The days that followed were relentless, each one a crucible designed to harden Jaehyun into a weapon. Killing had become part of the routine. Every morning, Enrico would drag another prisoner into the training hall, and every morning, Jaehyun would be handed a weapon and an order. At first, the guilt gnawed at him, the faces of his victims haunting him at night. But as the days turned into weeks, something inside him shifted.
The first time he killed, it had felt like tearing a piece of himself away. Now, it was just another task to complete, another step toward survival. He stopped seeing their faces. He stopped hearing their pleas. He stopped caring.
It was exactly what Isabella wanted.
"You're improving," Enrico said one evening as he stood over Jaehyun, watching him clean a rifle. "Your hesitation is gone. But don't let that get to your head. Confidence gets you killed as quickly as fear."
Jaehyun didn't look up from his task. "I understand."
Enrico smirked, lighting a cigarette. "Do you? Because there's a difference between understanding and surviving. Surviving means knowing when to act and when to wait. Knowing when to kill and when to let someone live. It's not about strength—it's about control."
Jaehyun set the rifle down and met Enrico's gaze. "Then teach me."
For a moment, Enrico said nothing, studying Jaehyun as if deciding whether he was worth the effort. Finally, he nodded. "Fine. Let's see what you're made of."
The next morning, Jaehyun found himself in a darkened room with Enrico, a pistol in his hand. The target was a mannequin, its head painted with a red bullseye. It seemed simple enough—until Enrico turned on the speakers.
The room filled with a cacophony of noise: gunfire, screams, explosions. The walls vibrated with the sound, and strobe lights flashed erratically, blinding Jaehyun. It was disorienting, almost paralyzing.
"Shoot!" Enrico barked, his voice barely audible over the chaos. "If you can't focus under pressure, you're useless!"
Jaehyun gritted his teeth and raised the pistol, trying to block out the noise and the lights. His hands trembled, and his first shot went wide, missing the mannequin entirely. Enrico clicked his tongue in disappointment.
"Again!" he shouted.
Jaehyun adjusted his stance, steadying his breath. He focused on the target, ignoring the screams and the flashing lights. He pulled the trigger again. This time, the bullet hit the mannequin's shoulder.
"Better," Enrico said. "But not good enough. You think your enemies are going to give you a clean shot in silence? You need to learn to see through the chaos."
Jaehyun fired again, and again, his shots inching closer to the bullseye with each attempt. Sweat dripped down his face, his arms aching from the strain, but he refused to stop. He wouldn't give Enrico or Isabella a reason to doubt him.
By the time the session ended, Jaehyun was exhausted but victorious. His final shot had landed dead center in the bullseye. Enrico gave him a rare nod of approval.
"You're getting there," he said. "But don't think for a second that this means you've made it. You've got a long way to go, Luca."
Jaehyun didn't respond. He didn't need to. The fire in his eyes spoke volumes.
That evening, Jaehyun sat alone in the barracks, sharpening a knife. The other recruits kept their distance, wary of the cold, quiet determination that had settled over him. They had seen the transformation—the once-soft heir was now a shadow of his former self, lean and deadly.
Isabella's words echoed in his mind: Pain is a teacher. It strips away weakness, reveals the truth of who we are.
If that was true, then Jaehyun was beginning to see the truth about himself. He wasn't just surviving—he was thriving. The pain, the training, the killing—it was all shaping him into something new, something stronger. He was no longer the spoiled, pampered boy who had been dragged into this world kicking and screaming. He was Luca De Rossi, the heir to something far greater than his family's fortune.
And he was ready to prove it.
The next day, Jaehyun was summoned to Isabella's office. The room was as opulent as it was intimidating, with floor-to-ceiling windows that overlooked the compound. Isabella sat behind a massive oak desk, a glass of red wine in her hand. She gestured for Jaehyun to sit.
"You've come far," she said, her tone measured. "Farther than I expected. But there's still one thing you lack."
Jaehyun leaned forward, his expression stoic. "What is it?"
"Loyalty," she said, her gaze piercing. "You've proven your strength, your resilience. But I need to know that you're loyal to me—to this family. Without loyalty, you're nothing but a blade waiting to turn on its master."
Jaehyun's jaw tightened. "What do you want me to do?"
Isabella smiled, a cold, calculating curve of her lips. "There's a mission. A small one, but crucial. You'll be accompanying Enrico. I want you to show me that you're ready to serve this family without question."
Jaehyun nodded, his resolve unshaken. "I'll do whatever it takes."
Isabella leaned back in her chair, studying him with something almost resembling approval. "Good. Because if you succeed, you'll truly be one of us. And if you fail…"
She didn't need to finish the sentence. Jaehyun knew what failure meant in this world.
As he left her office, a single thought consumed him: This is my chance. I won't fail.
He was no longer fighting just to survive. He was fighting for his place in this new world—a world where weakness was not an option, and only the strong could rise.