“Well, Boris, if we ever need someone to break some toes, we know who to call,” Zack said, the group stifling laughter as I fractured my toes for the fourth time.

I'll show you, I thought, bringing my arm up to my shoulder, flicking it down. This time, for some reason, it worked perfectly—the shield snapping into place before me. I probably looked just like Theo earlier, my grin stretching ear to ear.

“It’s not even that hard,” I said smugly, deactivating the shield. The others rolled their eyes.

Even Bea, who had been watching me like a hawk, just observed this time as I tried again… and promptly whacked myself in the face. The shield smacked my nose, sending a thin trickle of blood dripping down my lips.

“Well, that’s a first,” Zack said as the others burst out laughing.

“You know I’m supposed to be a high-ranker or some shit? You can’t laugh at me!” I shot back, grinning despite myself. Bea stepped forward and tapped my forehead—trying to keep a straight face, but I caught the hint of a suppressed smile. The others just laughed harder as I wiped the blood and snot off my lips and flicked it to the floor with a grimace.

“You’re blessed now, but you still act like a civvie,” Isaac muttered from where he leaned against the wall, arms crossed, looking miserable.

“I apologize—I didn’t realize getting blessed came at the cost of humor and good looks. I can’t help that I still have both,” I said, flicking the shield out again and finally getting it right.

Isaac clenched his jaw and looked away as the others snickered. Bea didn’t seem pleased, but I’d been more than patient with him. She’d have to get over it.

“Alright, Zack, I think I’ve broken enough toes. Also, Bea, your power is downright spectacular. That stupid old man who ranked us must have been blind,” I said, turning to her.

Now, you might think I was just sucking up, but I genuinely meant it. She healed me without complaint, even while clearly disliking me. A few kind words felt like fair payment.

“Oh, right—before I forget. Thanks for healing me. You even fixed the cut I got earlier, which is pretty cool of you,” I added, throwing in a pair of finger guns.

“Uhm… you’re welcome?” she said, frowning slightly. “But my power resets your body a few seconds back—I couldn’t have healed something from earlier.”

I blinked. “Are you sure?”

I yanked up my pant leg, exposing the long, half-healed cut—faded, like it had been mending for weeks.

Bea’s eyes locked onto it. She stiffened. “No… that’s not possible.”

“Even my ribs feel better,” I said, ignoring her as I rubbed my side. “Those bastards beat me for a while. Not to tell you what your power is… but that doesn’t sound right.”

Confusion was practically etched into her features. “No, in the tests, injuries stayed if I didn’t act fast enough…”

I just gestured at my leg aggressively in response.

Her eyebrows practically climbed into her hairline as she gaped at me. Before she could muster a response, Zack intervened. “Alright, guys, I think it's time we head back. Roll call is in ten minutes.”

I blinked, realizing we ate earlier than the low rankers. “Oh, fuck, I’m late!”

I bolted for the dormitory, abandoning all pretense of stealth. I barreled through the entrance doors, sprinting down the hall. Just as I rounded the corner, I nearly collided with the Lieutenant. She arched an eyebrow, the tranquilizer lazily draped over her shoulder.

“And where do you—”

I dashed past her, yanking open the dormitory door and slamming it shut behind me. By the time she entered, irritation carved into her face, I was lounging casually on my bed.

“Lieutenant. You were a bit later than usual today, you know?” I said innocently.

She shot me a glare. “I assume you ‘haven't slept?’” she asked, air quoting.

Hand over my heart, I replied, “Why, yes, Lieutenant, how did you know?”

She folded her arms, unimpressed. “Cute. But it won't save you. I want a thousand pushups done before the end of breakfast, since you’ve already eaten.”

My shoulders sagged in defeat. She hammered on the bed frame, rousing everyone else for the morning routine. Resigned, I made my bed, shaved, brushed my teeth, and trudged outside, the first one in line—again.

Dropping to the ground, I started the push-ups. Each rep was agony, my muscles burning, my arms trembling. By the time I hit a thousand, I was panting.

And then it was off to the exercise warehouse.

“You can thank Boris for today’s workout,” the Lieutenant announced. “Thirty sets. Two and a half hours. If you don’t finish, you’re running to Alexandria and back. Now start!”

And just like that, we were off.

I had come dead last in everything. Marnus and Kate tried to encourage me, but Richard just ran past, his look filled with disappointment.

What felt like years later, I lay on the floor, staring up at the ceiling, and I decided I hated pushups. Who invented them? Why would you do that?

When we finally got into formation, I spotted Lapdog and his cronies in their usual spot, watching me. “Tired today, aren’t you, civvie?” he said. Not a sneer—more like suspicion.

I just flipped him the bird.

The Lieutenant shot me a look—don’t do that—before dismissing us to our rooms.

I tried to push through. Started doing sprawls, but my legs refused to cooperate. I tried to hit the bag, but my eyelids were trying to hit each other instead.

An hour later, I was still hanging onto the bag, drenched in sweat, panting hard, when she walked in. I snapped to attention, barely holding myself up.

“Boris.” Her tone was sharp, clipped. “I know you got up early to eat, but your performance today was pathetic. You barely did half the push-ups you did yesterday.”

