[Location: Mercedes, Banjo Division.]
[Time: Morning]
[Atmosphere: Bright, tense]
A thunderous blast tore through the division, its metallic resonance carried by a horn-like apparatus mounted high above the courtyard, an instrument reminiscent of the war horns of older eras, deep and commanding, its call reverberating through every corridor and open space.
"POSITION YOURSELVES! HIGH CHIEF COMMANDER RUDOLPH HAS ARRIVED!"
The announcement struck with authority.
In an instant, the courtyard erupted into motion. Soldiers rushed into formation with mechanical precision, boots striking stone in sharp succession as lines formed cleanly, posture snapping upright as though pulled by invisible strings.
Jurgen moved like a man condemned.
Sleep-deprived and visibly worn, he dragged himself into the very back of the formation, shoulders heavy, steps uneven. A long, unrestrained yawn tore from him, his jaw stretching wide as his eyes watered faintly from the strain.
Beside him, Bubbles clung closely, matching his position with nervous devotion, his presence almost tethered to Jurgen's.
The courtyard thrived with disciplined chaos, orders barked, bodies aligned, movement sharpened into uniformity, yet Jurgen stood in quiet opposition to it all, sluggish, detached, almost insultingly out of sync.
A passing member shot him a sharp glare.
Jurgen barely acknowledged it, his half-lidded gaze drifting lazily as he muttered under his breath, "Why does everyone look so energetic… while I'm barely functioning…"
Then the voice came.
"Damn brats, how are you today!"
Loud. Boisterous. Overwhelming.
"WE'RE UP AND READY, SIR!"
The response slammed back in perfect unison, echoing across the courtyard with practiced enthusiasm.
Their chatter followed, swelling into a lively hum.
Who the hell is… we?
Jurgen's lips twitched faintly, his face contorting in quiet disbelief, as though the unity itself offended him on a personal level.
"We shall party… and feast tonight, brats!"
The voice rang out again, louder, filled with unrestrained energy.
"Party?" Jurgen muttered, brows knitting slightly. "No mission?"
"Yeah… no," a voice beside him replied. "This is after all our missions today. We celebrate whenever Commander Rudolph returns."
Something in Jurgen shifted.
Subtle at first.
Then,
It hardened.
His gaze darkened instantly, the fatigue in his eyes giving way to something far sharper, far more volatile. His jaw tightened, teeth pressing together as the name settled in his mind like a bad taste he couldn't spit out.
"Rudolph…"
The word left him low and strained, as though forcing it out required restraint.
Rudolph Blutmörder.
I didn't even recognize his voice.
A wave of pure, unfiltered irritation followed.
His fingers curled slowly at his sides, tension climbing through his frame, the earlier exhaustion now overshadowed by a rising, unmistakable disdain.
Tch…
Damn Nemesio and his games
A faint scoff escaped him under his breath, barely audible, yet laced with enough contempt to sour the air around him.
You've gotta be kidding me
"Now then," Rudolph continued, his tone carrying a casual humor that only deepened the divide, "I hear this year has produced more fine cleaners for us."
Laughter erupted across the courtyard, loud and unified.
Jurgen didn't join.
Didn't even flinch.
He stood there, eyes forward yet distant, expression cold and sharpened by quiet hostility, as though the mere presence of that man had stripped away whatever patience he had left.
The energy around him rose.
His dropped.
And somewhere beneath it all, the dislike settled in firmly, no longer subtle, no longer restrained, but unmistakably real.
"It's really hard to see the commander," Bubbles muttered from behind, stretching awkwardly as he craned his neck, trying to catch even the slightest glimpse past the wall of bodies.
"Oi… Eric, give me the list of the newcomers."
Rudolph extended his hand without looking, palm open in expectation. A short parchment was placed neatly into it, the names inscribed in bold, precise strokes that reflected the order of the Corps itself.
"The rest are dismissed. Newbies, stay behind!"
Captain Eric's voice carried cleanly across the courtyard, sharp and authoritative, cutting through the noise with ease. Movement followed instantly as the seasoned members broke formation and dispersed, leaving behind a smaller cluster of recruits who now stood exposed beneath the weight of attention.
Rudolph's eyes drifted across the parchment, scanning the names with casual ease, as though the list held little importance beyond mild curiosity. His gaze lingered only briefly before he began to call them out.
"HIROKAI NYUGEN!"
A figure stepped forward.
"BUBBLES W-wil keys BOOTH!"
"What kind of name is that?"
Bubbles flinched at the butchering, already moving forward in a nervous hurry. "It's Wilkes…" he muttered under his breath, more to himself than anyone else.
"JAX LANGDON."
One by one, different names were called, each recruit stepping forward under Rudolph's loose scrutiny. The process carried on without ceremony, until at last, only one name remained.
"JURGEN EINZELBERHT!"
There was a pause.
A subtle shift.
"Hmm?"
Something in the name seemed to register. Rudolph's head lifted slightly, his gaze sweeping across the remaining figures with renewed interest.
"JURGEN EINZELBERHT!"
The second call came louder, sharper.
Jurgen stepped forward at last, unhurried, his movements deliberate despite the tension beginning to gather beneath the surface. His gaze remained fixed ahead, expression unreadable, though the faint stiffness in his posture betrayed something far less neutral.
"Ho… ho… well, well…"
Rudolph moved toward him, slow and measured, a sly smile curling across his face as though he had just stumbled upon something unexpectedly entertaining.
"What do we—no… who do we have here?"
He stopped just short of him, eyes narrowing ever so slightly, studying him like a curiosity rather than a soldier.
"You're that brat from the ridge."
A low, sardonic chuckle slipped from him.
"I never expected you'd survive the trials."
"You know him?"
Captain Eric's voice cut in, crisp and controlled, though there was a faint shift in attention now, a quiet awareness settling over the remaining recruits.
Rudolph didn't take his eyes off Jurgen.
"I know him," he replied, the grin widening just enough to carry something sharper beneath it. "Insufferable. A brat with a temper that ignites at the slightest provocation."
The words came easily, almost enjoyably.
"I nearly ended him the first time we crossed paths."
Something snapped.
Jurgen's gaze shifted, fast, sharp, no longer distant.
It locked onto Rudolph with unmistakable intensity, the restraint he had been holding onto beginning to fracture as fury surged beneath the surface, rising like a storm that had finally found something worth breaking for.