A test of competence

The deeper the convoy drove into the forest, the more surreal everything felt. Kyle sat quietly in the plush interior of the Rolls-Royce, taking in the shifting scenery. The trees thickened as they advanced, swallowing the sunlight and wrapping the road in green shadow. Up ahead, the lead car suddenly slowed and veered off the main road. Kyle noticed they weren't heading to the front gate of the Leione estate, which was guarded by men in black uniforms holding automatic rifles. A set of decoy vehicles drove there in their place. Instead, they took a detour—down a discreet path, then into a tunnel barely lit by dim lights.

The tunnel led to a massive underground garage. The walls were lined with high-end vehicles—sleek, dangerous, quiet. A secret entrance into the mansion. The main gate was too obvious. Security cameras pivoted as they exited the car, their red lenses blinking with life.

Vera stepped out first, shaking her red hair with a grin like she hadn't nearly died a few hours ago. Her boots clicked against the polished floor as she turned and offered Kyle a mischievous smile. "Welcome to the den of wolves," she whispered with a wink.

Kyle didn't answer. His face was unreadable, his posture relaxed yet alert. He followed her past a series of twisting hallways—high-tech, luxurious, and sterile. The sheer size of the estate felt more like a research facility than a home. At the end of a long corridor stood a fortified steel door, nearly a foot thick and covered in coded panels and retinal scanners. It took several minutes, a biometric scan, and two different voice authentications before the door opened with a heavy hiss.

Inside was an enormous living room bathed in soft amber lighting. On one end stood a thin, elderly man in a bespoke gray suit. He looked nothing like Kyle had imagined. His glasses were rimless, wine glass swirling in his left hand, and his presence carried authority so dense it was like an invisible pressure against the skin.

Vera stepped forward eagerly. "Dad—"

"You reckless, spoiled idiot!" Mr. Leione's voice cut like a whip. "Do you have any idea what you've done?! Do you know how easily you could've been killed?"

Kyle blinked. The man hadn't even spared him a glance. Clearly, whatever this was, it was a father-daughter issue first.

"You told me I was overreacting," Vera shot back, defensive. "You said you had everything under control!"

"Under control?!" Mr. Leione snapped. "You ran off without telling anyone. If this boy hadn't—" He paused, finally acknowledging Kyle. His eyes squinted behind his glasses, scrutinizing every inch of the casually dressed teen standing with hands in his jacket pockets. It was clear Mr. Leione had been briefed before they even arrived.

Kyle said nothing.

Mr. Leione sighed, the weight of exhaustion creeping into his features. "Tell me everything," he demanded.

And Vera did. She described the grocery store—down to the moment Kyle's knife had flown and pinned a would-be attacker through the wrist. She spoke of his flawless movements, his calm reactions, the hail of bullets, the smoke, the efficiency.

Mr. Leione's face shifted as the story unfolded. Worry. Then suspicion. Then curiosity. He glanced sideways at his chief bodyguard, Anvil—a massive man built like a tank, leaning against the wall with his arms crossed. Anvil's beard was thick and unkempt, his eyes narrowed into slits.

"What do you think?" Mr. Leione asked quietly.

Anvil sniffed. "I think this kid's a plant. A spy. There's no way he's just a teenager. No formal training, no background, no records… yet he's dispatching armed men like a SEAL operator. Someone has ro be lying."

Vera crossed her arms, biting her lip. "It's up to you now," she said, turning to Kyle with a look that was both encouraging and unsure. "You have to convince them."

Kyle stepped forward and cleared his throat. "I'm not surprised you don't understand, sir. But I'm not like other people. I'm… different."

Silence.

"I'm a combat genius," he said simply. "I've studied, adapted, and enhanced battle strategies just from observation. What I did in that store wasn't luck or accident—it was calculation."

No one spoke. Mr. Leione's glass paused halfway to his lips. Vera watched Kyle with raised brows. Even Anvil looked like he was waiting for a punchline.

"I've been watching people fight, from bullies in high school to online military footage. I don't just watch—I understand." This approach wouldn't convince Mr. Leione, especially Anvil. He had to get serious. He pointed at the room, his voice calm but resonant. "I already mapped out this entire facility on the way in. I know where your guards are stationed. I've seen three blind spots in your surveillance. I noticed two guards at the east perimeter who aren't following patrol timing. That means they're either lazy—or compromised."

Mr. Leione narrowed his eyes. "That's a serious accusation."

"Not an accusation," Kyle corrected. "Just an observation."

He turned to Anvil. "Your security protocol uses randomized pathing to throw off pattern recognition. Good strategy. But you forgot about reflection distortion in mirrored surfaces. From the elevator doors alone, I pieced together half your internal layout."

Anvil blinked. His jaw twitched.

"If I wanted to take out this entire building's defensive grid," Kyle added, "I could do it with one laptop and a fire alarm system."

Dead silence again. Even Vera looked shocked now.

Kyle walked to the center of the room. "In fact," he said, rolling his shoulders, "I'm the most dangerous person in this building."

That statement drew laughter from two guards in the corner. Even Anvil let out a short bark of amusement.

Mr. Leione's lips quirked. "Bold words."

Kyle pointed at Anvil. "Even now, I could take him down."

Anvil's smile vanished. His arms uncrossed slowly. "Kid… do you want to die?"

Mr. Leione watched the tension build, his curiosity clearly piqued. "Well," he murmured, "he dug his own grave. Might as well see if he can crawl out of it."

Kyle remained calm. His blue eyes never wavered. "You ready?" he asked.

Anvil rolled his neck with a crack. "You're the one who should be asking that."

Kyle smiled. "Here I come."

Anvil was a professional. Even before Kyle finished his sentence, the older man was moving—closing the distance with expert footwork and raised fists.

But Kyle was faster.