Warning: Graphic Violence Ahead
The following scene contains intense action and descriptions of physical harm. Reader discretion is advised.
...
The sound of footsteps outside began moving away from the storeroom, and Delan felt a surge of relief course through him. His body seemed to regain a small spark of life, and he was just about to take a step forward when suddenly, with a deafening thud, someone kicked the storeroom door open.
Delan jumped back with a startled shriek, his heart lurching in his chest.
"Hahaha! Thought you could hide from us?"
"Quite a clever hiding spot you found," said another, glancing around the room.
"…."
"Aiden—" Delan stammered, his voice trembling.
"Who?" Silas asked calmly, his eyes cold and sharp as he looked at them, measuring.
"These… these are Aiden's people," Delan whispered.
"Aiden's people?" Silas's brow furrowed."
"Is Aiden from this school? Because looking at these bastards' faces, I seriously doubt they're not from here."
Delan flinched at Silas's words, impressed and slightly afraid of Silas's sharp mind. Around fifteen people had entered—wearing uniforms of Velendra Frost—but these weren't real students. They had come here secretly, with some hidden agenda.
"How… how do you know?" Delan asked, barely above a whisper.
"So am right," Silas replied firmly.
The intruders stood silently, listening to Silas and Delan speak. Then, their leader—who stood slightly ahead of the others—fixed his gaze on Silas, scrutinizing him carefully, as if trying to recognize something.
"These eyes… this hair—" he said, nudging his companion with a laugh.
"Hey, this is the kid we've heard about," the other whispered back.
"Who? Oh, the one with the colorful eyes and hair—the one Boss mentioned," the leader replied.
What!, boss, does their boss know me?. A thousand echoed Silas's mind.
"I got to meet him myself today," the leader said with a laugh, pulling a cigarette from his pocket.
"Well, you've got killer looks boy, no joke."
Silas remained silent, his cold gaze locked on them. He said nothing, but his eyes carried the weight of calculation, calm yet deadly, like a storm just waiting to break.
The storeroom, which had once been empty, was now packed with people.
Silas's gaze swept to the door, his colorful eyes narrowing as he counted five of them blocking the exit. In a single glance, he lost sight of the rest, spread across the room, their presence menacing and deliberate.
Smoke from the cigarette curled outward as their leader, Lexi, fixed his sharp eyes on Silas.
"Thinking about how you're going to get out of here?" Lexi sneered.
"Of course,"
Silas replied immediately, without a trace of fear, his voice steady. The entire storeroom was now under Lexi's control; he could have done anything, and no one would have known. Yet Silas stood unshaken, replying boldly to him.
"Hahaha… confidence, huh? Not bad, kid. But do you even notice the environment of this room?"
"You have no idea about the limits of these newcomers—"said the man standing beside Lexi.
No sooner had the words left his mouth than mercilessly with sudden, terrifying swiftness, drew his razor-sharp knife. In a single, ruthless motion, he plunged it straight into the chest of the companion standing next to him, right through the heart. The act was so shocking and sudden that Silas froze for a moment, paralyzed by disbelief. He could not comprehend why he had just killed one of his own allies.
Delan, terrified, shut his eyes tightly and clutched Silas's coat with all his strength, pressing himself behind him for protection.
The air in the storeroom grew thick and heavy, almost suffocating. Sweat began to trickle slowly down Silas's forehead. His heart pounded with fear, a scream clawing at him from within, yet he forced himself to remain outwardly calm. Weakness in this place, at this moment, carried no value—it would achieve nothing.
Blood poured from the chest of Lexi's victim as the knife was withdrawn, droplets flying through the air and staining the floor. Lexi lightly tapped the bloody blade with his index finger, almost casually, as if to display his control. The fallen man collapsed to the ground.
"….."
"Hush," Lexi said, his voice eerily calm. "
"How many times have I told you? When two adults are speaking, do not interrupt."
Silas's mind raced. Could someone really be murdered for such a trivial reason? Did these people truly see human life as meaningless?
"They just don't understand—"
Lexi flipped the knife over; it was now completely covered in blood.
"—My precious knife is all dirty now. I'll have to clean it again."
Dirty! Hah!
Silas could see it clearly now—human life was worth nothing to these people.
Slowly, Lexi bent down, crouching like a predator. He pressed the blade against the blood-soaked uniform of the corpse lying on the filthy floor of the storeroom, and with deliberate, methodical movements, wiped it clean.
Silas, standing outwardly calm, watched everything unfold. Delan remained pressed behind him, terrified, barely daring to breathe.
For these people, barging into a school and killing someone in a storeroom seemed like an ordinary, trivial act
These were not ordinary gangsters. They were something far more dangerous, disciplined, and cold.
Lexi lifted his gaze and fixed it on Silas, his eyes sharp and calculating, as if silently asking whether the boy even realized what had just occurred. There was no anger, only an unnerving calm—like a storm that had not yet fully arrived but was already threatening everything in its path.
"Kid," Lexi began, his voice smooth but edged with steel, "we've heard stories about you. But today… we didn't come for you."
