Hardcore Exorcist: Reborn to Grind Chapter 5 : Boot Camp

“This is as far as I go.”

The agent stops in front of the training grounds.

“I'm looking forward to seeing what kind of Exorcist you grow into, Ikaku. Once you complete the Boot Camp program, I’m sure we’ll et again.”

After parting ways with the agent, I step into the crowd gathered at the edge of the training field.

There are about twenty of us, all boys, all older than —anywhere from ten to fifteen years old, by the look of them.

From what I heard before coming here, they’re all orphans from facilities run by the Akai clan.

Those orphanages are scattered across Tokyo, Saitama, and Kanagawa. Every year, agents select candidates for Boot Camp from each branch and bring them to the Akai family estate.

Most of the kids are already grouped up in twos or threes, chatting like they’ve known each other for years. Probably ca from the sa orphanage.

I’m the only one from mine to make it this year. No training partner. No familiar faces. I feel awkwardly cut off.

I’m restless. Can’t be helped.

Might as well knock out so push-ups.

“Yo, so kid just started repping push-ups.”

“Isn’t he kinda small? How old is he?”

“He’s compact, but sohow he’s also massive...”

All eyes are on .

This feels incredible. I’m getting pumped.

It reminds of when I won the All-Japan Championship. Everyone was watching . Everyone was admiring my form.

“Creepy...”

“He’s built like a beast.”

“Too intense to figure out.”

“Better not get too close.”

Huh. More resistance than I expected. I figured the lads would be impressed with my conditioning.

After a while, an adult approaches from the direction where kids around our age are doing intensive shooting drills. He’s got a pistol at his hip, black camo fatigues, and eyes sharp enough to cut steel.

“Line up by height, you little shits!”

His voice cracks like a whip as he marches toward us. Everyone straightens on instinct, scrambling into formation.

He glances at his clipboard, then looks us over.

“Looks like everyone’s here! Well done assembling, you worthless maggots! I’ll give you credit for showing up to Boot Camp without backing down! My na is Kisa! You’ll call Instructor Kisa! If you understand, give confirmation!”

“Y-yes!”

“Understood!”

“Roger that!”

“Yes, sir!”

“What a bunch of uncoordinated little shits! You’ve already failed your first test—now you’ll pay for it! Three laps around the training grounds! Move! Move! MOVE!”

The kids take off running, driven by fear and instinct.

By the ti we finish, most of them are bent over, gasping for breath, hands on their knees.

“Gassed already? You weaklings’ll get eaten alive by Demons!”

His eyes sweep the line—then pause on . They flick away. Then snap back. He does a double-take.

“Ahem. Looks like we’ve got an anomaly among us!” he says, collecting himself.

“Starting today, you worms will train to beco Exorcists! The goal of this Boot Camp is to earn your Tenth-Class Exorcist License! You can’t run from the Soul Brands carved into you!

And don’t expect the orphanage to support freeloaders forever! If you want to survive, you’ll have to do it on your own strength!”

“Waaah, Sister, Mother, I wanna go hoooo...”

The one who folds first under Instructor Kisa’s intensity is a soft-looking kid with barely any muscle. He’s already hosick.

“You there! Stand up! Stand UP, I said! Focus on !”

“Eeek...!”

The instructor grabs the boy by the collar and lifts him one-handed.

“Weak little shits like you are the first to get your heads chomped off by Demons! If you’re gonna die anyway, maybe I oughta just off you right here and now!”

“Waaaah!”

He presses the barrel of his gun against the boy’s head.

Panic erupts. Everyone goes pale.

“No, no, I don’t wanna die!”

“Good! Then don’t ever show that pathetic face again! Next ti you piss off, I’ll rip off that ugly nose of yours! Give confirmation!”

“Y-yes sir!”

“This isn’t the military! The proper response is ‘yes!’ You imbecile—give another lap! Move! Move! Move FASTER!”

Receiving a kick in the rear, the boy starts running again.

When he gets back, he rejoins the formation, panting hard, not wasting another drop of energy.

Instructor Kisa eyes us all— included.

“Listen up, you piss-slling little shits. Up to now, you’ve been coddled by soft-hearted coaches, but that was just warm-up. The comfortable zone you knew? It’s over. It’s never coming back!”