I exhaled heavily. “No, Lieutenant, I was up all night. Actually couldn’t sleep,” I said, smiling a little, recalling her words from earlier.

She didn’t smile back. Instead, she studied me, skeptical. Then her gaze dropped to my legs.

“Okay. And why are your pants ruined? Why is your left leg covered in blood?”

She was putting the pieces together. I could see it in her face. But there was something else, too—something almost like hurt, like she thought we were close, and I was shutting her out.

And… now that I thought about it, I kind of was.

“Lieutenant, I caught my pants on the dust—”

“Cut the bullshit, Boris.” Her voice was sharp, cutting through me like a blade.

“Be honest with me. If you’re looking for weapons, I understand. But you need to do it without running yourself into the ground. And you can’t get caught. I’ll let it slide this time, but I need you to be careful.”

She thought she’d figured me out. But she still looked… unsure.

I almost told her. Almost spilled everything—my promise to God to never bow, how I broke out to feed my kids. But I stopped myself.

She was a fink. Maybe the first decent one I’d ever met, but still just a fink.

If she knew the truth, she’d use it against me. Worse, she might put my kids in danger. And then I’d have to kill her.

I didn’t even know what she meant by weapons, but if I pretended I was looking for them, she’d sniff out the lie in a second.

This story originates from a different website. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.

So, like an idiot, I swallowed hard and gave her a half-truth.

“Well… you said I shouldn’t eat from the dumpsters. So I climbed the fence, cut myself a bit, and ran to Alexandria to look for some—”

“You did fucking what?”

Her voice was flat. Cold. The usual warmth in her expression? Gone.

My stomach dropped. Her eyes pinned me in place.

I felt small. Small in a way I hadn’t in years. Like when the sisters caught me stealing food, like when Father Nikolei’s drunken eyes found me. I couldn’t meet her’s now. My whole body felt wrong, my skin too tight, my breath too shallow.

I stared at my feet. My voice came out small. “You said I shouldn’t eat from the dumpsters… so I ran to Alexandria. I was just hungry.”

She kept staring.

“Boris. Alexandria is sixty kilometers away.” Her voice was rising, heat burning through every word. “Why the fuck do you think we threaten you with running there? What is wrong with you?”

Her anger pressed down on me, crushing. My ribs felt tight, like they were caving in.

I had fed my kids. What was wrong with that?

I wanted to argue, to fight, to throw it back in her face. But I couldn’t. My tongue felt heavy.

What If I told her how far I’d really gone? What I’d really done?

“Boris.” Her voice cut through my thoughts, sharp and furious. “For fuck’s sake, you shouldn’t have said that in here. There are cameras, you idiot!”

She turned on her heel, stomping toward the door. “Do not move one muscle. Not. One.”

And then she was gone, the door slamming shut behind her.

And so, I stood there. Waiting.

My face was damp with sweat, my shirt sticking to my back. My pulse throbbed in my ears. The room suddenly felt too small.

I had behaved like a child.

A fink had scolded me, talked down to me, and I had just stood there and taken it. The way she spoke—sharp, commanding—kept replaying in my head, each syllable scraping against my pride.

I clenched my fists. I wasn’t a little boy anymore. I wasn't home. I wasn't waiting, heart pounding, to hear the sound of his footsteps—trying to guess if they were stumbling or steady. If I had to make myself small or run.

I was Boris.

And I’d killed that weak, sniveling fuck.

I had forgotten what she was. She pretended to be nice, but she was just another fink, another liar, another person who wanted to control me.

The anger curled in my chest, slow at first, then sharp, then burning.

How dare she speak to me like that? How dare she make me feel that way?

My breathing turned heavy. My jaw locked. My skin burned, hot and tight. I started pacing, my boots slamming against the floor.

I wouldn’t let it stand. She needed to learn. She needed to be taught. The door clicked open.

She stepped in, closing it gently behind her, and seemed to breathe a sigh of relief, like she thought we could have some civil discussion.

“Alright, Boris, we can spea—”

“I shall speak, and you will listen!” The words tore out of me, loud, raw. I barely recognized my own voice.

“I thought you were nice, but if you ever talk to me like that again, I will rip your fucking head off!”

She froze.

I took a step forward, fists clenched so hard my knuckles cracked. My breath came in hard, ragged gulps, my whole body burning.

“I was just hungry! Just hungry! What’s so wrong about that? What is your fucking problem?!”

She stared, wide-eyed, pressed against the door like she wanted to melt into it. Her hands slowly rose, fingers spread, a silent plea for calm.

“Right then,” she said after a moment, her voice even, careful. “Uhm, let’s just… discuss this more reasonably.”

“You weren’t so reasonable when you walked out! But now that I’m angry, you want to be reasonable?”

I was still pacing, stalking back and forth, the energy inside me too much, coiled and tight, needing somewhere to go.

“It would certainly help,” she muttered, keeping her voice light.

Slowly, she reached for the tranquilizer slung over her shoulder. I tensed. But instead of aiming it, she crouched, set it on the floor, then rose to her full height, hands lifted in front of her, palms open. Almost like she was surrendering.

