The slums never slept, but Hale did. His eyes watched the world with a cold precision that only years of manipulation could forge. At just 12 years old, he had learned the most important lesson of survival: control. And so, he began weaving his intricate web—carefully, silently, patiently.
His first target: Rein, the 17-year-old fool who led a small group of children in the slums. Brute strength and loyalty bound Rein to his ideals, but it was his mind that Hale sought to break. Hale didn't need Rein's strength; he needed his unwavering trust. The pieces were set in motion.
Hale had already observed Rein's bond with his younger sister, Rena. The two were inseparable, their fates intertwined by the cruel hands of poverty. And so, Hale poisoned them both—not immediately, but slowly. Each day, a little more, each dose disguised as medicine to ease their pain.
At first, the symptoms were mild—headaches, dizziness, stomach cramps. Rena's eyes would flicker with confusion, while Rein would stagger through the day, his body weakening slowly. Hale kept a calm face, always the reliable savior, offering medicines that soothed them, helping them recover bit by bit, while his poison worked beneath the surface.
"You're getting stronger," Hale would whisper to them as they regained some semblance of health.
Rein, ever the fool, would smile in relief, and Rena would grasp Hale's hand in gratitude. Little did they know, each recovery was just a temporary illusion.
Days passed, and the poison took its toll. Rena grew pale, her once vibrant spirit dimming as she became weaker with each passing day. Rein, too, seemed to struggle more, his steps faltering, his muscles aching with fatigue. Yet Hale was always there, offering them medicine, watching their suffering, and making sure they felt the sting of his control without ever seeing the hand behind it.
"It's alright. You'll feel better tomorrow," Hale would say, administering the next dose. "The worst is almost over."
But the worst was only just beginning.
As the weeks wore on, Hale's manipulation became more refined. He fed them just enough to make them believe he was their savior. He had Rein eating out of his hand, the older boy's blind trust growing with each small dose of relief Hale provided. But Hale knew that this trust came at a price—and that price was Rein's dependency.
One evening, when the symptoms were more severe, Rein collapsed from the strain. His breath was shallow, his pulse weak. Rena cried out for help, but Hale was already by his side, his face calm, his voice soothing.
"Don't worry. I've got the antidote," Hale said, pulling out a vial filled with a clear liquid. It was a concoction of his own making—a temporary antidote to mask the damage caused by the poison. He handed it to Rein, watching the boy drink it down with desperation. The effects were almost immediate. Rein's color returned slightly, his breathing steadied.
Rein looked up at Hale, his eyes full of confusion and relief. "Why are you helping us?"
"Because you owe me," Hale replied, his voice as cold as ever.
Rein's fogged mind couldn't comprehend the deeper meaning behind Hale's words. He was too grateful for the relief, too weak to see the trap closing around him.
In the following days, Hale continued to administer the antidote, but the poison was far from gone. Slowly, Hale tightened his grip on their lives, forcing them into an ever-deepening debt, a debt that they could never repay. Every act of kindness, every time he saved them, pulled them deeper into his control.
When Hale formed Harve, the group of children he used to earn money, Rein became its leader. Rein was eager to protect Rena and take control, but his mind was clouded, his thoughts twisted by the constant suffering Hale had engineered. He didn't know it, but he had already lost the war.
The children followed Rein without question, their loyalty to him only strengthening Hale's position. Rein's strength became a tool, Rena's trust in him a means of keeping them both under Hale's thumb.
Every time Rein faltered, Hale was there to help him recover—just enough to keep him moving forward. Every time Rena grew weaker, Hale offered a remedy. But each dose, each moment of recovery, was part of the grand design.
In truth, Rein and Rena were nothing more than pawns in Hale's game. He hadn't saved them out of kindness, nor was he their friend. He had poisoned them—slowly, methodically—and now he controlled them. He watched them suffer, watching them become dependent on him, just as he had planned.
And as the days turned into weeks, and the children of Harve grew more enmeshed in the web Hale had spun, one truth became undeniable: Hale was no longer just an observer. He was the one who controlled everything. And with Rein and Rena in his grip, the real game was only just beginning.