I had hung the bag back up, pounding away, but I just couldn't calm down, even when my knuckles were bleeding. First, she wants to be friends, then she wants me to be a good little slave, then she brings up my Yelena. As if she's someone that stupid fink gets to talk about.

Oh, of course, Princess Fink doesn't understand. Like she’s ever had to hold a kid at night, wondering if they’ll wake up starving, having to lie and say there’s more food tomorrow. She just speaks of Yelena as if she's a broken thing to be scoffed at. And afterward, she expects me to dance for her like everyone else does?

I asked God to cool the fire in me, but every punch felt like an unanswered prayer. I pounded away, and after an hour, the rage had dulled to something colder, heavier. My hands had bled all over the floor, but at least they ached more than my thoughts. Imagining her face on the bag had helped—a little—but the anger hadn’t burned out. It had just settled deeper, waiting.

She’s just a child, I told myself. Just trying to prove to herself she’s better than me. Useless fink probably never even went hungry.

It was time for dinner. That kid who'd said something sarcastic and made us do more laps—I think his name was Zach?—poked his head in, looking at the dent in the door with raised eyebrows before looking at me and saying, “Hey man, let's go eat something.”

Didn't need to ask me twice. I didn’t say a word, just left the bag and walked toward him, nodding slightly. As we left, I saw the rest of the B ranks getting into two long lines, Lieutenant Zenzele already back and shouting, “I forgot you must walk in formation! To rectify this, everyone crawl back to the mess hall!”

I swear the woman woke up on the wrong side of the bed. So there we were, crawling like children, elbows and knees scraping against the floor. By the time we reached the mess hall, my arms and legs felt raw, but that first bite of food made it almost worth it. I demolished the meal in front of me in ten seconds flat.

I looked up and was amazed. The baby finks were actually eating the meal—some soggy rice with a single spoon of grey goop laid over it. Some of them were holding their noses as they ate, but they ate. I was impressed.

Finally, I looked up to see Tom sitting in front of me. I remembered him from last night, I think it was last night, so I just said, “Hey Tom, how you doing? What did you get up to today?”

He groaned, rubbing his face, but there was an eagerness underneath it. “I swear to God, Lieutenant Michael woke up on the wrong side of the bed this morning. Do you know the shit we had to do? Ten laps through the obstacle course, and he still wasn't happy. What the hell did we even do to deserve that?”

He glanced up at me again, like he’d just remembered who he was talking to. I just waved a hand.

“Yeah, yeah, get over it. What’s this Lieutenant Michael like? ’Cause he sounds like Lieutenant Zenzele’s twin. Made us do what felt like a hundred sets of the same shit over and over again. I think I even threw up in my mouth at one point.”

A chorus of groans followed, complaints flying from all sides. Someone cursed out pullups, another swore their legs were jelly from the endless laps. Then, cutting through the noise, Richard mumbled, just loud enough to be heard, “You could run better than all of us yesterday, and yet couldn't keep up today. That’s civvies for you, I guess. Always flip-flopping.”

I was ready to lecture him with my fist before I decided to test something instead.

“Says the runt,” I said casually, still eating.

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Richard freeze like he’d been shot. But what caught my attention more was Marnus, ducking behind his tray again. That did something to me—made my stomach twist, like claws scraping at my brain, pushing me to tell him he was one of the few finks I actually liked.

Before I could say anything, Anna piped up angrily from the other side of the table. “What the fuck is wrong with you?”

Even Kate chimed in. “Come on, Boris. That’s too much. Richard, don’t call him a civvie, okay? Let’s just eat and go to bed.” She glanced back and forth between us, like she was trying to cut this off before it got worse.

I rolled my eyes. If everyone was gonna act like I just kicked a puppy, then fuck this. “Okay, fine. I feel bad, I’m sorry, Richard—even if you are a complete twat. But still, what does ‘runt’ even mean? Isn’t it like a type of dog?” I said, genuinely slightly remorseful, mostly for Marnus’s sake. But honestly? I was more curious than anything.

Tom answered before anyone else, shifting uncomfortably. “Uhm… I mean, technically, yeah. It’s the smallest animal in a litter.” Then he hesitated, eyes darting toward Marnus and Richard before quickly adding, “It’s also used to, uh, describe children of Shieldmen. E ranks.”

“Huh. You lot have slurs for finks? I'm definitely stealing that,” I said—like a complete idiot.

The second I said it, I saw Marnus flinch. Ah, shit. That was stupid. So I softened my voice, like I did with the kids back home when my mouth ran ahead of me. “However, I’m an orphan. I don’t understand why that’s a big deal, but I also remember what Lieutenant Zenzele said.” Then I just went back to eating.

Silence hung for a second. A few of them exchanged looks—Tom, Kate, even Richard, like I’d said something off. But no one corrected me.

If you stumble upon this narrative on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen from Royal Road. Please report it.

I liked using this trick—stopping mid-sentence to make the kids listen. Worked just as well on baby finks, apparently, because suddenly they were all glancing at me and each other, leaning forward a little.

