The days blurred into one unending nightmare. Every morning began with the clanging of a metal bell that ripped Jaehyun from the few hours of restless sleep he could steal. From there, it was a relentless cycle of punishment disguised as training: laps around the compound with weights strapped to his body, hand-to-hand combat drills where failure meant bruises and blood, and long hours of weapons practice under the unforgiving gaze of Enrico.
But nothing was worse than the meals.
Each day, the poisons became more potent, their effects more brutal. The burning in his throat, the twisting in his gut, the way his limbs felt like they were turning to lead—it all grew worse with every bite. And yet, Jaehyun ate. He forced the food down, refusing to let the nausea or the pain win. The others around him were not as resilient. Every night, the number of recruits in the barracks seemed to dwindle. No one spoke of those who disappeared.
Jaehyun sat on the edge of his cot, staring at his shaking hands. His body was changing—rapidly. The fat that had once clung to him like a shield was melting away, replaced by lean, wiry muscle. His face was sharper, his jawline more pronounced. But the transformation wasn't just physical. He could feel something hardening inside him, a resolve that hadn't existed before.
He thought of his family often. Their laughter, their indifference, their relief at his absence. It burned in him like a second poison, one that fed his determination. He would prove them wrong. He would survive this, not for their approval, but to show them what they had lost. To make them regret.
The door to the barracks creaked open, and Enrico entered, his expression grim. He carried a metal tray with a single potato on it, glistening under the dim light.
"Luca," he called, his voice cutting through the murmurs of the recruits. "Come with me."
Jaehyun rose without hesitation. The others watched him go, their eyes filled with a mixture of pity and dread. Everyone knew what it meant to be singled out.
Enrico led him to a small room off the main training area. Inside was a single table, a chair, and a glass of water. The potato sat on the table, its bitter aroma filling the air. Isabella De Rossi stood in the corner, her presence as commanding as ever. She was dressed in an elegant black dress, her dark hair pulled back into a tight bun. Her eyes, cold and calculating, flicked over Jaehyun like she was appraising a weapon.
"You've lasted longer than most," Isabella said, her voice smooth but sharp. "But endurance is not enough. To thrive in this world, you must adapt. You must embrace the pain."
Jaehyun said nothing. He had learned quickly that silence was often the safest response.
Isabella gestured to the table. "Eat."
Jaehyun stared at the potato. He could already feel his stomach churning, the phantom taste of poison rising in his throat. He glanced at Isabella, then at Enrico, who leaned casually against the wall, his arms crossed.
"You think this is a choice?" Enrico asked, smirking. "Eat, or I'll make you eat."
Jaehyun didn't hesitate. He sat down, picked up the potato, and took a bite. The bitterness was overwhelming, coating his tongue like ash. He swallowed, his throat burning, and forced himself to take another bite. Each chew was a battle, but he refused to stop. He wouldn't give them the satisfaction of seeing him falter.
When the potato was gone, Jaehyun reached for the water, but Isabella's voice stopped him.
"Not yet," she said, her tone commanding. "The poison will work faster this time. The question is, how long will you last before you break?"
Jaehyun's eyes widened, but he kept his composure. He clenched his fists under the table, his nails digging into his palms as the first wave of nausea hit. His vision blurred, his breath quickened, and his muscles spasmed. He gritted his teeth, refusing to cry out.
Isabella watched him intently, a faint smile playing at her lips. "Good," she murmured. "Pain is a teacher. It strips away weakness, reveals the truth of who we are."
Jaehyun's body trembled as the poison coursed through him. Sweat dripped down his face, and his heart pounded like a drum in his chest. He felt like he was dying, but he refused to collapse. He wouldn't give them the satisfaction.
"Enough," Isabella said after what felt like an eternity. "Drink."
Jaehyun grabbed the glass of water and downed it in one gulp. The relief was immediate but fleeting. His body still ached, his stomach still burned, but he was alive. He had endured.
Isabella stepped closer, placing a hand on his shoulder. Her touch was cold but oddly reassuring.
"You're stronger than I expected," she said. "But strength is not enough. Tomorrow, we begin the real training."
Jaehyun met her gaze, his jaw tightening. "I'm ready."
Isabella's smile widened, but there was no warmth in it. "We'll see."
As Enrico led him back to the barracks, Jaehyun felt a flicker of pride amidst the pain. He had survived another test. He was still standing. And though his body was battered and his mind weary, he knew one thing for certain:
He was no longer the same Jaehyun who had been dragged into this nightmare. The spoiled heir was gone. In his place, something new was emerging. Something stronger. Something ruthless.
Something they would all learn to fear.