Don't You like Little Dogs? Now that I'm Taking Liberties, You're Suddenly Reluctant? - Chapter 15

The following afternoon, the adjutant arrived in person. He performed a routine check of Pei Ye’s status before handing him a simple duffel bag.

“The address and access permissions for the First Division dormitory have been uploaded to your terminal. Report there now.” The adjutant’s tone was as businesslike as ever. “Goshawk and the others are waiting for you.”

Pei Ye accepted the bag in silence. It contained very little: a few changes of clothes, basic personal items, and that training manual he had flipped through so many times it was practically falling apart.

He took one last look at the place where he had lived for a short while a place cold and empty, yet filled with his Master’s scent. It had been his only sanctuary.

Without looking back, he followed the adjutant out.

The First Division’s dormitory was located in a relatively isolated section of the headquarters complex, functioning more like a fully equipped safehouse.

The atmosphere was a world apart from the desolation of Jiang Si’s apartment. The air here was thick with a mixture of gunpowder, metal, and an unmasked, primal ferocity.

In the living room, Goshawk was wiping down a uniquely shaped combat knife. Wind Hawk was sprawled on the sofa playing video games, cursing under his breath.

Nearby, a man in a work vest with bulging muscles and a prominent scar across his face was impatiently assembling a heavy pistol. Parts were scattered across the table this, presumably, was “Viper.”

In the corner, a figure was almost entirely submerged in the shadows, her presence so low it was barely detectable. Only the faint glow of an electronic screen illuminated the calm lines of the lower half of her face, this was “Ghost.”

At the sound of movement, several gazes shot simultaneously toward Pei Ye at the doorway.

Wind Hawk was the first to jump up, abandoning his game. He sauntered over and circled Pei Ye with a grin. “Oh? Our Little Sixie is finally here? You look a bit more spirited than you did in that hospital bed.”

Viper didn’t even look up, letting out a cold snort as his hands continued their work. With a sharp click, he installed the firing pin. “Fair-skinned and fragile, try not to be the first one to die out there.”

From the shadows, Ghost said nothing, merely sweeping a cold gaze over Pei Ye as if assessing the performance parameters of a new tool.

Goshawk put down his knife and stood up. “You’re here. Good. Your room is at the very end; settle in yourself. The rules are in the manual; if you don’t understand something, ask. Tomorrow, you begin basic training.”

He was brief and to the point. There was no welcome, only the directness of a mission briefing.

“Yes, Captain,” Pei Ye replied softly, carrying his bag toward his assigned room.

He could feel those gazes on his back curious, scrutinizing, indifferent, and even a few tinged with malice.

That was right. There was no warmth here, only the naked law of survival of the fittest.

He understood.

His room was small, containing only a bed, a wardrobe, and a desk.

Clean, cold, and devoid of anything extra.

He set down his luggage but didn’t organize it immediately. Instead, he sat on the hard bed frame and took a deep breath. The atmosphere here was foreign and heavy with pressure.

But he didn’t have much time for sentimentality. Soon, Wind Hawk’s shout came from outside: “Sixie! Get out here! Time to get you acquainted with your gear!”

In the days that followed, Pei Ye felt as though he had fallen into a different kind of hell.

The training intensity of the First Division far exceeded his imagination. It was conducted in a way that pushed participants to their absolute limits, flirting with the edge of death. Physical fitness, combat, firearms, tactics, stealth, demolition… every discipline required perfection, or better.

The training ground was a massive clearing behind the warehouse, outfitted with various obstacles and simulated combat environments. Wind Hawk maintained his usual flippant attitude, but his strikes were merciless.

“Too slow, Sixie!”

Wind Hawk’s figure blurred like a phantom. He used a clever burst of force to knock Pei Ye’s blocking arm aside, following up with an elbow strike to the ribs. Pei Ye let out a muffled groan of pain, staggering back.

“Unsteady footing! Have you not eaten?”

Goshawk stood by the edge of the field with his arms crossed. His voice was cold and hard, devoid of emotion. “The enemy won’t give you time to find your balance.”

Pei Ye grit his teeth, swallowing the metallic taste of blood in his throat, and resumed a defensive stance.

Though his body had mostly recovered, he was still miles away from the level of these monsters in the First Division. Every attack and every evasion made the gap between them painfully clear.

The afternoons were for specialized training.

Viper tossed him a bundle of uniquely shaped explosive components. “Disarm it. Ten minutes. If it blows, I’ll collect your remains—if I can find any pieces left.”

He grinned, revealing bone-white teeth, his eyes full of violent anticipation.