Finally, that girl who’d introduced herself—Nina, I think?—rolled her eyes and said, “Come on, Boris. Don’t leave us hanging. What did she say?”

I waved my fork around. “Out of the lot of us B ranks, Marnus and Richard are supposed to have the bestest and most impressive abilities.” I pointed at Kate. “Then it’s you, young lady. So, the two strongest of us are runts. Says a lot, me thinks.”

Then I pressed the dirty fork to my chin, like one of those idiot scientists who think they’re smarter than God. Really selling the deep thought look.

A few grins. Even Marnus looked a little more pleased.

Richard was trying not to show it, but I saw the way he held his head higher. Like he’d been waiting to hear that. Like it meant something to him.

I couldn’t get a read on him. One moment he’s a bastard, the next he’s pushing Marnus, telling him he can run further. Acting like he gives a damn. I didn’t trust it. Not one bit.

I needed to have a little chat with him about that.

Then, just as the table was settling down, I heard a small voice whisper, “You're all lucky, and yet you all complain.”

I glanced up. Tom sat there, head in his plate, shaking it slowly as he poked at his food.

“Of course we complain,” I said, leaning back. “It’s fun. Gets rid of stress. What’s on your mind, Tommy?”

He looked offended by the name but let it slide after a second. Then he sighed. “I'd do anything to trade places with you, and yet you guys get offended over a few words and complain about exercise. Do you have any idea what I'd do for a combat-related power?”

I snorted. “Well, does it involve looking mighty depressed as you slosh your rice around?”

Got a few small smiles for that one.

Tom, though, just scowled. “Of course you wouldn’t understand. You’re The General’s pet, and you’ve got the Lieutenant wrapped around your finger. I even saw you shake hands with Sofia, lie to her face, and get away with it. What would you know of my position?”

I didn’t even hesitate. “Nothing. Generally, relating to finks is a headache on a good day.”

Not the answer he wanted. His jaw clenched, and he looked down, still stewing in it. A few others weren’t too happy either, shifting uncomfortably.

Alright, fine. Time to fix this before they all decided I was a bastard.

“How about this?” I said, leaning forward. “What can you do, Tommy? What’s your power again?”

The others perked up, clearly interested in where I was going with this. Tom shrank under their gazes at first—but then, after a moment, I saw he found a spine.

“Did you not see the other day?” he muttered. “It’s food replication. Can’t duplicate something that’s already a copy, but for ten minutes, I can make as much as I want.”

He sighed, tapping his left shoulder. His tattoo pulsed with light as he lifted his hand, pointing it at the food on his tray, then looked at my empty one.

Then he pointed at it. I blinked, and there was an exact copy of his food lying in front of me. I grabbed my fork and took a bite. Warm. The exact same taste. Before he could say anything, I reached over and stole a bite from his original plate.

No difference. It was a perfect copy.

I just stared at him, dropping my fork onto the table with a soft clink. My eyes never left his as I slowly shook my head, side to side, unable to believe what I’d just seen.

He couldn't handle my gaze, asking, “What's the problem? You already stole my food?” He said, staring around the table, getting a few smiles, but my eyes never wavered. Even for a moment.

“You… You're jealous of me? When you have that?” My voice came out hoarse, thick with disbelief.

But the heat was creeping back into my chest, something slow and insidious curling through my ribs, pooling behind my teeth.

I thought of my kids. I thought of how much food I could give them. How much money I could make selling apples, bread—anything.

And then, just as easily, I thought about wrapping my hands around Tom’s throat. Thought about slamming his face into the table until I felt his skull crack.

Maybe I’d get his power.

That’s not how God’s blessing worked. But maybe it will this time.

I clenched my fists, exhaled sharply. Then—Maria’s voice, soft and patient, cutting through the static: Satan always strikes when you’re at your weakest. Thankfully, the thought of her and her words calmed me enough that I didn’t try and find out what the inside of his eye sockets felt like.

Instead, I just shook my head.

“Tom. If I had my way, I’d steal your power and you’d never see me again.”

I barely even felt hungry anymore.

“You have the best power out of all of us.” My voice was quieter now, but heavier. “What you’d do to get a combat ability? Do you know what I’d do to you for your power?”

Tom opened his mouth, but the words stuck in his throat. His shoulders slumped, his gaze dropping to the floor like he was trying to fold in on himself under the weight of my anger.

“You got the best power, Tommy. By far. Don’t complain about it to me again, please.”

I think I held my temper in check—because this time, when I looked up, the others weren’t all hiding from me. Not entirely, at least.

Silence hung between us before someone coughed and awkward conversation started back up, filling the space.

Finally, time for bed.

I’d starved for days before, but I don’t think I’d ever gone this long without sleep. Even the shower didn’t wake me—I just stood under the water, eyes closed, swaying slightly.

After we made our beds and had evening inspection, I climbed under the covers, muttering my nightly prayers. I needed to stay awake.

One. I will stay awake.

Two. I will…

—