A couple of weeks had passed, and working with Leo was like watching a seedling push through rocky soil—slow, but there was progress. He was starting to get emotions, not just mimic them, and I’d catch these little flickers of feeling on his face instead of that blank stare he used to wear like armor. Maybe he’s starting to trust me, I thought, though I wasn’t sure if I was reading too much into it.

The PS2 had just hit the shelves, and I’d been hyping Leo up about grabbing one. A kid like him deserved some normalcy, right? But before we could head out, I had some shit to settle.

That afternoon, I spotted Suhal in the courtyard, slouched against the wall, tossing his usual cocky grin at a couple of female staff members. The second he saw me storming toward him, that smirk dropped like a bad habit. I didn’t give him a chance to brace himself—just shoved him hard enough to make him stumble back.

For a guy barely scraping 119 pounds, he didn’t expect someone just a pound heavier to knock him off balance. “The fuck is wrong with you?!” he spat, catching himself against the wall.

I locked eyes with him, my anger sharp enough to cut. “Why the hell were you sniffing around Leo a few weeks back?”

His smirk crept back, but it was shaky, like he was trying too hard to play it cool. “Nothing went down, if that’s what you’re getting at. That little motherfucker was giving me the creeps, so I bailed. What, he tell you something else?”

My voice cracked like a whip. “First—quit calling him names. You’re already pissing me off. Second—don’t act like I’m stupid. I know you were up to something. Leo told me you called him a monster as you walked away.”

Suhal snorted, rolling his eyes. “Man, I didn’t—”

“He’s got ears like a damn hawk, you dumb fuck!” I stepped closer, close enough that we were practically chest-to-chest. “You didn’t say it to his face, but you muttered that slick shit under your breath. Why the hell would you mess with a kid’s head like that? What kind of asshole takes a swing at a child’s self-esteem?”

My voice was climbing, and the courtyard had gone dead quiet. A few staff members were staring now, their conversations fizzling out.

“Child?!” Suhal barked, his face twisting. “Bitch, you blind or something? That little nigga’s barely a month old and acting like he’s damn near five! You think that’s normal? He’s a freak, and I’m glad he heard me say it!”

“Whoa—hold up. Watch that ‘bitch’ word.”

The voice sliced through the tension, calm but firm. Heads turned as Prudenzio strolled over, hands stuffed in his pockets like he was just out for a walk. Always playing the peacemaker, I thought, though I wasn’t sure if I was annoyed or relieved.

“Mind your damn business, Prudenzio,” Suhal snapped. “This is between me and her—C your ass out of it.”

“She’s got every right to be pissed,” Prudenzio said, stopping between us. His tone was steady, but there was a bite to it. “She’s been looking out for Leo since day one. Hell, she’s practically his mom. And you don’t get to talk to a woman—or a kid—like that.”

Suhal’s smirk twisted into something uglier. “Woman? Her? Nah, she ain’t no woman. A real woman can have kids. This whore can’t.”

That last jab landed like a sledgehammer. Victoire’s eyes narrowed to slits. “Shut the fuck up. You don’t know a damn thing about me. And since you’re so eager to drag my life into this, let’s talk about you—how you turned into this bitter asshole after that little heartbreak of yours.”

Suhal scoffed, but it was forced, his smirk faltering. “Pfft, please. My personal shit ain’t in no file. You don’t know—”

“Oh, really?” Victoire cut in, stepping closer, her voice low and venomous. “So you weren’t cheated on by some woman named Tshepo?”

Suhal froze. His smug grin vanished, like someone had flipped a switch. Got him, Victoire thought, her own smirk twitching at the corner of her mouth.

She pressed forward, not giving him a second to recover. “And let’s not pretend you ‘don’t get’ childhood trauma from growing up in Africa—just to turn around and get fucked over by some rich white guy.”

The courtyard exploded with a long, drawn-out “Oooooooohhh!” from the onlookers, their murmurs buzzing like static.

Suhal’s jaw clenched, his eyes burning. “At least I’m not wasting my time babysitting some retarded freak like you are.”

The air went still. Everyone froze, the word hanging like a bad smell.

“Retarded? He’s talking about Leo?” someone muttered, disbelief rippling through the crowd.

“Hold up, isn’t that kid, like, scary smart? Didn’t he ace the SAT or something?” another voice whispered.

Prudenzio, still standing nearby, let out a low chuckle. “Man, you’re desperate. Getting roasted this hard’s got you swinging wild.”

