The Extra becomes the Villain's Bodyguard-Chapter 28: Hydrophobic Nev

The training pool’s water churned, its surface broken by the violent thrashing and diving of recruits fighting to pass.

Overhead, the sun beat down mercilessly, its glare reflecting off the water in blinding flashes.

Instructor Bear stood at the edge, arms crossed, his shadow stretching long over the recruits struggling below. His voice cut through...

"Your task today is tying knots, specifically underwater knots, bowline, clove hitch, and square knots. You don’t come up until your assigned instructor says so. And if you think this is hard, wait until you’re doing it with bullets flying over your head."

Neville felt his stomach tighten as he waded into the water. He wasn’t that bad at swimming but diving into water was different. It was unpredictable, and suffocating. His breaths came in short, sharp gasps as he submerged himself, the cold shock of the pool closing over his head.

His fingers worked frantically, tying the first knot—bowline. The rope slipped in his wet grip, and he fumbled, his lungs already burning. He forced himself to slow down, to focus. The seconds stretched each one like an eternity. Finally, the knot held. He shot up, gasping—

Only for a torrent of water to crash into his face.

One of the instructors stood over him, slamming his palms against the surface, sending waves crashing into Neville’s mouth and nose. He choked, coughing violently, water clawing at his throat. His vision blurred, but before he could recover, Bear’s voice boomed.

"Down!"

Back under.

His chest ached, his pulse hammering in his ears. The second knot the clove hitch, his fingers moved like fast well at least they tried, clumsy and slow. His body screamed for air. He could feel his muscles trembling, his focus slipping. But he forced the rope into place.

Up again.

Another deluge of water. He barely got half a breath before it hit him, flooding his nose, and his mouth. He gagged, sputtering, but Bear was already barking the order to descend again.

The third knot.

His hands shook. His vision darkened at the edges. The square knot, was simple, but his fingers felt numb. He couldn’t think, couldn’t breathe. Just tie it. Tie it and—

A sharp nod from Bear.

"Pass."

Neville exploded from the water, coughing, his chest heaving. He stumbled toward the edge, collapsing onto the concrete, his entire body trembling.

But there was no time to recover.

"Next drill—sink to the bottom. Exhale everything. Stay down for fifty seconds."

"Again!?" He thought in dread.

As if capable of reading his mind Bear said," Yes again." with the purest gentle smile known to man. a smile that made grown men recoil in disgust.

Neville’s stomach twisted. He watched as the first recruits went under. Some made it. Others shot back up in panic, gasping, their bodies betraying them.

Then it was his turn.

He took a deep breath, then forced it all out, expelling every last bit of air from his lungs. His body sank like a stone, he felt like the pressure crushing his ribs. The world above blurred, the light refracting in wavering lines.

His chest burned. His muscles twitched. The seconds stretched, each one an agony.

Thirty.

Forty.

His body screamed for oxygen. His vision tunneled.

Then... panic.

He thrashed, kicking upward, his body betraying him then shaking his head violently (this was the call for help). An instructor’s hand clamped onto his shoulder, dragging him to the surface.

"Failed."

Neville coughed, his lungs on fire. He sat on the edge, head in hands, his breath ragged.

Bear loomed over him.

"You done?" Stretching his hand waiting for the patch.

Neville looked up, water dripping from his nose, and his chin. His voice was hoarse.

"No."

Bear nodded. "Then get back in."

The second time, Neville clenched his jaw and forced himself deeper into the water. He exhaled until his lungs were empty until his body screamed in protest.

Forty seconds.

Fifty.

He barely made it, shooting upward with the last of his strength, gasping like a drowning man.

Bear watched him, then turned to the others.

"See that? He’s garbage in the water. But he passed. That’s all that matters. You don’t have to be the best—you just have to refuse to quit."

Neville slumped on the deck, exhausted maybe even developed a trauma, but alive.

**************************************************************

Next Day

"Integrity," he began, pacing before the formation, "isn’t about what you do when people are watching. It’s what you do when you’re alone in the woods at midnight with nobody to witness but God and your conscience." He stopped abruptly, his boots sending up a small cloud of dust.

"Today you’ll run a 9km trail with five stations. Fifty pushups at Alpha. Fifty situps at Bravo. Deadlifts at Charlie. Jumping jacks at Delta. And at Echo..." A cruel smile twisted his lips, "fifty burpees with your ammo cans."

The recruits shifted uneasily, their fatigues damp with morning dew.

"Here’s the beautiful part," Bear continued, his voice dropping to a near-whisper that forced the men to lean forward. "No time limit. No instructors breathing down your necks. Just you, the course, and your integrity." His eyes swept across the formation.

"First man goes now. Next in forty minutes. Last man better hope he packed a flashlight hahaha" He laughed.

The trail steeped up a hill. Neville’s ammo cans grew heavier with each station, their metal edges biting into his palms.

At Charlie station, his back screamed in protest as he deadlifted the weighted cans for the forty-seventh rep.

A bead of sweat rolled down his nose, splashing onto the rusted metal. Forty-eight. His grip faltered. Forty-nine. His vision swam. Fifty.

As he staggered toward Delta station, the first raindrops began to fall, turning the trail into a slick, muddy obstacle course. The jumping jacks became a special kind of torture, each impact sending jolts of pain up his spine.

By the time he reached Echo Station, his arms moved like dead weights. The burpees were pure agony - down, pushup, jump, repeat.

When he finally stumbled back to camp, his muscles trembling with exhaustion, Bear stood waiting with a thermos of coffee and an unreadable expression. The instructor’s eyes lingered on Neville’s shaking hands, the mud caked on his knees, the sweat-soaked fabric clinging to his back.

