Time flew, and the hellish military training entered its fifteenth day.
Gotham Hope Academy had become what the students called a Spartan concentration camp.
Under the blazing sun, the retired Marine instructor's roars thundered across the field.
The Black instructor held a riding crop and lashed it into the mud, sending muddy water splashing half a meter high.
"Move! Haven't you eaten? Get moving!"
Dozens of students crawled and scrambled through the mud pit, carrying thick logs on their shoulders as they performed tactical crawls. Their wails blended together, mud and sweat plastering every face.
"Want to quit? Fine! Get the hell out of the gate right now and go back to your sewers!" The Black instructor paced back and forth, his combat boots stomping through the muddy water.
"But for every second you stand here, you're clay in my hands! If I say you're round, you'd better be round!"
Several gang punks accustomed to the easygoing life of the streets broke down completely.
They couldn't endure this relentless physical punishment, and some began looking for underhanded ways out.
In Boys' Dormitory Building Three, a punk with dyed blond hair stood on the edge of an upper bunk. He glanced at the hard floor, gritted his teeth, closed his eyes, and plunged down headfirst.
There was a crack of breaking bone.
The blond punk clutched his right leg and rolled around on the floor, his face covered in cold sweat. He shouted, "My leg's broken! I need to go to the infirmary! I can't train anymore!"
Half an hour later, in the infirmary.
The air reeked of disinfectant.
Retsu Unohana wore a spotless white coat. Holding an exceptionally long silver needle, she gazed at the screaming blond punk on the bed with a gentle smile.
Lying on the bed, the