Seriously? Maybe I should’ve stayed a beginner a little longer.

“You’ve got nothing! No Exorcist genes, not a trace of magic in your worthless veins! Against Demons, you runts don’t stand a chance! You’re just prey. Born to lose. Let spell it out: every single one of you is going to be slaughtered.”

All around , the kids are sniffling, sobbing.

“But even for soone like you, with nothing ahead but cold, crushing despair—there’s still a way to survive. Get strong. Learn how to fight back. Master that power. Get strong. Build strength. Because if you don’t, you won’t even be allowed to compete.”

His tone shifts—less shouting, more weight behind each word.

“But rember this. Even if you do earn a license, only two or three of you will make it long enough to even learn what liquor tastes like.”

Two or three... out of twenty?

So only about one in ten makes it to adulthood.

“Then I don’t wanna beco an Exorcist...!”

“Don’t be soft! Demons won’t rest! Even if you don’t hunt them, the ones that carved your Soul Brands will find you like they’re harvesting ripe gains! You can run, hide—it won’t matter. That day will co!”

“Ugh, ngh...”

“And it’s not just the Demons that marked you. Any Demon can sense Soul Brands. They’ll all want a bite. You’ll never be free. Not for the rest of your lives. In the end, you will end up a snack.”

So we’re dood either way?

What a brutal curse.

“But there are still things you can do before you die. You still have ti to fight back. You’re not livestock ant to eat, sleep, and wait for the slaughter. You were born for a reason. And even if there’s no reason, you can make one. But to do that, you have to survive. So get strong—strong enough to die trying.”

By the ti Instructor Kisa finishes, the boys look different. Less scared. A little more solid.

He scans the group, right to left, and gives a tiny nod of approval.

“Now, we begin the 102nd Boot Camp! First, we build foundational conditioning! Move, little maggots! Move like your lives depend on it!”

The first day starts with basics: running, bodyweight training, more running, more push-ups, more squats. Endless drills. No rest. Just fatigue layered on fatigue.

Finally, when the sun dips low—

“All right! Final ten laps! Once this is over, I’ll let you off for today!”

The boys, pale as corpses, drag themselves forward in broken form. Exhausted beyond asure.

“You still look like you’ve got gas left in the tank,” the instructor says to .

“I’ve been training.”

“I can see that just by looking. Hm. That conditioning at your age... and already at Boot Camp. You seem motivated!”

“Thank you, Instructor.”

“Then you get extra volu—ten more laps around the field! Just you!”

“Instructor, that’s not balanced.”

“What?! You questioning the program?! Then it’s twenty more! Let’s see you keep that talk up!”

“No, sir. Cadet Ikaku here is about to train until he reaches failure!”

“I see! ...Huh?”

He blinks in brief surprise.

“...Very well! You must be outta your mind! Run till you collapse then!”

“Yes sir!”

The instructor’s speech made even more aware of my cursed fate. There’s no way my motivation doesn’t spike.

I got no choice—I need to get stronger.

I’ll complete every set. Leave nothing on the table.

Only then will it be optimal.

That’s what I believe.

“That’s enough for today! You worthless bastards! Return to the dorms and rest! Dismissed!”

“Um, Instructor, Ikaku is still training...”

“That one’s got sothing wrong with his head! You boys go back first!”

I run 85 laps. Push through nausea. Collapse.

When I co to, the instructor is carrying back to the dormitory.

“Thank you for the assist, Instructor.”

“You’re the first one to make carry soone on the first day, Ikaku. And the first whose na I morized.”

“That makes happy. Well, excuse for a mont.”

I down a serving of vanilla protein and prep another.

“Hm? What are you doing?”

“Preparing protein.”

“But you just had so.”

“I’m about to hit my finishing routine.”

“You talk as if finishing a al course with ran...”

“I’m thinking squats. I’m almost at novice-progression level. Well, excuse . Oh, I might pass out, so if you feel like it, I’d appreciate it if you could check on the training room.”

I bow politely and head out for my finishing routine.

Behind , the instructor mutters sothing in disbelief.

“If that ain’t the craziest nutter I ever seen...”