The mess hall smelled of boiled beans and dehydrated beef. Neville sat hunched over his meal, prying open a foil packet of "beef stew" that looked more like wet gravel. The brown sludge clung to his plastic spoon as he forced it into his mouth, the taste barely registering through his fatigue. Around him, the others ate in silence—ripping open crackers, squeezing cheese spread, gulping warm water from canteens. The only sounds were the crinkling of wrappers and the occasional scrape of a spork against plastic.

Then the doors slammed open.

Instructor Bear stormed in, his boots thundering against the linoleum. In one hand, he carried a laptop like a weapon, his knuckles white around its edges. The entire room froze, spoons halfway to mouths, as Bear’s glare swept across them.

"I gave you one simple task!" His voice shook the walls. "Fifty reps. A run. Not a sprint—a goddamn jog. No time limit. No instructors breathing down your necks. Just you and your own damn integrity!"

He slammed the laptop onto a table, making the trays jump. The recruits flinched as one.

"And yet," Bear growled, "someone decided that wasn’t good enough. Someone decided they knew better. That the rules didn’t apply to them." His voice dropped to a dangerous whisper. "So. Who was it?"

Silence.

Bear waited, his fingers tapping against the laptop lid. "I’ll ask one more time. Step forward now, before I start calling out patch numbers."

A beat. Then, from the back of the room, a hand rose slowly, trembling.

"Instructor... it was me."

Recruit 56 stood, his face pale. His voice was hoarse, barely audible. "At Station C... I think I might’ve done 47 instead of 50."

Bear didn’t move. The entire room held its breath.

Then—

"Why?"

The word was a bullet.

56 swallowed. "I—I lost count, Instructor."

"Lost count." Bear repeated it like it was the most ridiculous thing he’d ever heard. "Were you being timed?"

"No, Instructor."

"Was there an enemy shooting at you?"

"No, Instructor."

"Was there a bear chasing you? A fucking tidal wave? Did your arms fall off?"

"No, Instructor."

Bear stepped closer, his shadow swallowing 56 whole. "Then what stopped you from doing fifty?"

56’s throat worked. "Nothing, Instructor."

"Nothing," Bear echoed. He turned to the rest of the recruits. "You hear that? Nothing stopped him. Just his own lack of discipline. His own lack of integrity."

He flipped open the laptop, revealing footage of Javier at Station D.

The twin ammo cans in his hands turning his arms to lead. His breath came in ragged bursts, sweat stinging his eyes as he hit rep thirty-eight—

Thirty-nine.

Forty.

Then movement.

A sinuous shadow slithered between his boots—a thick, brown snake, its scales glistening under the dappled sunlight. Javier’s muscles locked mid-jump. His boots hit the dirt with a thud as the serpent coiled, tongue flicking.

"damn. "

His heart jackhammered against his ribs. The snake held its ground for one endless second before disappearing into the undergrowth.

Javier exhaled sharply. Then froze.

"Wait.

What number was I on? "

He rewound the last few seconds in his head, but the adrenaline had wiped his mental tally clean. Forty-one? Forty-three? He clenched his jaw, glancing around the empty trail. No instructors. No witnesses.

"Does it even matter? "

The thought lasted half a second before he cursed under his breath.

"Yeah. It does. "

Javier dropped the ammo cans with a clank, wiped his palms on his shorts, and squared his shoulders.

"I guess its start over. "

In the mess hall, when Bear played the footage, a few recruits coughed into their fists to hide grins. Javier kept his eyes forward, but his ears burned.

Bear dismissed the group with a sharp gesture—all except 56, who stood trembling, his face a mask of shame.

"I’ll turn in my patch, "56 blurted, fingers already fumbling with the Velcro.

Bear’s hand clamped over his wrist. Oh no you don’t. His voice was a low growl. You don’t get to quit. "You’re gonna apologize to every man in your squad. Then you’re gonna earn back what you stole from yourself. He leaned in. And trust me—I’ll be watching. "

56 moved through the barracks silently, gripping each man’s hand too tight.

"Sorry, he muttered to Rodriguez, who shrugged. Bro, I would’ve forgotten my own name this week haha "

"Sorry," he choked out to Chen, who tossed him an energy bar. Eat. You look like hell.

When he reached Javier, the words caught in his throat. Javier didn’t wait—he yanked him into a back-patting hug.

"Could’ve been any of us, he murmured. Tomorrow it will be one of us. That’s why we’ve got each other’s backs. "

At the Field

Moonlight silvered the parade ground when Bear bellowed for 56. The recruit emerged in standard PT gear—sweat-stained gray tee, black shorts fraying at the seams, and battered running shoes with soles worn thin from miles of punishment.

"Ready to" Bear began, then stopped.

Behind 56, the entire squad filed out, already dressed for the grind. Neville, still pulling on his shirt. Chen tying his laces with quick fingers. Javier bounced on his toes, ammo cans in hand.

"We going?" Javier called, jerking his chin toward the field.

Neville groaned but fell in line. "Guess we are."

For the first time in living memory, Bear’s mouth quirked. Not a smile—never a smile—but something dangerously close.

About damn time, he thought as the squad formed up around their fallen brother.

The ammo cans clattered to the dirt in unison. Fifty push-ups became a chorus of grunts and counting. Fifty sit-ups turned into a web of helping hands steadying trembling shoulders. When 56 faltered on the burpees, Javier was there to yank him upright by his shirt.

Bear watched, arms crossed, as the squad forged something stronger than fatigue in that moonlit field.

"Now you’re soldiers. "He thought