Victoire’s smirk sharpened, her voice dripping with disdain. “You know what’s pathetic? I see it now—why you’re always flashing your cash, your designer clothes, all that shiny bullshit. It’s just you trying to plaster over that gaping hole in your chest. Tshepo cucked you so bad, no amount of Gucci or gold’s gonna fix what’s broken.”

That one hit deep. Suhal’s eyes flared, his whole body tensing. “Fuck you, bitch! I’ll show you a damn void!”

“Hey!” Prudenzio’s voice cracked like a whip. “What’d I say about that ‘bitch’ word!?”

Suhal spun on him, snarling. “What you gonna do about it, Captain Save-a-Hoe?!”

Prudenzio didn’t bother with words. He lunged, his right fist arcing toward Suhal’s jaw in a clean, sharp hook.

Suhal jerked back just in time, the punch whistling past his face. “Too slow,” he taunted, grinning like he’d already won.

But Prudenzio wasn’t playing. He snapped a quick kick toward Suhal’s ribs. Suhal caught the leg mid-air, twisting hard and yanking Prudenzio off balance. With a grunt, he flung Prudenzio like a ragdoll, sending him skidding across the courtyard. Prudenzio hit the ground hard, rolling once before catching himself in a crouch, palms pressed to the concrete, chest heaving. This guy’s stronger than he looks, he thought, shaking off the sting.

The crowd backed up, forming a loose circle, their footsteps echoing in the tense air. Whispers and gasps rippled through them.

“Alright…” Prudenzio muttered, pushing himself to his feet. His voice was low, but there was a spark in it, like he was just getting started. “Guess we’re doing this.”

He cracked his neck, settling into a fighter’s stance—feet light, hands up. Suhal rolled his shoulders, smirking like this was just a warm-up.

They circled each other, eyes locked, sizing up every twitch. Prudenzio moved first—two quick jabs, then a sweeping hook. Suhal blocked the jabs, leaning just enough to let the hook graze his cheek. He countered fast, slamming a palm strike toward Prudenzio’s chest.

Thud!

Prudenzio grunted but didn’t back off. He twisted, throwing a spinning backfist. Suhal ducked, stepping in close to drive a knee into Prudenzio’s ribs.

Whump!

Prudenzio stumbled, but his guard stayed tight. He’s quick, he thought, wincing. “Didn’t know you could actually fight,” he said, smirking through the pain.

“More than you can handle,” Suhal shot back, grinning wider.

They clashed again, a blur of punches and blocks—Prudenzio’s elbow grazed Suhal’s shoulder, Suhal dodged and answered with a sharp body shot. Prudenzio winced but fired back with a low kick that clipped Suhal’s thigh, making him stagger. The crowd gasped as Suhal recovered in a flash, shoving Prudenzio back with both hands.

Prudenzio skidded but planted his feet, then charged, landing a clean right cross to Suhal’s jaw. Suhal’s head snapped to the side, a speck of blood hitting the concrete. But his grin didn’t fade—it grew, wild and unhinged. He came back swinging, forcing Prudenzio to block a brutal one-two combo.

“C’mon, Captain Save-a-Ho,” Suhal taunted, “you’re slowing down!”

Prudenzio’s smirk didn’t waver. “Just letting you gas yourself out.”

They locked into a grapple, muscles straining, breaths ragged. Suhal tried to sweep Prudenzio’s leg—Prudenzio hopped over it, shoving him back. He threw a knee toward Suhal’s face; Suhal blocked it with his forearm, twisting away to aim a sharp elbow at Prudenzio’s temple. Prudenzio ducked, sweeping Suhal’s leg and dropping him to one knee.

The crowd roared—some cheering for Suhal, others for Prudenzio—as the two reset, panting but still grinning like they were just getting started. This might take a while, Victoire thought, her own anger simmering as she watched, wondering if she should jump in or let them settle it.

Cross stood by the office window, arms crossed tight, his eyes tracking the chaos in the courtyard below. From up here, the brawl between Prudenzio and Suhal looked like something out of a street fight documentary—fists flying, bodies ducking and weaving, each landing blows that seemed to carry more than just muscle. Knew this was coming, Cross thought, shaking his head slightly. “Prudenzio and Suhal are like oil and water. But nothing in his file said Prudenzio only loses his cool when someone disrespects a woman.”

Byron slouched against the wall, his gaze locked on the scene. “We’re just gonna let this play out?”

