I wanted to keep a low profile and live a happy and dull life as I saw everyone else do.

I knew I was different, but I hid it well. I pretended to be dumb and even allowed the Richies to abuse me. This was ok with me as long as I could live in total obscurity.

The Richies played their role well. The wife, Diana, was and is still a total bitch. She’s in her late 30s but is the most arrogant and pretentious woman I have ever seen. Beautiful, yes, with her oval face-fair skin, dark brown hair, and green eyes. Add in her high cheekbones and straight nose; she is a beauty. Her Body is lean but has very distinct curves in just the right places. Not too tall but not short either. Unfortunately, this has caused her to have a wildly exaggerated self-opinion. It also doesn’t help that the status of the Richie Family within the Gravitaz Group is very high due to Lord Ethian Richie's achievements.

Elizabeth, the daughter, is a carbon copy of her mom. As the saying goes, “The apple does not fall very far from the tree.” She shares similar traits with the Madam: an oval face with fair skin and green eyes. The hair is black, the same as Lord Richie. She is only 17, so her body has not developed to the extent Madam has, but she is not too far behind. Her TGene threshold was a whopping 24% when she awakened two years ago. This made her and her mom even more arrogant. She is now in an arranged marriage to Briar, the firstborn son of the Gravitaz Group Leader, Lord James Quarries.

Brandon, the son, although I once considered him my best friend, has also changed; he is now very insecure and snobbish. He is the same age as me, 14, going to be 15 in a few months. He is 5’ 5, about 160 lbs.— he is a little plumpy for his height, but then again, he loves to eat. Fair-skinned, like the mom, with Dark Brown hair and matching eyes. His round face still shows baby fat around the cheeks and jawline. The mom has much to do with what’s wrong with him as she pampers him at every chance, but Brandon also does not help himself. Unfortunately for him, he is also a coward at heart.

These three people have made my life a living hell since moving into the Richie estate.

But when I turned twelve two years ago, something changed.

This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there.

As a little kid, I learned that you can endure many emotional hardships if you think it will allow you to live a better life. You make up ideas that you will find happiness if you endure and reach this imaginary goal. Because of this, you put up with a lot of BS. This was me two years ago.

Kids can be very resilient and bounce back from a lot of shitty situations, but when you throw in physical abuse, such as hunger, it's a different beast altogether.

Physical abuse is the hardest thing for a kid. If you cannot feed yourself or if the family that is supposed to be there for you starves you, what do you do?

What can you do?

That’s when it changed for me. Hunger drove me to go out and hunt, to look for sustenance.

To free myself!

I thought about complaining to Mr. Richie that the rest of the family had not been fair to me, but I could not bring myself to do it. It felt like I would be letting myself down. Something in me burned with overwhelming pride. Something in me told me to trust myself and not give in. I couldn’t bring myself to be bullied and ridiculed again if I reached out. I had endured countless emotional abuse up until now. I would not start with physical abuse.

That was a road I was not willing to travel, so I decided to go it alone.

“Khyrum, you can do this,” I told myself.

“Remember what Dad taught you before he vanished—the small training trips into the jungles, the explanations of what is found out there and what you can do to take advantage of it,” I kept repeating.

At first, it was complicated for me as a 12-year-old brat. I had no motor skills or fighting techniques. I had lived under the oppressive and emotional rule of Madam Richie and her clown kids for the past three years.

Catching even the smallest prey, a jungle rat, was a pain initially. Sometimes, I ate leaves and shrubs to clench some of my hunger after being unable to catch anything. Thinking back, I realize there were times I wanted to quit.

But I told myself, “K, are you willing to go back to groveling at the Madam's feet? Is this really what you want? Is this really who you are?”

My stomach screamed at me to return and beg for food, but my heart would not let me.

So, I endured.

After weeks of running, jumping, and climbing, I noticed that although my skills were not improving, my motor functions were. I started getting faster on my feet, and my hand-eye and foot coordination improved significantly.

Finally, I could capture small prey like rats, rabbits, and even small wild pigs. I started killing one or two every week. I would butcher the animal and save the eatable meat. Later, I found I could sell some animal parts and skin to local butcher shops for money. So, I started selling and making a small profit—nothing too serious; I could not live off what I was selling.

But this brought me my first big break!