The room buzzed with quiet chatter as the boys unwound from the day's intensity. Kang-dae sat cross-legged on the floor, his broad shoulders hunched slightly as he adjusted a strap on his gear. Despite his imposing size, his demeanour was soft, and his voice carried the warmth of an older brother.
Tae-young leaned against the wall with his trademark cocky grin, tossing a small rubber ball against it as if to prove he could never truly relax. Joon-ho perched on the edge of his bed, rolling a pen between his fingers, while Min-jae sprawled across the floor, arms tucked behind his head, his posture as casual as his attitude. Chin-hwa and In-su were tucked in the corner, occasionally exchanging quiet words, though their glances often wandered back to Kyu, who sat in contemplative silence near the window, observing but never speaking.
"I still don't get what they were trying to prove," Tae-young said, breaking the comfortable quiet. "Dumping freezing water on us when we weren't even asleep yet? Testing our alertness? What does that even mean?"
Min-jae propped himself up on his elbows, his expression unimpressed.
"It means they wanted to see how fast we'd react if we were ambushed. Which, by the way, is a terrible way to start the morning."
"Yeah, but admit it," Joon-ho cut in, his tone laced with amusement, "you weren't that alert. Pretty sure you flailed like a cat getting dunked."
Min-jae groaned, throwing a pillow at him.
"And you think you did better? I distinctly remember you scrambling backwards and nearly knocking over Kang-dae in the process."
Kang-dae chuckled, his deep voice rumbling in the small room.
"Hey, leave me out of this. I'm still recovering from getting drenched head-on. Pretty sure I saw my life flash before my eyes."
The group erupted into laughter, but the mood shifted slightly as In-su spoke up.
"Honestly, though, do you think they'll pull something like that again tonight? Like, another test?"
Chin-hwa tilted his head thoughtfully.
"They might. They seemed pretty invested in how we handled it this morning. Wouldn't be surprised if they're planning to catch us off guard again."
Tae-young scoffed, tossing the ball harder against the wall.
"Let them try. I'll be ready this time. And if it's Instructor Dong-soo, I'm tossing the bucket back at him."
Min-jae smirked.
"You sure about that? Instructor Dong-soo doesn't strike me as the forgiving type."
"Doesn't matter," Tae-young replied, his confidence unshaken. "I'm not going to let him get the upper hand again. That guy's been salty ever since I knocked him out of the top Assassin ranking."
The others rolled their eyes, clearly used to Tae-young's ego by now. Joon-ho leaned back with a sly grin.
"Careful, Tae-young. You keep talking like that, and they might target you specifically next time."
"Let them," Tae-young replied smugly. "I'd welcome the challenge."
As the conversation drifted, their gazes turned to Kyu, who sat quietly in his corner. He hadn't reacted much during the earlier chaos, but his swift evasion of the water had been impossible to miss. Kyu's silence was a constant presence among them, not strange but notable. Though he never spoke, his actions always seemed to say more than words ever could.
"Bet Kyu's already got some plan in case they try something tonight," Joon-ho joked, nudging In-su.
In-su nodded with a small smile.
"Probably. He always seems a step ahead."
Kyu glanced at them briefly, his expression unreadable, then returned to gazing out the window. The others didn't press him—he never needed to speak for them to understand his thoughts.
Chin-hwa stretched with a groan.
"Honestly, though, I don't know if I care anymore. If they're going to test us, let them. I'm too tired to spend all night worrying about it."
"Agreed," Kang-dae added. "If they're coming, we'll deal with it. For now, I just want to rest."
The room fell into a comfortable silence, broken only by the occasional soft laughter or the sound of Tae-young's ball bouncing off the wall. Though the question of another test lingered, none of them could deny the camaraderie they felt, even in the face of the instructors' relentless challenges.
The soft hum of the automated system filled the room as the lights dimmed gradually, signalling the end of the day. The once-bright ceiling panels now emitted a faint, warm glow, barely illuminating the outlines of the room. It was a quiet reminder that the students were expected to rest, to prepare for whatever awaited them the next day.