Cross didn’t bother turning. “Why stop it? When two guys like that square up, you let ‘em hash it out like men. No one’s pulling knives—yet.”

Byron raised an eyebrow, unconvinced. “Yeah, but… we’ve kept anything sharp out of Suhal’s reach since he got here. They’re evenly matched hand-to-hand, though.”

A smirk tugged at Cross’s lips. “Exactly. Neither’s leaning on their usual tricks. Suhal’s the type who can turn a damn paperclip into a shiv, but without a weapon? He’s gotta think on his feet. And Prudenzio…” His eyes narrowed, glinting with curiosity. “What’s he got when you take his gun away?”

Byron’s mouth quirked into a half-grin. “Guess we’re finding out.”

Down in the courtyard, Prudenzio’s eyes flicked around before he crouched, scooping up a handful of small, jagged rocks.

Suhal barked out a laugh, sharp and mocking. “What, we playing dodgeball now? Gonna chuck rocks at me like we’re kids?”

Prudenzio rolled one rock between his fingers, thumb poised like he was cocking a trigger. “Not throwing,” he said, voice flat. “Shooting.”

“Ha! Shoot me? Get the fu—”

Crack! A rock shot through the air like a bullet, slamming into Suhal’s ribs with a dull thunk. He stumbled back, clutching his side, a raw scream tearing out of him. The courtyard went silent, the crowd frozen, jaws slack.

Prudenzio’s voice was ice. “That was a warning.”

Suhal’s face twisted—pain, rage, humiliation all fighting for control. “What the fuck was that?!”

“Don’t need a gun to shoot,” Prudenzio said, stepping forward, another rock already in hand. “Flick of my thumb, and I’m sending these at two hundred twenty-five feet per second. That’s, what, a hundred fifty miles an hour for you imperial types. And if I’m aiming to kill?” He tossed the rock up, caught it mid-air, and smirked. “Three hundred feet per second. Two hundred miles an hour. I can hit a target dead-on from five hundred yards.”

The crowd’s murmurs swelled, a mix of awe and unease. Even from the office window, Cross felt the shift—Suhal’s cocky act was crumbling fast.

Cross let out a low chuckle, muttering to himself, “Well, damn. His finger game must be something else.”

Byron’s eyes widened, his voice spiking. “Alright, hold up—don’t you think we should step in? This is getting way too real, Cross!”

“Relax,” Cross said, still calm as a stone wall. “I’ve got Elara down there. Victoire came to me about Suhal sniffing around Leo without her permission. I told her I’d handle it, but she went and took matters into her own hands. This fight? Perfect chance to see what our instructors are really made of. But trust me—if it gets too bloody, Elara’s got it.”

Byron exhaled hard, still tense. “Fine, sir. I’ll keep watching.”

Back in the courtyard, Prudenzio raised his hand, thumb locked behind another rock, aimed square at Suhal. “Apologize to the doctor. Now.”

Suhal staggered to his feet, fury overriding pain, and lunged with a wild punch. Crack! Prudenzio flicked his thumb, and a rock smashed into Suhal’s knuckles with pinpoint accuracy. Suhal roared, clutching his hand, but before he could recover, Prudenzio snapped a kick that sent him crashing into a bike rack with a metallic clatter.

“This is just sad, Suhal,” Prudenzio said, stepping closer. “Give it up. You’ve got no—”

Shhhk!

Prudenzio froze, his breath hitching. A thin red line bloomed across his chest, stinging like fire before blood beaded up. What the hell? he thought, eyes dropping to the wound.

Suhal stood, grinning like a wolf, twirling a bike chain in his hand, its links gleaming with Prudenzio’s blood. “Oh, you love running your mouth, don’t you?” he mocked. “What was that you were saying? I’ve got no weapons?”

The airози

System: irtyard went electric, the air heavy with a pressure that made your skin crawl. Prudenzio’s anger was sharp, almost tangible, like a blade waiting to cut. Suhal’s grin was cold, venomous, the kind of look that said he’d bleed you dry just to prove a point. The crowd felt it too—instinct screaming to back away, but no one moved, too gripped by the spectacle.

Prudenzio’s grip tightened on the remaining rocks, his jaw set. Suhal spun the bike chain, the metal links clinking like a countdown to something ugly.

Before either could make the next move—

Step.

