The alarm goes off before I'm fully asleep.
Not loud. Just enough to pull me out of that half-conscious state.
I open my eyes without moving.
Dark ceiling.
A few seconds—then I sit up.
No groaning. No hesitation.
My body is used to waking up before it's ready.
04:42.
Still time.
I get up, grab my shoes, and put them on without rushing. Small movements. Controlled.
I throw my jacket over my shoulders, then pull it on as I step out.
The corridor is quiet.
Lights dim.
Colder than yesterday.
My footsteps echo—clear, a little too clear.
I don't speed up.
No need.
When I reach the training room, the door isn't fully open yet.
I stop in front of it, waiting for the sensor to recognize me.
Click.
It slides open.
The room is still empty.
Just the low hum of ventilation and lights flickering on.
I step inside, taking the same spot as yesterday.
Side of the room.
Habit.
A few minutes later, people start coming in.
More sound now.
Low voices. Shoes shift against the floor.
I don't pay attention.
Until I hear a different set of footsteps.
Not louder.
Just… familiar.
Same rhythm as yesterday.
I don't turn.
Don't need to.
He stops beside me.
Slightly to the left.
I glance, just briefly.
Leon.
No greeting.
No sign we worked together yesterday.
Like it didn't matter.
The instructor walks in at exactly 05:00.
No one is late.
Good.
"Selection starts today."
No buildup.
"If you don't pass, you're out."
Straight.
A few people shift where they stand.
"Physical. Mental. Coordination. We'll see what you have."
I take a short breath.
Focus.
—
First test: running.
Not a short distance.
A long track. Twisting. Full of obstacles.
I don't start at the front.
Not at the back either.
Just enough.
The signal hits—
everyone moves.
Footsteps pound against the ground. Breathing starts to rise.
I keep my pace.
Not too fast.
No wasted energy.
Some push ahead early.
Some lose rhythm halfway.
I don't.
Steady.
Beside me, another set of steps keeps the same speed.
I don't need to look.
Leon.
We don't pass each other.
Don't slow each other down.
Side by side.
At narrower turns, people bump into each other.
He keeps the same distance.
Never too close.
Never too far.
Measured.
When we reach the finish, I don't stop immediately.
Slow down.
Control my breathing.
Leon does the same.
No words.
—
Next: decision simulation.
The situation shifts constantly.
Targets appear, disappear, relocate.
Instructions come from different directions.
Some start to panic.
A fraction of a second too late—
that's enough.
I don't try to be the fastest.
I choose to be precise.
Leon moves almost in sync with me.
Sometimes faster.
Sometimes just after.
But the result…
the same.
I start noticing something.
This isn't coincidence.
—
"Pairs."
The instructor calls out.
We move before names are even repeated.
I take the right.
He takes the left.
New room.
Smaller. Darker.
Mission: extract the target.
Limited time.
I take position at the door.
He's already on the opposite side.
No instructions.
I raise two fingers.
He gives a slight nod.
One.
Two.
We move in.
Clean.
I secure the front.
He covers the back.
No unnecessary sound.
We find the target.
I pull them out.
Leon has already cleared the path.
I don't look back.
No need.
We're out before the timer runs out.
Door seals.
Lights on.
The instructor notes something on his tablet.
"Not bad."
That's it.
I reset my position.
Leon stays on the left.
I'm starting to get used to it.
—
Short break.
Some sit on the floor.
Some laugh.
Some complain.
I stay standing.
Drink just enough.
No more.
Beside me, Leon does the same.
Almost identical movements.
I cap the bottle.
He does too.
I don't look—
but I notice.
Small things.
Too small to matter.
—
"Next test."
Shooting.
Finally.
I take position at my lane.
Static targets first.
Standard distance.
I breathe in.
Out.
Squeeze the trigger.
One.
Two.
Three.
All clean.
I don't smile.
No need.
Targets start moving.
Faster.
I adjust.
Slightly slower than my breathing.
More controlled.
Still hits.
In the next lane, another set of shots.
Consistent.
I glance.
Leon.
His movement barely changes.
No rush.
No hesitation.
Clean results.
I look forward again.
—
The last test of the day is simpler.
Stillness.
Waiting.
Observation.
Some start getting restless.
No clear instruction.
Time drags.
I stay where I am.
Don't move.
Leon stands beside me.
Still on the left.
Minutes pass.
Then more.
Someone exhales loudly from another line.
The instructor points immediately.
"Out."
Silence again.
I stay still.
Don't think.
Don't search for meaning.
Just… exist.
When it ends, fewer people remain.
A lot fewer.
—
"Those remaining continue tomorrow."
The instructor looks at us one by one.
A little longer each time.
Taking notes.
I don't know what he's looking for.
I don't care.
As long as I'm still here.
—
Walking out feels different today.
Quieter.
Or maybe it just feels that way.
My pace doesn't change.
Beside me—
Leon.
Same distance.
No words.
"You didn't slow down at the second turn."
The words leave before I think about them.
He glances slightly.
"No need to."
Simple.
I give a small nod.
Silence again.
We reach the same split.
I stop.
So does he.
"I'll stay on the right tomorrow."
He doesn't answer immediately.
One second.
"Alright."
I turn away.
Walk alone again.
—
That night, I stretch before sitting down.
Muscles heavy.
Not enough to matter.
I sit at the edge of the bed.
Same position as yesterday.
Today was longer.
Sharper.
Clearer.
I close my eyes for a moment.
The track.
The simulation.
The shots.
And one small thing that keeps repeating.
Steps.
Side by side.
I open my eyes.
Exhale slowly.
This is just the beginning.
Nothing special.
Nothing worth thinking about.
I stand.
Turn off the light.
Lie down.
Breathe in.
Out.
…
But somehow—
I'm starting to realize
my rhythm will always adjust to someone else.