“Peace, Boris.” Her voice softened. “Peace.”

The heat in my chest roared. I clenched my fists so hard I thought my nails might pierce my palms.

“I was just hungry,” I repeated, but now my voice sounded… off. Not as sharp. Not as sure.

Suddenly, I felt the rage hanging on me. The weight of it. The ridiculousness of it.

I had screamed at her over a half-truth.

I had threatened her over nothing.

And somehow, that only made me angrier.

She took a careful step forward, eyes soft but wary, like she was stepping toward a cornered animal.

“Just relax, Boris. I was angry with you, yes. But I was scared.”

That stopped me.

Scared?

“There are cameras in here,” she continued, her voice measured, slow. “We record your sessions. If the Lieutenants outside heard you say that… Boris.”

She swallowed.

“They can’t hear you say that.”

For the first time since she entered, I stopped pacing.

My pulse was thundering.

I hated her for making me feel small. I hated myself for letting her see it. And I hated that, for a second, I wasn’t sure who I was angrier at.

I stared at her for a moment, then looked away. She was a fink. She didn’t actually care. I wouldn’t let myself be swayed.

I sighed, nodding like I was convinced.

She studied me, then forced a small smile. “You’ve got quite the temper. That’ll help in the tournament.”

I wasn’t in the mood for whatever attempt at encouragement this was. “Hope so,” I muttered.

A silence stretched between us. Awkward. Unresolved. Then, she glanced at the door and exhaled.

“Alright. Fine. You’re pissed, and there’s nothing I can say to change that. But Boris, you can’t do that again. It’s dangerous. If those lazy bastards catch you, they’ll execute you. No trial. No argument. Just straight execution.”

She placed both hands on my shoulder, making me meet her eyes filled with a desperate plea. “I’m begging you. Please don’t do that again.”

I clenched my jaw, still feeling the heat simmering in my chest. “Yeah, yeah. Okay,” I muttered, trying to sound casual, but my pulse was still thudding in my ears.

She studied me for another second, then straightened. “So… you really ran to Alexandria?”

I sneered. “I thought I wasn’t supposed to talk about that in here?”

Something flickered across her face—hurt, maybe—but she just gave a small, sheepish shrug. “Well. It’s fine now. I turned the cameras off. Deleted the footage too.”

I blinked at her, thrown off for a second. Then, I exhaled. “Yeah. I ran to Alexandria. Saw the statue—figured out it points to places. Interesting city. Never been before. Still don’t get how your taxis don’t have drivers, though.”

For a second, I forgot I was supposed to be angry. Then I remembered, so I looked away again.

“That’s… wow. Sixty kilometers.” She sounded genuinely impressed. “That must’ve taken you all night.”

Her eyes widened suddenly. “That’s why you couldn’t sleep! You bastard! You ran a half marathon both ways!”

A smile crept onto my face before I could stop it. The heat in my chest finally faded, but I wasn’t about to tell her that. “Yeah. I was hungry. Like I said.”

She let out a short, incredulous laugh. “So you ran a marathon for a meal?”

Then something shifted. Her laughter died down, her expression darkening as she looked away, like she was realizing something she didn’t like. “And then I made you skip breakfast.”

She turned back to me, her gaze steady. “Boris… I’m sorry. If I had known, I would’ve let you eat as much as you wanted.”

Then she started digging into her back pocket.

I just stared at her, confused—then offended. I had gone weeks without eating, and now she felt bad for me because I’d missed one meal?

I couldn’t even correct her, or I’d make her suspicious.

Oh my god.

I had never felt more embarrassed in my entire life. I wanted to crawl away and hide. One meal? And suddenly I was starving?

“It’s fine,” I muttered, ears burning. “I’ll survive. You don’t have to worry. I’ve already eaten.”

She studied me for a second, then casually reached into her pocket. “Well, then I guess you don’t want this?” She said, holding out an apple.

I blinked.

I was so bewildered that she had hidden an entire apple in her back pocket that I just stood there, staring at her.

Her confidence wavered as my silence stretched. She hesitated, her arm starting to drift back. “Uhm… you don’t want it?”

My mouth watered at the sight of it.

Fresh fruit.

The kind I had only seen in billboards or found half-rotten in dumpsters. And she was just offering it to me like it was nothing.

I didn’t say anything. Just turned, walked to the weapons rack, picked up a small knife, and came back. Without a word, I plucked the apple from her hand, sliced it clean down the middle, and held out a piece.

“You can bet your fucking ass I want it.”

I bit into my half, the crisp sweetness hitting my tongue.

After a beat, she joined me.

We ate in silence, the sound of chewing filling the air. I finished mine in ten seconds flat, looking away, still feeling the heat of shame on my face.

“Sorry. For shouting at you,” I mumbled. I hesitated, then forced the words out. “There’s nothing wrong with you… you are nice. If not a little sadistic.”

She just kept munching, unfazed.

Then, with a shit-eating grin, she said, “I forgive you. Now drop and give me twenty, bucko.”

I snorted. “Don’t push your luck.”

She laughed. And just like that, the heat in my chest cooled. The shame lingered. But, a little less.