With a deliberate motion, he pointed his knife at Silas's back, indicating someone else.
"This," he said slowly, "is for the one behind you. He's the one we're here for."
For Delan!.
Delan's hands gripped Silas's coat tighter, as if refusing to let him go. His heart pounded violently, thundering in his chest so clearly that Silas could feel the tremor against his back, could sense the small, shivering body clinging to him.
Lexi, moving with unnerving control, slid the knife back into its sheath, secured neatly against his left leg, as if nothing had happened at all.
"So, kid," he said, his voice almost teasing, "your path to the outside is clear."
Immediately, the men who had been blocking the door shifted aside, forming a clear passage to the exit.
To Silas, it felt absurd. How could anyone allow a witness—someone who had seen them act with such cold precision—to simply walk away? It gnawed at him, a bitter mix of fear, disbelief, and something like anger, though he did not dare to act on it.
Lexi's eyes glinted as he added, smiling faintly but with unmistakable menace:
"I hope not a single word leaves your mouth about what happens here. You seem smart enough to understand that, kid. Otherwise… not only is your life at risk, but you will see exactly how serious we are."
Silas slowly turned his head, trying to glance at Dilan, who was trembling behind him, hidden and frozen.
Raising his eyes, Delan's voice trembled, barely audible, almost breaking under fear:
"P-please… don't go."
Silas felt the crushing weight of responsibility press down on him. One wrong move, one misstep, and he could get caught in their schemes. And if his father found out—something Silas was determined to prevent—it would mean restrictions again, just like before: control, confinement, and limitations that could last indefinitely.
Silas gently but firmly removed Delan's hands from his coat—hands that were clutching desperately, refusing to let go—and stepped forward along the path that had been cleared for him.
Delan stood alone, trembling like a small, cornered animal, his voice barely escaping him:
"S-S-Silas!"
Silas glanced back. Delan's eyes were wide with fear and helplessness, his lips moving as if to speak, trying to form the words "Help me", yet nothing came out. His lips froze, unwilling to speak. He couldn't risk it—not when Silas, so young, barely even a few days into this school, might get dragged into danger because of him. Delan had no intention of drawing his friend into the crosshairs of these ruthless people.
Without a word, Silas turned back and stepped forward, moving along the clear path.
The group in the storeroom began to advance toward Delan.
"I hear you've made a friend of one of that bastard's companions," Lexi's voice rang out, heavy and commanding, as he stepped closer.
"W-w-what? Whose friend?" Delan stammered, fear constricting his voice.
Lexi paused briefly, studying Delan with a calculating stare. Then, in a sudden, shocking movement, he raised his hand and slapped Delan across the face. Delan stumbled and nearly fell, hitting the floor hard. Lexi's shadowed figure loomed above him, his presence dark and commanding.
"You have no idea who I'm talking about, do you?" Lexi said, a twisted amusement in his tone. "So innocent. But don't worry—I'll teach you exactly who we mean."
Lexi grabbed Delan by the hair, lifting him roughly into a crouched position. Delan cried out in sharp pain as he was forced upright, the pressure sending shivers through his small body.
"So that bastard's friend—what was his name? H-Harr–Harry… yes, Harrison! He became your friend, didn't he?" Lexi taunted, his voice filled with cruel satisfaction.
"No… ah… it hurts," Delan gasped, struggling to stand against the force.
"Did you know Aiden was overjoyed when he found out? Do you know how happy he was?" Lexi said, his voice mocking.
Delan's resistance, his trembling, seemed to irritate Lexi. With another sharp pull at his hair, Lexi shoved him roughly to the floor. Pain radiated through Delan's body, making him curl instinctively, every nerve screaming, yet the terror in his eyes told the real story: helplessness, fear, and the realization that there was no way out.
"Hm Bad! Guess you have no idea how happy he was, do you? Alright, now you'll come with me, and we'll show Boss exactly what these bastards are up to," Lexi said, his tone darkly triumphant.
Silas, standing near the door, could hear everything. He could feel the weight of what Delan was enduring—the fear, the helplessness. The scene before him echoed a past he had once witnessed, a helplessness that now replayed in front of his eyes.
He glanced back, expecting to see Delan—but instead, his gaze fell on a large group of people, all clustered together, standing like a menacing wall in front of Delan. It was as if they were ready to devour him, to crush him under their collective presence.
"Boy, any problem?" one of them called, moving from the group toward Delan.
"No, none," Delan stammered, frozen in fear, barely able to respond.
Silas turned to the door, grasping the handle. With a decisive pull, he swung it open. The door creaked loudly as it revealed the outside world: fresh air, sunlight spilling across his face. For a moment, it felt like freedom—like stepping out of a prison—but the prison had one cruel condition: he had to leave a companion behind.
"That's isn't my problem," Silas muttered to himself.
And with that, he stepped through the doorway. The door slammed shut behind him, cutting off the world he was leaving—leaving Delan alone, trapped among the lions of that storeroom, alone in the terror of those he could not escape.
Silas walked forward into the light, carrying the weight of freedom in one hand and the burden of guilt in the other.
To Be Continued....