Pei Ye accepted it in silence, his fingers touching cold metal and soft explosive putty. He recalled the contents of the manual and the theories he had studied while recovering in the medical department.

His hands were exceptionally steady. His breathing slowed. The entire world narrowed down to the components in front of him.

Cutting the lead, separating the detonator, disarming the pressure plate… every step was like dancing on the edge of a blade.

Eight minutes and forty-seven seconds. He gently set down the final piece.

Viper gave a “tsk,” seemingly disappointed that nothing had exploded, but he shot Pei Ye a surprised glance. “Not bad. Not as stupid as I thought.”

Ghost’s training was even more surreal. She moved like a literal ghost through the dim, complex simulated alleyways. The requirement was simple—touch the hem of her clothes before she “killed” him three times.

Predictably, Pei Ye failed. Again and again.

He couldn’t even see how she appeared before a cold training dagger was pressed against his neck or his back. Her movements were entirely irregular, silent, as if she had merged with the shadows themselves. After his third “death,” Pei Ye leaned against a cold wall, gasping for air, his training uniform soaked in sweat.

Ghost’s figure slowly emerged nearby. Her face was expressionless as she said flatly: “Perception. Don’t just use your eyes.”

……

At night, Pei Ye lay on his hard bed, his body aching in every fiber.

The training brought not only physical exhaustion but immense psychological pressure. There was no tenderness here, only the direct language of strength. He clenched his fists, his nails digging deep into his palms.

Not enough. Still far from enough.

He remembered Jiang Si’s words:

—”There, you will learn how to truly bite, how to survive, and how to become more useful to me.”

—”Don’t disappoint me.”

Master was watching him. He had to endure.

The second day, the third day… the cycle repeated. Pei Ye was like a greedy sponge, frantically absorbing everything.

He observed Wind Hawk’s footwork, studied the way Goshawk generated power, recorded Viper’s habits in placing explosives, and tried to catch the microscopic changes in airflow when Ghost moved.

He trained the latest every day, repeating every movement thousands of times until it became muscle memory.

His communication with the team remained sparse, but the total disregard they initially showed him began to shift.

During one close-quarters combat session, Wind Hawk threw Pei Ye to the ground again, pinning his back with a knee. He asked with a laugh, “Had enough, Sixie?”

Pei Ye’s cheek scraped against the rough ground. Gasping for air, he suddenly twisted his body, using the ground’s reaction force and a clever maneuver that nearly flipped Wind Hawk over.

Though he was ultimately suppressed again, a flash of genuine surprise crossed Wind Hawk’s eyes before he grinned. “Hey? Now that’s getting interesting!”

Viper would occasionally toss him more complex demolition tasks, sometimes even intentionally setting traps with errors. Pei Ye fell for them a few times, ending up covered in the paint used for simulated explosives, which earned him blunt mockery from Viper. But the next time, Pei Ye would be more cautious, checking even more thoroughly.

Ghost remained silent, but sometimes as Pei Ye practiced his stealth, she would suddenly appear behind him to point out a minor postural error that would lead to exposure. “Shoulders. Too high.” Or: “Breathing. Control it.”

Goshawk didn’t show up often, but each time he did, his gaze lingered on Pei Ye a little longer.

He would directly point out flaws in Pei Ye’s tactical thinking: “You chose to handle the flank threat first. Stupid. The frontal assault point is the key. Trust your teammates to handle the small fry.”

Even though there were no “teammates” present at the time; it was purely hypothetical training.

Pei Ye gradually realized that the “madness” of the First Division wasn’t disordered chaos. It was a high-efficiency art of slaughter built upon absolute strength and a high level of tacit understanding. They shared a near-instinctive trust, knowing exactly how the others would react in any given situation.

And he needed to integrate into that to become a reliable new gear in this machine.

During this time, the adjutant, Ji Churen, visited once, still maintaining his calm, professional demeanor. He reviewed Pei Ye’s training data and spoke briefly with Goshawk. Before leaving, his gaze landed on Pei Ye as he said flatly, “The weekly rankings have been updated. Number 197. Keep working.”

The ranking system was the core measure of value within Skeleton. Pei Ye had previously been unranked, yet he had suddenly appeared within the top 200. This was clearly because he had entered the First Division and his training data had been recognized.

This ranking caused minor ripples within the organization. A newcomer dropping in out of nowhere? By what right?

Pei Ye didn’t care much about the reaction.

197? Still far too low.

His goal was the summit. The position where he could stand by his Master’s side.

Late one night, approximately three weeks later, the garrison alarm shrieked piercingly this was not a drill. It was a real emergency mobilization.