SSS-Awakening: I Have Infinite Talents

"Keep your friends close, but your enemies closer." — Michael Corleone.

– – –

Micah stood at the front of the formation, and behind his calm expression, a plan was already in motion.

He had exclusive drafting rights. He could pick anyone he wanted from the recruit pool, and the selected recruits had no right to refuse.

Drafts were binding, and refusal was insubordination.

That meant he could build his squad from the exact people he wanted, and there was absolutely nothing anyone could do about it.

He already knew who he was going to draft immediately vice-principal Jason announced.

He walked to the registration desk that had been set up at the edge of the plaza, where a clerk was sitting behind a tablet with a bored expression that quickly turned nervous when Micah approached.

"I need to register my squad," Micah said.

The clerk straightened up and held out the tablet.

"Just list the recruits you want on your team, and I’ll process the transfers immediately."

Micah took the stylus and wrote four names.

Dexter Ashford. Myra Lannister. Natasha Clay. Thomas Dickson.

The clerk looked at the list, blinked twice, then looked back up at Micah with an expression that said he was seriously questioning the new Squad Leader’s sanity.

"Sir, three of these recruits are former tournament opponents. Are you sure you want to—"

"Process it."

The clerk swallowed hard and tapped the confirmation button. The tablet beeped, and four notification messages were sent simultaneously to the comm-pads of the four drafted recruits.

– – –

Dexter was standing near the competitor box when his comm-pad vibrated.

He pulled it out, read the notification, and his face went through a transformation that was painful to watch.

First confusion, then disbelief, then rage.

His comm-pad read: [You have been drafted into Squad Leader Micah’s combat unit. Report to the central plaza for squad assembly immediately. Refusal will be treated as insubordination under Article 7 of the Astralis Military Code.]

His fist clenched around the comm-pad so hard that the screen almost cracked. His neck veins were bulging, and his breathing had become short and ragged through his nose.

The man who had called Micah garbage, useless, and a coward was now legally required to follow his orders.

Myra received her notification at the same time. Her reaction was quieter but no less intense.

She read the message once, then read it again, then closed her eyes and took a slow breath through her nose.

She understood the situation immediately. Refusing wasn’t an option, but she was pissed.

The military code didn’t care about pride or personal feelings.

She pocketed her comm-pad and walked toward the central plaza without saying anything.

Thomas was still in the medical wing getting his jaw looked at when his notification arrived. A medic had to read it to him because his mouth was wired shut.

His eyes went wide, he let out a muffled groan that might have been profanity, and then he closed his eyes and accepted his fate.

Tasha was standing near the edge of the plaza, her dual blades sheathed at her sides, her dark red hair perfectly in place despite the chaos around her.

When her comm-pad vibrated, she pulled it out and read the notification.

Her expression didn’t change. No rage, no outburst or dramatic reaction. She simply read the message, processed it, and slid the comm-pad back into her pocket with a smooth, deliberate motion.

Then she walked toward the central plaza.

– —

All four drafted recruits assembled in front of the main platform within ten minutes.

Dexter stood at the far left with his arms crossed, and his cracked comm-pad still in his fis. He hadn’t said a single word since receiving the notification.

Myra stood beside him with her back straight, looking calm and professional. Her face gave nothing away.

Thomas stood at the far right, looking completely recovered. The swelling and bruises were gone, and there was no sign of the pain that had slowed him down before. He had only stopped by the medical wing for a final checkup before being cleared to return.

Tasha stood between Myra and Thomas, her hands clasped behind her back.

Micah stood in front of them. The Widow’s wail was strapped to his side and his arms were by his side.

He looked at each of his four new squad members in turn, reading their body language through Beast Analysis, cataloguing their emotional states and physical conditions the way a general reads a battlefield map.

Dexter was furious but controlled. It had to be. His Flux output was spiking erratically.

He was a liability in his current state, but he was also the strongest fighter on the team, and Micah needed that strength regardless of the attitude that came with it.

Myra was calm and disciplined. She was the most professionally reliable member of the squad, and her combat skills were exactly what Micah needed for the kind of missions they’d be running.

Thomas was a little bit still sick but functional. His jaw would heal totally within a few days, and his high percent Flux made him a solid frontline fighter.

He wasn’t elite, but he was tough, and tough was useful.

Tasha was the most composed of the four. Her breathing was even, and her body language showed no signs of distress or anger.

She was processing the situation with the same analytical focus she applied to combat, and Micah could see the gears turning behind her grey eyes.

Before Micah could speak, Tasha stepped forward.

She didn’t shout, didn’t gesture, didn’t make a scene. She simply took one measured step toward Micah and spoke in a voice that was calm and respectful enough for the setting but carried an unmistakable edge underneath.

"Excuse me, Squad Leader," she said, using his new title that made it sound like a legal formality rather than a rank.

"I’d like to clarify something before we proceed."

She paused, choosing her words carefully.

"I want to understand the reasoning behind this draft. Four recruits, three of whom have openly competed against you in the tournament, are being assigned to your squad.

That’s not a standard team composition by any measure, and I think I speak for everyone here when I say that the logic behind the selection isn’t immediately clear."

She wasn’t being disrespectful. Her tone was measured and professional. It was the kind of tone a soldier uses when questioning an order they don’t understand but intend to follow regardless.

But the implication was there, buried under the politeness. She didn’t think he deserved to lead, and she wanted him to know it.

Before Micah could respond, a voice cut through the plaza from the observation balcony above.

Vice-Principal Jason was standing there.

He came back and ever since, he’d been watching the entire assembly from the railing.

"Recruit Clay," he said. "Your voice has been heard. But listen carefully. Your opinion is not considered important, useful, or worthy of consideration."

He leaned forward slightly.

"Let me be perfectly clear so that there is no confusion among any of the drafted recruits.

Squad Leader Micah holds full command authority over this unit for the duration of the border deployment. His orders are to be followed without hesitation. Any act of disobedience, insubordination, or deliberate failure to comply with a direct order from your commanding officer will be addressed under the full weight of the Astralis Military Code."

He paused, letting the words settle.

"That includes detention, rank demotion, and in cases of severe insubordination during active combat operations, court-martial. Am I understood?"

The silence that followed was absolute. Nobody spoke. Nobody moved.

Tasha nodded once, but her expression remained unchanged. "Understood, Vice-Principal."

Jason straightened up and stepped back from the railing. "Good. Carry on."

He disappeared into the administration building, and the plaza let out a collective breath that it had been holding for the past thirty seconds.

Micah looked at his four new squad members. Dexter was seething. Myra was stoic. Thomas was broken. Tasha was calm but unconvinced.

Four soldiers who didn’t want to be here, led by a man they didn’t want to follow, heading into a border deployment that would put them in real combat against real enemies.

The next two days were spent preparing and keeping their distance.

Micah spent most of his time in his quarters, studying border deployment reports that Chloe had pulled from the Syndicate’s intelligence network and sent to his anonymous account.

The reports detailed recent mutant activity along the eastern border, migration patterns, known nest locations, and casualty statistics from the previous six months.

The numbers weren’t encouraging. Fifteen squads had been deployed to the eastern border in the last year. Four had returned with casualties. Eleven hadn’t returned at all. Totally wiped.

He memorized every detail. Beast migration routes, patrol schedules, terrain maps, weather patterns.

Information was the only advantage he had over his new squad members, and he intended to use every bit of it.

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