Sheets rustled as the boys settled onto their sleeping mats spread across the floor, their earlier chatter fading into silence. The confidence they had so brazenly displayed mere moments ago began to waver, though none would dare admit it aloud. They had laughed, joked, and teased one another about the morning's unexpected ambush, but as the darkness deepened, their thoughts turned inward.
Tae-young lay on his back, his arms folded behind his head as he stared up at the shadowy ceiling. His usual cocky smirk was absent, replaced by a faint frown. What if they did come again? Would I be ready this time? The memory of the icy water jolting him awake replayed in his mind, and he clenched his jaw. He hated being caught off guard. Yet, even as he tried to convince himself he'd welcome the challenge, a small, unwelcome knot of doubt settled in his chest.
Nearby, Kang-dae shifted uncomfortably on his mat. The gentle giant had been the first to bear the brunt of the morning's "test," and while he laughed it off earlier, the thought of another surprise attack made him uneasy. He wasn't afraid of the instructors or their methods—he'd endured worse growing up with younger siblings who treated him like their personal jungle gym—but the anticipation gnawed at him. The idea of not knowing when or how it might happen again left him restless.
Min-jae rolled onto his stomach, clutching his blanket tightly. His usual carefree demeanour had given way to a quiet tension. He tapped his fingers against the fabric, trying to distract himself from the scenarios running through his mind. What if it's not water next time? What if they try something worse? The thought made him shiver, though he quickly dismissed it. The instructors wouldn't do anything dangerous…right?
Joon-ho closed his eyes and tried to focus on his breathing. Inhale, exhale, repeat. Yet, no matter how much he tried to calm himself, his mind wouldn't quiet. His earlier confidence felt like a distant memory now, replaced by a nagging voice reminding him of his failures that morning. I barely avoided getting drenched. If they try something new, I'll probably screw it up again. The thought stung, and he turned onto his side, pulling his sheet over his shoulder as though it could shield him from his worries.
In-su and Chin-hwa lay on their mats in respective corners, both eerily still. They hadn't said much during the earlier conversations, but that didn't mean they were unbothered. Chin-hwa's sharp mind raced through potential scenarios, trying to anticipate the instructors' next move. It's a game to them, but we're the pieces on the board. How do you outplay someone who makes the rules? Meanwhile, In-su's normally calm demeanour masked a flicker of unease. He hated uncertainty, and the looming possibility of another test left him tense.
And then there was Kyu. Sitting cross-legged on his mat, he hadn't moved since the lights dimmed. His eyes remained open, watching the shadows shift across the room. Kyu's silence was as steadfast as ever, but it was impossible to tell if he felt the same anticipation as the others. His breathing was steady, his posture relaxed, yet something about the way he observed the room suggested he was far from at ease.
Despite their earlier bravado, an unspoken tension lingered in the air. Each boy wrestled with his thoughts, the weight of the morning's events pressing heavily on their minds. The room was quiet, save for the occasional shuffle of a mat or the muffled sound of someone turning over, but sleep eluded them all. Confidence was easy to project in the light of day, surrounded by laughter and camaraderie. In the stillness of the night, however, the cracks began to show.
Minutes turned to hours, and the anticipation hung like a thick fog, impossible to shake. None of them would admit it, but each boy silently prepared himself for the possibility that the instructors might strike again. Whether it came tonight, tomorrow, or the next day, they would need to be ready. For now, though, they lay in restless silence, their minds spinning with thoughts of what might come.
As the night deepened, the faint sounds of the world outside seeped into the room—the rustling of leaves in the wind, the distant chirping of crickets, and the occasional creak of the building settling into itself. Yet, inside, the boys remained wide-eyed and alert, each wrapped in his cocoon of thoughts. Even those who tried to feign sleep found their breaths shallow, their muscles tense, ready to spring at the slightest disturbance.
The shared silence became its kind of unspoken camaraderie, a quiet actnowledgement that none of them were truly at ease. Though they didn't exchange a single word, the tension in the room was a shared burden, binding them together as they awaited whatever challenge the night—or the instructors—might bring.