Third person's POV
Kyrian had barely taken a few bites when a tall boy walked over and flipped his tray onto the floor, sneering, "Go on, eat that."
Tabitha's fists clenched in anger. "How can they bully him like this? He's already struggling!"
Derek held her back. "Tabitha, don't act rashly. This place isn't just about physical training for him."
Tabitha frowned. "Then what else is he here for?"
Derek explained, "For people like us, growing up means training alongside peers who'll become your most trusted allies—like Alvin and Rolf. These are the people who'd take a bullet for you on the battlefield. If Kyrian grows up sheltered, handed a team of strangers, do you think they'd truly respect or protect him? One wrong move, and he could end up dead."
Tabitha's anger began to fade. "What are you saying?"
Derek's tone grew serious. "He's not just training his body. He's learning to lead, to earn the loyalty of these kids. They'll become his most important allies in the future."
For Kyrian, this was a monumental challenge. At his age, the physical and mental strain was immense.
The tall boy, Azazel, stood surrounded by a group of kids. He was clearly their leader.
Azazel was lean, his collarbones protruding, a sign of past malnutrition.
But there was nothing childish about him. His eyes reminded Tabitha of a wolf's—sharp, ruthless, and commanding.
Derek added, "That's Azazel. He's an orphan from the northern warzone. When we found him, he was surviving on corpses, fighting vultures for scraps."
Tabitha recoiled in horror. "He… ate human flesh?"
"Rotting flesh, to be precise. When survival's at stake, people will do anything. Azazel named himself after the biblical demon, symbolizing exile and cursed power. He's the leader here. Do you know why he bullies Kyrian?"
Tabitha guessed, "He wants to be the leader, and Kyrian won't bow to him?"
Derek nodded. "Exactly. Kyrian's young, but he's got a strong will. He won't back down, so Azazel targets him."
Tabitha watched, curious how her son would handle this.
Azazel crossed his arms, a cruel smirk on his face. "I've been wondering, what kind of spoiled brat are you? Why does the cook always save you the best food? You think you're special?"
He didn't know Kyrian's true identity, but Kyrian stood out—fair-skinned, well-fed, and strong compared to the other malnourished kids.
Kyrian stared at his spilled food, his expression unreadable. After a moment, he said quietly, "Pick it up."
His small fists, red from the cold, hung at his sides. Tabitha's heart ached for him.
Azazel pretended not to hear. "What was that? Speak up."
Without warning, Kyrian lunged forward, punching Azazel square in the face.
The blow was swift and precise, catching Azazel off guard. Blood trickled from his lip.
Tabitha gasped. This was the first time she had seen Kyrian angry. Despite being smaller, he moved like a young predator—fast, fierce, and unyielding.
Azazel wiped his mouth, his eyes blazing. "You little—! You asked for it!"
Fights were forbidden here, but Azazel didn't care. He tackled Kyrian, pinning him to the ground and raining punches.
Tabitha screamed, "My baby!"
But Kyrian didn't back down. He managed to flip Azazel over, landing on top and punching back with all his might.
Derek watched with pride. "See? Our boy's no coward. Azazel's older, with real combat experience, but Kyrian's holding his own…"
When Derek mentioned "combat experience," Tabitha's fear spiked. She couldn't hold back any longer and rushed out of the car.