around him, the other recruits—mostly older, taller kids—stood with practiced focus, their eyes sharp.

  Mitsu wasn't just another recruit. Ever since the military discovered he was a Mink—a race hero—he'd been thrown into specialized training, sessions designed to push him past every limit. He'd quickly realized that being born into a legend came with a brutal price.

  "All right, Mitsu," he whispered to himself. "Treat this like a game. Analyze. Time your reflexes. Sword's heavier than anything you've used before... just think of it as leveling up."

  He took a steadying breath and locked eyes on his target: a swinging sandbag on the obstacle course.

  "In a game, I'd wait for the pattern, time the dodge, conserve stamina. No different now. Focus."

  "Let's go, recruit!" Sergeant Tasch's voice boomed, snapping Mitsu out of his thoughts.

  He braced himself and charged forward, weaving between the pendulum swings, sword gripped tight. His arms ached almost instantly, but he pushed through, thinking of the hours he used to spend grinding through games, chasing the next achievement.

  "Faster, Fojitaru!" Tasch barked, pacing along the edge of the course. "A mink hero isn't slow—and definitely not lazy!"

  A sandbag sliced through the air, narrowly missing his head. He ducked just in time, sweat dripping from his brow, limbs trembling.

  "Come on," he muttered to himself. "Back then, I'd just pause, take a break. But here... no breaks. This isn't a game anymore."

  The training was harsh—brutal, even—but Mitsu soon found he wasn't alone in his struggle. Over the weeks, a few fellow recruits became something more than teammates. They became friends.

  Haru, wiry and sharp-eyed, was a natural with a bow. Kai, all muscle and booming laughs, had a protective streak. And Sena—quick-footed, sharp-tongued—matched Mitsu stride for stride in every race.

  "Mitsu!" Haru waved after one of their morning drills. "Speed run rematch?"

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  Mitsu grinned, panting as he wiped sweat from his face. "Only if you're ready to lose."

  "Keep dreaming," Sena called, already jogging ahead. "We're catching up to you!"

  Their banter turned the grueling sessions into something bearable. For the first time in his life, Mitsu felt like he belonged.

  So this is what it's like to have friends... real friends, he thought as they lined up again. Back home, it was just me. Here... it's different. Better.

  Every evening, after regular drills ended, Mitsu was pulled into "specialized" Mink training. It made the daytime exercises feel like warm-ups—extended speed runs, agility courses, reflex tests that left his body screaming.

  "Let's see that Mink blood in action!" Tasch bellowed as Mitsu darted through a gauntlet of moving obstacles.

  With each run, his footwork improved. His reaction time sharpened. The strange instincts that once felt foreign now clicked into place like puzzle pieces. He was beginning to move like a Mink.

  "I never thought I'd be good at this. In games, speed was just a playstyle. But here... it's survival."

  He tripped on a log mid-sprint but recovered quickly, landing on his feet with surprising grace.

  "Maybe being a Mink isn't so bad after all."

  Despite the bruises, exhaustion, and endless drills, the evenings brought laughter and camaraderie. They'd gather by the barracks, teasing each other, sharing stories of where they came from—or what they remembered of it.

  "Guess what?" Kai grinned one night, elbowing Mitsu. "Heard you're one of the rare six race heroes. You're supposed to be super strong or something, right?"

  Mitsu rolled his eyes. "If 'super strong' means extra sprints and no sleep, then yeah. Totally OP."

  "Don't let him fool you," Sena chimed in. "Fastest one here. No contest."

  He shrugged, suppressing a grin. "If you say so."

  Their laughter echoed across the darkened field, light and warm. It was the kind of sound Mitsu never knew he needed until now.

  This time... it's real. Friends. Purpose. Not just another day behind a screen. Not just existing.

  One day, during close combat drills, Mitsu found himself toe-to-toe with Tasch himself. Every block, every strike rattled his bones. His muscles screamed in protest. But he didn't back down.

  "Good," Tasch grunted, stepping back at last. "You're holding your own, recruit."

  Mitsu dropped to his knees, gasping. He'd beaten harder bosses in games. But this—this was different. This was real.

  "I've failed before... I ran away," he thought, sweat dripping into his eyes. "But not this time."

  That night, lying in his bunk, the aches in his body felt earned. Worthwhile. He stared at the ceiling, a faint smile tugging at his lips.

  A second chance... not everyone gets one.

  He clenched his fist, the fire in his chest burning brighter than ever.

  "I won't waste it."