This was nothing like what you see in the movies. Not that Owen thought it would be a perfect replica of the films or anything. However, he was certainly unprepared for the level of intensity. Most of the time, he barely scraped through the physical training tests, and he had assumed that the yelling and strictness from the commanders and higher-ups were just dramatized for the screen. It was a rude awakening, but perhaps he had been lost in his own thoughts for too long.

Yet, this was the career path that Owen had always envisioned for himself. He was determined not to let anything or anyone hinder his progress, even if it meant silently crying to himself every night, whether due to physical fatigue or mental strain. The barracks smelled of sweat and disinfectant, and the rigid bunk beds creaked with every movement as exhausted recruits tried to find comfort.

And then there was his chief master sergeant. To say he worked the new recruits hard would be an understatement. The sound of his whistle pierced through the morning fog during PT, and his voice carried across the training field like a whip. It didn't matter if they were large or small, young or old, weak or strong, male or female. The guy just kept pushing them. But despite his often abrasive demeanor, he seemed to genuinely care about their success. Owen could see it in the way he lingered after inspections to offer quiet pointers, or how he memorized everyone's name within the first week.

However, there was something in the way he addressed Owen that ignited a desire within him to strive even harder. It made him yearn to demonstrate that he could be the man he had not been born to be. The sergeant's gaze felt different somehow - more assessing, more intense. And even if that wasn't the case, his sergeant would undoubtedly shape him into a man by the end of his training. The moment that truly struck him was when he lagged behind during a training session, and his sergeant remarked that if he couldn't concentrate and get his act together, he might as well head home. The words stung worse than the blisters forming on his feet inside his combat boots.