The Real Training

Jaehyun stood in the center of a darkened training hall, the air damp and heavy. The concrete walls were scarred with bullet holes, the floor stained with blood and oil. A single dim light hung above him, casting long shadows that stretched to the edges of the room. Around him were weapons of every kind—knives, pistols, rifles, and tools he didn't recognize. They were laid out on tables like an arsenal of destruction.

Enrico paced in front of him, his boots echoing with each step. He carried a slender blade in his hand, twirling it lazily as though it was an extension of himself. Behind him stood Isabella, her arms crossed and her expression unreadable. She was here to observe, to see if her investment in Jaehyun was worth it.

"This," Enrico began, holding up the blade, "is your first tool. Forget those soft hands, that pampered life. If you're going to survive in this world, you'll learn to kill, not just endure."

Jaehyun stood still, his face blank. The pain of the past weeks had taught him that emotions were a weakness easily exploited. He didn't flinch when Enrico threw the knife at his feet, the blade sticking into the concrete with a sharp thud.

"Pick it up," Enrico ordered.

Jaehyun knelt and grasped the hilt of the knife. It was heavier than it looked, the cold metal sending a shiver through his fingers. He straightened, holding the blade awkwardly in front of him. Enrico's lips curled into a sneer.

"You're holding it like a child with a toy," he said. "A knife isn't a shield. It's an extension of your will. If you hesitate, you die."

Enrico snapped his fingers, and the door at the far end of the room opened. Two men entered, dragging a bound figure between them. The prisoner was a middle-aged man, his face battered and bruised. His eyes darted around the room, wild with fear.

"Your first lesson," Isabella said, stepping forward. Her voice was calm, almost soothing, but it carried an edge that made Jaehyun's stomach twist. "Kill him."

Jaehyun froze. The knife felt like lead in his hand as he stared at the trembling man. The prisoner was pleading, though his words were muffled by the gag in his mouth. Jaehyun's mind raced. He had endured the poison, the beatings, the grueling training—but this was something else entirely.

He looked at Isabella, searching for some hint of mercy, but her face was a mask of cold indifference. "You hesitate," she said softly, "and you lose your chance to prove yourself."

Enrico stepped closer, his voice low and mocking. "What's the matter, Luca? You've made it this far. Don't tell me you're still the spoiled little boy who can't handle a bit of blood."

The room seemed to close in around him. Jaehyun could feel the weight of their gazes, the pressure of their expectations. His grip tightened on the knife, his knuckles turning white. The prisoner's muffled cries grew louder, more desperate.

"Do it," Isabella said, her tone sharper now. "Or I'll have Enrico do it—and then we'll find out if you're worth keeping alive."

Jaehyun's breath came in short, ragged gasps. His heart pounded in his chest, but his mind was eerily calm. He thought of his family, of their cruelty, their abandonment. He thought of the life he had left behind and the one he was now fighting to survive.

This was the moment. There was no going back.

Jaehyun stepped forward, the knife trembling in his hand. He met the prisoner's eyes—wide, terrified, pleading—and for a moment, he hesitated. But then he heard Isabella's voice in his mind, cold and commanding: Pain is a teacher. It strips away weakness, reveals the truth of who we are.

He drove the blade into the man's chest. The prisoner's body jerked, his eyes widening in shock before the life drained out of them. Jaehyun pulled the knife free, blood dripping from the blade onto the cold floor.

The room was silent, save for the sound of his own ragged breathing. He turned to face Isabella, his expression blank, his hands steady.

She smiled, a faint, satisfied curve of her lips. "Good," she said. "You've taken your first step."

Enrico clapped slowly, the sound mocking but not without a hint of approval. "Not bad for a pampered chaebol brat. You might survive this after all."

Jaehyun didn't respond. He felt numb, the weight of what he had done settling over him like a shroud. But beneath the numbness was something else—a spark of determination. He had crossed a line, and there was no turning back. If this was what it took to survive, then so be it.

Isabella stepped closer, placing a hand on his shoulder. Her grip was firm, almost maternal. "You're learning, Luca," she said. "But this is only the beginning. You'll kill again, and it will get easier. Soon, you won't even think about it."

Jaehyun met her gaze, his voice steady despite the turmoil inside him. "I'll do whatever it takes."

Isabella's smile widened, but there was no warmth in it. "I know you will. That's why I chose you."

As Jaehyun left the training hall, the blood still fresh on his hands, he felt a shift within himself. The spoiled heir was gone, buried beneath the weight of his choices. In his place was something harder, colder—a man willing to do whatever was necessary to survive.

And as he walked back to the barracks, his jaw set and his gaze unyielding, one thought consumed him:

They would all learn the price of underestimating him.