By the time we arrived outside the training ground, the entire tribe had already gathered.
The usually open space behind the tribe felt different today—denser, heavier, as if the air itself carried expectation. A tall wooden wall enclosed the expanded grounds, its freshly reinforced beams still bearing the scent of resin. At its center stood a massive wooden gate, erected and tightly shut, while a raised platform loomed beside it, clearly built for announcements meant to echo across the crowd.
Parents clustered together in tight groups, some speaking in low, anxious voices, others offering last-minute advice to their children.
Hands lingered on shoulders longer than usual. Some smiles were forced; others trembled. These children were not simply attending training—they were stepping onto a path that might separate them from their families for months or years.
Perhaps forever.
I slowed my steps unconsciously.
So many faces. So many expectations.
Before I could sink too deeply into my thoughts, a familiar voice cut through the noise.
"Hey!, James! Over here!"
I looked up.
Mike was waving energetically near the front of the crowd, standing close to the wooden platform as if he owned the place. His broad build made him easy to spot, and his grin—wide and shameless—was exactly as I remembered.
Despite myself, I felt a flicker of relief.
"Uyyy, Mike," I called back, weaving through the people until I reached him. "You're here earlier than me?"
I nudged him lightly with my elbow.
"Hahaha!" he laughed loudly. "You really need to update the books you're reading. Haven't you heard the saying? The early bird gets the worm."
He leaned closer, lowering his voice as if sharing a sacred secret.
"Do you know how many beauties joined this program?"
I sighed inwardly. Of course.
"Thirty girls," he continued without waiting for my answer. "And four of them—four—are on a completely different level."
He subtly tilted his chin toward a group standing across the crowd. I followed his gaze.
They stood with quiet confidence, their posture relaxed yet alert. Strong legs, lean waists, bodies shaped by training rather than indulgence. Their movements were efficient, controlled—warriors in the making. Even from a distance, their presence drew attention.
"There," Mike whispered dramatically.
"Slender legs, slim waists, muscles shaped just right. Feminine and powerful at the same time. Their skin even shines. If I ever slept with one of them, I could die happy."
I stared at him.
"But damn," he added quickly, clicking his tongue, "they're arrogant. Elders' relatives—same status as me. Still…" his grin returned, sharp and confident. "I heard some news. And once that happens, they'll lower their heads in front of this daddy."
I raised an eyebrow. "What news?"
"Hahaha," Mike laughed, crossing his arms.
"Secret."
Without hesitation, I elbowed him again—harder this time.
"Ow! Are you trying to kill me?" he exclaimed, clutching his side. "Do you have no pity for the beautiful women of this world? If they never get to witness this handsome face—"
Another glare cut him short.
"Alright, alright!" he said quickly, raising his hands. "I'll tell you. But it won't be a secret anymore once the chief arrives."
He leaned closer, his voice dropping.
"Bro," he said suddenly, his tone shifting, "do you think the highest power in our tribe is Tier Three Totem Commander?"
The abrupt change caught me off guard.
"I don't know," I answered honestly after a moment. "From what I've read, even small tribes usually have Tier Four Totem Generals. But based on what I've learned here, we only have six Tier Three Totem Commanders."
Mike nodded slowly, his usual grin fading.
"You're right. But that's only what we see."
I frowned slightly.
"There are others," he continued. "Old ones. Former chiefs and elders who stepped back from public affairs. They only focus on one thing—advancing their rank. Higher rank means more years to live. Those old monsters are desperate. They don't care about status anymore. Only survival."
His words lingered in my mind.
Longevity. Power. Fear of death.
Before he could continue waxing poetic, I kicked him lightly.
"Get to the point."
"Ouch!" he complained, then hurriedly leaned in. "Fine. From what I overheard, the ones handling this camp will be those old monsters. And inside the camp, everyone starts from the bottom."
I stiffened.
"No privileges," he added quietly. "No status. No protection from family names."
For a moment, the noise of the crowd faded.
So that's how it is.
I absorbed the information in silence—then kicked him again.
"Bro! What the hell?!" he protested. "I already told you the truth!"
"Because you're an idiot," I replied flatly. "If everyone starts equal, how exactly do you plan to make those arrogant women bow?"
Mike froze mid-breath.
His confidence evaporated instantly.
"No…" he muttered, biting his thumb. "This can't be happening…"
I almost laughed.
Despite his loud mouth and shameless confidence, Mike was painfully honest with his emotions. There was no mask—no calculation. It made him reckless, but also genuine.
Before he could spiral further, a sharp, authoritative voice cut through the air.
"You two. Enough."
We both straightened instinctively.
Elder Sandra stood nearby, her expression calm but firm. Beside her was Sister Jean, arms crossed, eyes sharp.
"Are you two alright?" they asked simultaneously.
"Yes, Mother!"
"Yes, Sister!"
Our synchronized response echoed louder than intended.
For a split second, there was silence—then laughter rippled through the nearby crowd.
Even Elder Sandra's lips twitched.
I couldn't help smiling.
This ridiculous harmony—this effortless understanding—was exactly how Mike and I became friends. Even in the smallest moments, we somehow aligned.
"Enough," Elder Sandra said, regaining her composure. "This is not a place for fooling around."
Her gaze swept over us, heavy with expectation.
"At any moment, the chief will arrive," she continued. "From that moment on, every word spoken will shape your future in this camp. Behave yourselves. Listen carefully. Remember why you are here."
Her words struck deeper than her tone.
The laughter faded.
The murmurs of the crowd softened, replaced by an uneasy stillness.
I glanced toward the towering gate once more.
This wasn't just training.
This was separation. Transformation.
Selection.
I clenched my fists slowly.
Whatever awaits us beyond that gate, I thought, I will endure it.
Not for pride.
Not for recognition.
But because weakness has no place in the future I seek.
The air grew heavier.
Something monumental was about to begin.