Dragon Ball: Enlisted

Before I could fully take stock of my bruises—or the newly unlocked strength tingling in my limbs—a sharp whistle split through the room.

"Line up, you weaklings!"

I snapped my head toward the front of the room. Three figures now stood there, arms crossed, watching the aftermath like they were assessing livestock. The one who'd whistled was the same blue man with graying hair who'd activated and deactivated the drones. 

'When the hell did those other two get there?' I thought, frowning. 'Probably moved faster than I could even see. Ah, the life of a background character sucks…'

"Move it! You're not dead, so stop pretending you are!" he barked.

Slowly, the other recruits stumbled or dragged themselves to their feet, forming a shaky line in front of the instructors. My muscles protested every step, but I managed to join them without face-planting. A quick headcount showed about fifteen of us left standing.

The rest? They were either groaning on the ground or being carried out by other patrolmen.

"Looks like we kept just over half," the blue man muttered with an unimpressed grunt. He turned his sharp gaze on us, scanning the line with a scowl that could melt steel. "So you made it through the first five minutes. Congratulations—you're now barely worth the oxygen you're breathing."

No one said a word. Mostly because we were still too busy panting or nursing bruises.

The blue man jabbed a thumb toward his chest. "I'm Instructor Gruen. Been with the Patrol since before they bothered putting seatbelts in the damn ships. I'll be the one drilling the rules, protocols, and laws of the Patrol into your thick skulls. And don't even think about slacking off—there's enough loopholes in the galaxy's laws to hang yourself with if you're not careful."

He paused, giving us a moment to process his words. Then, with a scornful look, he added, "And don't ever tell me you've got it rough. Back in my day, they dropped us on asteroids for training with nothing but a stick and half a ration bar."

I… honestly couldn't tell if he was joking or not.

Before anyone could react, the second instructor stepped forward—a woman with purple skin and fiery red hair pulled into a tight ponytail. Her energy radiated around her like static, crackling with focus. Unlike Gruen, her uniform was spotless—pressed with military precision.

"Enough scaring the cubs, Gruen," she said, rolling her eyes. Her voice was sharp, but not unkind. "I'm Instructor Calia, and for the next few months I'll be supervising as an assistant. However, if you survive until the halfway exam, I'll be teaching you all the techniques the patrol needs you to know."

She must've seen how curious some of us were to understand what 'technique' entailed, so she continued, "That means I'll be teaching you how to shoot blasters with pinpoint accuracy, how to fight without tripping on your fight, and how to pilot a ship to outmaneuver any criminals you might encounter."

"Enough scaring the cubs, Gruen," she said, rolling her eyes. Her voice was sharp, but there was a hint of kindness underneath. "I'm Instructor Calia. For the next few months, I'll be supervising as an assistant. If you survive that long, I'll teach you all the techniques the Patrol needs you to know."

Her gaze flicked over me, and I shifted uncomfortably under her scrutiny. It was like she could tell I didn't belong here at all.

"And what do you mean by 'techniques'?" one recruit asked, voice weak but curious.

Calia didn't miss a beat. "I'll be teaching you how to shoot blasters with pinpoint accuracy, how to fight without tripping on your fight, how to pilot a ship to outmaneuver any criminals you might encounter—things of that nature."

That sounded like a lot for one instructor, but who was I to judge? I'd never taught a thing in my life.

Before anyone could speak, a heavy step forward made the floor tremble. The third instructor—a giant of a man with golden skin—loomed over us, his spiked exterior unmistakable. He had the same race as Dodoria, but he was built completely differently. Dodoria was a short, overweight mess. This guy was tall, muscular, and radiated an intimidating presence.

When he spoke, his voice was a low growl, flat and devoid of mercy.

"I'm here to kill you all," he said bluntly.

A cold shiver ran through the group. Someone let out a nervous squeak.

Calia sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose. "His name is Aprico. What he means is that he's your strength instructor."

Aprico grunted, confirming her words. "You'll hate me, and that's fine. You'll get stronger, or you'll die. Simple."

"…He's very results-oriented," Calia added with a forced smile.

Gruen waved his hand dismissively, scowling at us like we'd personally offended him. "Enough introductions. You'll be with us for the next year, so we'll get to know each other eventually."

He gestured to the battered room behind us. "You'll wake up sore, sleep exhausted, and pray for death at least twice a day. And you know what? That's a good thing. The universe is dangerous. You F-Class are the ones who barely deserve a place here, and as far as I'm concerned, most of you don't."

He gestured around the battered room. "You'll wake up sore, sleep exhausted, and pray for death at least twice a day. And you know what? That's a good thing. Our universe is a hellhole, and you F-Class are the ones who barely deserve a place here. And if you ask me, most of you don't deserve shit."

Gruen's scarred face broke into something that might've been a grin. Or a snarl. It was hard to tell.

"That being said? …Welcome to Hell."

The words hung in the air, their weight almost palpable.

…Yeah, right, who was I kidding? As it was, I could barely stop myself from scoffing at the old fart's melodrama.

Why? Because this was the Galactic Patrol. Besides that one super strong guy from the manga, this place was a joke in the universe.

Maybe I'd be scared if this was the Frieza Force, but the Galactic Patrol? 

Meh.