"What is this?" Eric muttered, his voice strained as he felt the jagged pressure of a senior’s hand tightening in his hair. "It’s hard to believe a university would let this kind of thing happen. I knew things felt off at the party, but for them to openly hold us hostage in a lecture hall... this is insanity."
"It’s because he’s a Stern," Jono answered through gritted teeth, his neck tensing against the force pulling his head back. "The Stern family is one of the wealthiest dynasties in the world. To the people who run this place, Donto isn’t just a student; he’s a donor, a legacy, and a power they can’t afford to offend. Rules don’t apply to people like him."
"But even if that’s true, what he’s suggesting now is ridiculous," Eric countered, his eyes fixing on Max, who stood alone in the center of the court. "Does Donto really think Max is going to care about us that much? If I were him, why would I take a beating for people I hardly know? It’s only been a few weeks since the semester started. We’re practically strangers."
That was the freezing worry that had settled over the entire group. They were being used as leverage, but the logic of the Underworld and the high-society games Donto played relied on a person’s empathy—a trait they weren’t sure the cold, distant Max Smith even possessed. They feared that Donto’s true intention was simply to find a narrative excuse to break Max, regardless of whether he submitted or fought back.
Donto glanced at the seniors flanking him, and three of the largest athletes began to move toward Max. They wore jagged, expectant smiles, their knuckles cracking in the quiet hall. It was clear this wasn’t the first time they had acted as Donto’s personal enforcers; they moved with a practiced, predatory rhythm, relishing the chance to strike someone who couldn’t hit back.
When they reached him, they seemed almost surprised that Max didn’t move away. He stood his ground, his feet planted firmly on the hardwood floor, his gaze fixed on Donto with a chilling, unblinking intensity.
"You know, in a street fight, most amateurs go for the face because they want to see blood," one of the seniors sneered, pulling back his fist. "But if you really want to hurt someone—if you want to take the wind out of their sails permanently—you go straight for the gut!"
The senior launched a heavy, diving punch into Max’s stomach. The impact made a sickening thud that echoed through the basketball hall. Max widened his stance, absorbing the blow with a sharp, low grunt, but he didn’t double over.
’Man... my body has developed incredible resistance thanks to the Vow,’ Max thought, his muscles tightening like iron bands beneath his shirt. ’But these guys are athletes; their punches still carry weight. This is going to be a long, painful session.’
The senior looked at his own fist, then back at Max, visibly offended that the freshman was still standing upright. He hadn’t gotten the satisfying collapse he wanted. Snarling, he tightened his grip and swung a wild, heavy hook that caught Max across the cheek. The force snapped Max’s head to the side, and a spray of blood splattered onto the polished floor, but again, he didn’t fall. He simply spit out a mouthful of crimson and looked back at them.
"Haha! So we have a tough one here, do we?" another senior shouted, moving in to join the assault.
He launched a kick from behind that caught Max in the small of the back, while the other two began a relentless barrage of strikes to his ribs and shoulders. It was a full-scale beatdown. Four seniors, each a wall of muscle, were hitting him in a rhythmic succession, their fists and boots landing with a brutal, repetitive cadence.
Every hit that landed caused Talia and Steve to wince in sympathetic pain. Even if Max was taking the punishment with a terrifying level of stoicism, the blows were heavy. They could only imagine the sheer agony of having four grown men treat your body like a punching bag.
"Why isn’t he moving?" Talia cried out, her voice breaking. "He should fight back, right? He’s the one who took out the others! He should move or do something—anything—to protect himself! Why is he just standing there and letting them kill him?"
"Isn’t the answer obvious?" Jono said, his voice thick with emotion as he watched Max’s silhouette sway under the onslaught. "He isn’t moving because he knows if he does, they’ll take it out on us. He’s taking our share of the pain because he doesn’t want us to get hurt."
A massive, overhead strike crashed into the top of Max’s head. Blood began to pour from a gash in his scalp, dribbling down his forehead and blurring his vision, but he remained a statue in the center of the court. He stared through the red haze, his eyes never leaving Donto.
"Max, you are a lot tougher than I ever imagined you to be. This is actually crazy!" Donto said, his laughter sounding increasingly manic. "If you keep this up, you might actually die right here on the court. But hey, if that happens, it’s just one more person out of the Stern race, right? One less competitor for the throne."
The hits continued, and Max began to wonder how much longer his physical vessel could endure. The seniors were sportsmen; they knew how to pace their exertion to ensure they didn’t tire out before the job was done. As for Max, his reason for staying still was etched into his soul.
’This time is different,’ he thought, the words a silent mantra in his mind. ’I have the strength now. I’m not letting the same tragedy happen again. I’m not going to let strangers die right in front of my eyes just because they were unfortunate enough to be near me. I will be the shield.’
This will was what kept his legs from buckling, but the sight was becoming too much for Yovan. Tears were rolling down her face, a mixture of guilt and horror as she watched the boy she had mocked being systematically dismantled for her sake.
"WHAT ARE YOU DOING!" Yovan screamed at the top of her lungs, her voice cracking the heavy atmosphere of the hall. "These guys sitting beside me said you’re some kind of high-school legend! They said you’re the hot shot who could take out all of these losers in a second! So prove it! Show me the rumors are true! Stop getting beat up and just kick their asses!"
Her scream was the release of the collective feeling in the room. They were surprised it came from Yovan, the one who had been the most skeptical, but deep down, they all needed the legends to be real. They needed a hero.
"Those were well-said words, young lady," a calm, gravelly voice said from behind her.
Immediately, Yovan felt the painful grip on her hair loosen. She turned around, expecting to see another athlete, but instead found her captor lying unconscious on the floor. Within seconds, another senior nearby collapsed silently beside him.
Standing there was a man in a gray work uniform—the university janitor, of all people.
"The janitor always has the keys to every room," Aron said, a sharp glint in his eyes. "Donto’s men were a bit too confident when they locked those doors. They forgot who really maintains this campus."
Aron moved with a speed that defied his humble appearance. He swung a precise, heavy fist that caught one senior in the jaw, then spun in a fluid motion, pressing a high-voltage taser into the neck of another. In a matter of seconds, he had neutralized the enforcers who were holding the students hostage.
"The students are safe now!" Aron shouted toward the center of the court. "You don’t have to hold back anymore, Max. Go as wild as you want!"