I enlisted four times! My former unit blacklisted me.

The afternoon training session began with an emergency assembly.

"Emergency assembly! Three minutes! Pack your bags! Line up on the playground downstairs!"

The trainees frantically wrapped ropes around the straps of their backpacks.

The corridor was in complete chaos, with footsteps, shouts, and curses all mixed together.

Although the emergency assembly involved a significant amount of training from the original unit.

But after all, this is only their first day here.

I'm not familiar with this place, nor with the items placed here.

Naturally, things became somewhat chaotic.

"Two minutes left."

"One and a half minutes."

"One minute."

"Forty seconds."

Finally, in the last ten seconds, all the trainees rushed down to the playground and stood in a crooked line.

Someone's backpack strap wasn't fastened tightly, and the backpack was tilted to one side.

Someone had their hat pinned to the back of their head.

Some people hadn't even had time to tie their shoelaces; the laces of both shoes were under their feet, and they would trip after taking just a few steps.

Qin Gang walked to the front of the line, his gaze sweeping over the faces of each trainee.

"Four minutes and thirty-seven seconds."

"You call this an emergency assembly? Here, three minutes is the passing grade. If you're even one second over, the whole battalion has to start over. You're one minute and thirty-seven seconds over. If this were a real war, enemy shells would already be raining down on your heads."

None of the trainees dared to utter a sound.

"Backpack all unpacked, back to the dorm, start over."

The students rushed back to their dormitories, packed their bags again, and ran downstairs once more.

This time it was much faster than before, but Qin Gang was still not satisfied.

"Let's start over."

One more time.

"Three minutes and fifty-eight seconds. Let's start over."

"Three minutes and thirty-two seconds. Let's start over."

They went back and forth like this five times, until the last time, when the whole team finally lined up in less than three minutes, their backpacks neatly packed, and no one lost any equipment.

Qin Gang reluctantly nodded: "Remember this speed. From today onwards, the standard for emergency assembly is three minutes. One second over, start over. Ten seconds over, five kilometers in full gear. Thirty seconds over, you won't be sleeping tonight; I'll train with you until dawn."

The trainees below all swallowed hard.

However, among all of them, there was one person who had never made a single mistake from the very first try.

Wu Hanfeng.

From the moment the whistle blew until he packed his bag and rushed downstairs, each time it was within two minutes.

While others might go through the motions five times, he did it all five times like a copy and paste, with precise movements, a steady rhythm, and not a trace of panic.

Song Yizhou noticed, but said nothing. He just glanced at Wu Hanfeng a couple more times, then continued yelling at the others.

After the emergency assembly, the next step is queue training.

The drill training in the training corps was much stricter than that in the recruit company.

Second Squadron Leader Du Hong personally led the training. His training method was simple and brutal—take a backpack strap, stretch it in front of the team, and the backpack strap was exactly 25 centimeters off the ground.

"When performing the marching kick, your toes must just touch the backpack strap! If you don't, start over. If you touch it but can't put your foot down, start over too!"

A row of trainees took turns kicking their legs, while Du Hong stood beside them, his eyes scanning each person's toes like a scanner.

He held a bamboo stick in his hand. If anyone kicked incorrectly, the bamboo stick would strike their shin with a sharp crack, making them gasp in pain but afraid to move.

"Point your toes straight! Is that marching in formation or playing shuttlecock?"

"Straighten your knees! Who are you bowing to with your legs bent?"

"Lean forward! Are you marching in formation or swimming on your back?"

Du Hong's roar echoed across the playground, and the trainees were sweating profusely from the scolding, their calves burning from the bamboo canes.

When it was Wu Hanfeng's turn to kick, Du Hong took a second look.

Wu Hanfeng kicked the backpack strap with his toe, hitting it precisely at the edge.

Legs stretched straight, toes pointed in a straight line, body slightly leaning forward, the whole posture is so standard that it could be filmed as an instructional video.

The most outrageous thing is that he remained perfectly still in this position, his back straight and his center of gravity as stable as if he were rooted to the ground.

Du Hong circled around him, trying to find something wrong with him.

Knees – straight.

Toes – pointed.

From a physical perspective—perfect.

Eye contact – look straight ahead, without looking away or flinching.

Du Hong opened his mouth, wanting to say something, but found that he couldn't find anything to criticize.

"Put it down," Du Hong uttered, his tone tinged with reluctance.

Wu Hanfeng swiftly lowered his leg, resumed his standing posture, and maintained his calm and composed expression.

Du Hong turned to Liu Zhen beside him and whispered, "What's wrong with this soldier? His drill movements are more precise than mine."

Liu Zhen shrugged: "You're asking me? Who am I supposed to ask? I just saw him packing his backpack in the dormitory. He was faster than any trainee I've ever seen in my eight years as a captain in the training team. And the backpack he packed was even neater than the training models."

Du Hong was not convinced and made Wu Hanfeng perform a few more basic movements—at ease, attention, straddle stance, turning on the spot, and salute.

Every movement was impeccably standard, so precise it was as if it had been directly copied from regulations and rules.

Unable to find fault, Du Hong turned to the next student and vented his anger: "Your neck is tucked in like a turtle, stick it out! And you, why are your eyes squinting? Look straight ahead! Can't you see straight ahead?!"

That's how we spent the whole afternoon messing around.

The final part of the formation training is the arm swinging movements during marching and running.

Du Hong had everyone practice arm swinging in place, swinging their arms forward 30 centimeters and backward 35 centimeters, paying attention to every detail, including angle, height, and force.

"Forward swing—two! Backward swing—two!" Du Hong's commands rang out rhythmically on the playground. The trainees' arms swung up and down in response to the commands, swinging again and again until their arms ached so much they could barely lift them.

"Stop! Seventh soldier, your wrist was crooked when you swung forward. Do you think you're hailing a taxi?"

"Soldier Number Fifteen, your shoulder is crooked when you sway back. Are you walking or dancing?"

"Soldier Number 32, your arm swing is too small. Are you afraid of swatting mosquitoes or what?"

Du Hong corrected each student's mistakes one by one. Each student who was called out had to come out individually and practice repeatedly in front of the whole squadron until the movements were standard.

Wu Hanfeng, on the other hand, was never mentioned by name even once from beginning to end.

Du Hong walked past him several times, each time stopping to examine him closely, his brows furrowing more and more, until he finally walked away with a look of resentment on his face.

Because he simply couldn't find any fault with it.

Moreover, his movements were incredibly steady, maintaining the same speed from start to finish without the slightest slackening or impatience.