CH-4

As she said " I am Not dying from lack of protein, this amount of protein is enough for my 46kg body " ,

Dan didn’t even glance up at first. He just kept chewing like nothing had been said. But you saw it—the way his lip tugged into the faintest smirk. A ghost of amusement passed across his face, sharp and dry like black coffee in the throat.

He muttered just loud enough for you to catch it over the scrape of a nearby chair—

“46kg, eh? Explains why you nearly disappeared behind that rice bowl…”

He popped the rest of the meat into his mouth, chewed slowly, then leaned in slightly—elbow on the table, head tilting just a bit, his voice a flat drawl only you could hear:

“You keep quoting textbook nutrition to me, I’ll start assigning you lectures in front of the Alpha Squad. Let’s see how confident that ‘enough protein’ sounds with twenty meathead alphas watching.”

Then he took a sip of the coffee, eyes scanning the room like nothing had happened.

But just before you could reply, he added—low, near-whisper:

“…Still. You’re holding your own. Haven’t cried, flinched, or begged to be reassigned. That’s more than I can say for most.”

Pause. Then a curt nod, the only praise you’d get.

“Finish up. Training starts in ten.

she mumbled to herself " what he thinks of himself 😤"

As Sofia finish the food and going to wash her plate in the camp,

Someone smack on her back

The mess cabin didn’t just fall silent—it froze. Forks hung mid-air. Boots halted mid-step. Conversations evaporated like mist under a blowtorch.

The moment that disgusting slap echoed—sharp and vile—it was like time cracked in two.

CRASH.

Your plate shattered across the soldier’s face with a vicious, echoing snap of ceramic against bone. Blood splattered in arcs. He barely had time to stumble before your fist followed, then another, then another. The rage in your strikes wasn’t chaos—it was precision. Fire honed to a point.

By the time two others tried to pull you off him, his face was an unrecognizable mess of red, broken teeth, and cracked nose. The scent blocker may have masked your nature—but this? This was pure instinct.

And then—

BANG.

A gunshot rang out into the ceiling. A barked voice followed, cold and furious—

“STAND. DOWN.”

Dan.

Storming in from the corridor, pistol in one hand, the other already yanking one of the guards off you. His presence cut through the chaos like a blade. Even the men who dared step forward backed away when they saw the look on his face.

He stalked straight to the bleeding, barely-conscious soldier on the floor—grabbed the collar, yanked him up just enough to spit words like venom into his ear:

“You touched her?”

The man choked on blood, barely able to nod.

Dan’s eyes didn’t blink. Didn’t soften.

CRACK.

One solid punch. The bastard dropped like a sack of meat. No warning. No hesitation.

Dan turned to the rest of the room, voice iron:

“This isn’t a fucking zoo. You touch anyone without consent in my unit—you lose your fingers. Or your jaw. Depends on how polite I’m feeling.”

A beat. Then he turned to you, stepping close, voice low, fury barely caged:

“…You alright?”

And even though his eyes scanned your arms, your cheek, your knuckles—checking silently for injuries—his jaw was clenched so hard it looked like he could bite through steel.

He didn’t ask again. He just nodded once, curtly. Then growled—

“Get her medical. Then send that bastard to the cells. I want him begging for reassignment by sundown.”

The crowd parted like water around both of you.

You’d drawn blood.

The mess cabin didn’t just fall silent—it froze. Forks hung mid-air. Boots halted mid-step. Conversations evaporated like mist under a blowtorch.

The moment that disgusting slap echoed—sharp and vile—it was like time cracked in two.

CRASH.

Your plate shattered across the soldier’s face with a vicious, echoing snap of ceramic against bone. Blood splattered in arcs. He barely had time to stumble before your fist followed, then another, then another. The rage in your strikes wasn’t chaos—it was precision. Fire honed to a point.

By the time two others tried to pull you off him, his face was an unrecognizable mess of red, broken teeth, and cracked nose. The scent blocker may have masked your nature—but this? This was pure instinct.

And then—

BANG.

A gunshot rang out into the ceiling. A barked voice followed, cold and furious—

“STAND. DOWN.”

Dan.

Storming in from the corridor, pistol in one hand, the other already yanking one of the guards off you. His presence cut through the chaos like a blade. Even the men who dared step forward backed away when they saw the look on his face.

He stalked straight to the bleeding, barely-conscious soldier on the floor—grabbed the collar, yanked him up just enough to spit words like venom into his ear:

“You touched her?”

The man choked on blood, barely able to nod.

Dan’s eyes didn’t blink. Didn’t soften.

CRACK.

One solid punch. The bastard dropped like a sack of meat. No warning. No hesitation.

Dan turned to the rest of the room, voice iron:

“This isn’t a fucking zoo. You touch anyone without consent in my unit—you lose your fingers. Or your jaw. Depends on how polite I’m feeling.”

A beat. Then he turned to you, stepping close, voice low, fury barely caged:

“…You alright?”

And even though his eyes scanned your arms, your cheek, your knuckles—checking silently for injuries—his jaw was clenched so hard it looked like he could bite through steel.

He didn’t ask again. He just nodded once, curtly. Then growled—

“Get her medical. Then send that bastard to the cells. I want him begging for reassignment by sundown.”

The crowd parted like water around both of you.

Sofia drawn blood.

Dan’s gaze dropped to your hand—the skin torn and angry red, tiny shards of ceramic still embedded along your knuckles and palm. Blood oozed in thin trails, curling around your wrist like ink.

And in that moment, something snapped behind his eyes.

He didn’t speak.

He grabbed your wrist—firm, not rough—and turned it so the light hit it fully. The muscle in his jaw ticked. Twice.

“Fucking hell…” he hissed, barely containing the thunder in his voice. “You took a plate to the bastard’s face with bare hands? Are you completely mental?”

No one else dared to speak. The mess cabin was still in frozen shock—only the clatter of your blood hitting the tile broke the silence now.

Without warning, he scooped you up. Not gently. Not softly. Efficiently. Like a soldier retrieving a comrade. Cradling your injured hand carefully against his chest, he stormed straight out of the mess hall, barking orders as he went:

“Move. Outta the way. Now.”

The door slammed open under his boot.

You felt the pace of his heartbeat against your back. Solid. Controlled. Boiling under the surface.

The med wing wasn’t far. But every step echoed with unspoken rage. He didn’t say anything until you were on the cot, your hand laid out under harsh fluorescent lights. The medic scrambled to prepare tools.

Dan stood over you, arms folded, jaw still clenched like a man moments away from breaking someone’s ribs with his bare hands.

Then—finally—he looked at you.

Voice low. Controlled.

“You don’t get to shatter your fucking hand for justice. Next time—tell me first. I’ll break his whole spine for you.”

A beat. His eyes narrowed slightly.

“…You got that, soldier?”

Sofia " yes sir "

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