Elara appeared between them, her presence like a cold bucket of water on a fire. She didn’t shout, didn’t need to. Her voice carried a quiet weight, sharp as steel. “You both know the rules. No killing outside Headmaster duels. Stand down.”

Prudenzio didn’t hesitate. The rocks slipped from his hand, clattering to the ground like spent shells. Not worth escalating, he thought, though his blood was still up.

Suhal, though? He just smirked, swinging the chain lazily. “Step aside, hoe, or you’re next.”

The crowd sucked in a collective breath, a low “oh shit” rippling through them.

Elara’s eyes flicked up to Cross’s window, locking onto his gaze. Cross, still as a statue, gave a single nod. She’s got this, he thought, almost amused.

Her lips curled into a slow, dangerous smile. “Good. I’ve been itching to put you in your place since you showed up.” She cracked her knuckles deliberately, each pop loud in the sudden hush.

The crowd shifted, some shaking their heads, muttering, Don’t do it, man. Don’t poke the bear…

Suhal opened his mouth—“What’s up, bi—”

He didn’t finish.

Elara moved like a lightning strike. Her first hit was a blur, a fist to his gut that doubled him over. The next, a hook to his jaw, sent him reeling. Thwack. The crowd flinched with every blow, the bike chain clattering to the ground as she knocked it from his grip. Suhal tried to block—useless. She slipped past his guard, hammering his ribs. When she grabbed his collar and drove a knee into his stomach, his cocky grin was a distant memory.

Prudenzio watched from the sidelines, eyes wide. Thank God I didn’t piss her off, he thought, half-impressed, half-terrified.

From the office window, Byron’s jaw went slack, his eyes glued to the courtyard below. “Uh… sir? She’s—she’s wrecking him.”

Cross didn’t even flinch, his gaze steady on the scene. “Nah. She’s just making sure he’ll think twice next time.”

Byron’s head whipped back to the window. Elara had Suhal pinned, one hand fisting his shirt as she slammed him into the dirt again. He gasped like a fish out of water, barely able to wheeze. “That’s not a lesson, sir. That’s a trauma delivery.”

Cross leaned back in his chair, arms crossed, a faint smirk playing on his lips. “First rule around here: don’t mouth off to a woman who can bench press your whole damn ego. Second rule: don’t threaten to cut her up unless you’re ready to eat through a straw for a month.”

Byron winced as Elara’s boot came down on Suhal’s chest, holding him like a pinned bug. “She’s… enjoying this way too much.”

“That’s the idea,” Cross said, his smirk widening. “A broken rib heals. Public humiliation? That sticks.”

They watched as Elara finally stepped back, brushing her hands off like she’d just swept the porch. Suhal lay sprawled in the dirt, wheezing, his bravado long gone. The crowd started to scatter, tossing out hushed comments like, “Yeah, don’t ever cross her…”

Byron shook his head, slow and uneasy. “Note to self: stay on Elara’s good side.”

Cross shot him a sideways look. “Byron, that’s not a note. That’s a survival tactic.”

Down in the courtyard, Victoire and Prudenzio approached Suhal, still groaning in the dirt. Victoire crossed her arms, a smug grin tugging at her lips. “Well, that’s what you get.”

She glanced at Prudenzio. “Help me drag him to the medical bay? I’ve still gotta take Leo to grab that PS2.”

Prudenzio let out a low whistle, crouching to hook his hands under Suhal’s arms while Victoire grabbed his legs. “Man, he’s out cold,” he muttered, shaking his head as they hoisted the limp assassin. Suhal’s weak protests came out as muffled grumbles, barely coherent.

As they hauled him off, Prudenzio’s mind churned. We’re both S-class, me and Victoire, but… damn. Compared to Elara, Byron, Cross? It’s like we’re slinging 9mm rounds while they’re unloading .50 cal. The gap in raw power was humbling, and it stung a little. Gotta step up my game.

Meanwhile, a short walk away, Victoire held Leo’s hand as they stepped out of the electronics store. Leo hugged his shiny new PS2 box to his chest, eyes wide with a mix of awe and confusion.

“Why do I need a new one?” he asked, tilting his head. “My old games are still fun.”

Victoire’s smile was soft, almost maternal. “Hey, now you’ve got two. Keep ‘em both—trust me, they might be worth something someday.” Kid’s got no clue how fast tech moves, she thought, amused.

Leo nodded, his expression serious but curious, like he was already imagining what “worth something” might mean. He clutched the box tighter, a spark of excitement flickering in his eyes as they headed down the street.