Chapter 11: The Prey.
Beltrán had finally finished his classes.
As he walked, he could feel how the pain from training and physical exhaustion had lessened considerably ever since he had begun dedicating himself to improving. He attributed it to the superior physique the youths of this world possessed compared to those of the previous one.
Prana definitely has something to do with it.
As was his usual routine during lunchtime, he searched for the curious woman, but this time he couldn't find her.
Because of that, he chose to keep his distance and remain close to the buildings belonging to the older students. He theorized that doing so would help him avoid running into his former tormentors, just as he had originally planned.
In Beltrán's mind, earning respect required confronting his aggressors one by one—starting with the weakest and gradually becoming capable of facing the stronger ones. That way, the others would lose the initiative to bother him.
But reality had once again introduced him to chaos.
Just as he was preparing to head toward his carriage, a group of boys suddenly shoved him forward, covering his mouth and dragging him into one of the building's bathrooms before anyone could notice.
"You little bastard."
The voice was deep for someone his age.
Beltrán immediately recognized Noah Gibraltar.
"So you thought you could keep running?"
Beltrán's mind went completely blank as he stared at the boys surrounding him.
Countless memories surfaced at once.
Because of Noah, everything had grown drastically worse.
The physical pain.
The humiliation.
The relentless mental torment that had nearly broken his spirit.
Noah stared down at him, his gaze filled with that same aggressive frustration Beltrán had come to know all too well. He had pushed him again and again, convinced that eventually those orange eyes would look back at him with fear.
But they never had.
One corner of Noah's mouth curled upward as he clenched his fists.
"I'm tired of trying to make you understand your place in this academy. You don't belong here. And as long as I'm around, you never will."
What had begun as childish mockery had long since evolved into something uglier.
When Noah heard about Beltrán's collapse, he had assumed that was the end of it—that Beltrán would quit and disappear from the academy.
And yet here he was.
Still standing.
Still enduring.
If he refused to understand through pain, then Noah would force him to.
"I've beaten you plenty of times before, but it looks like physical pain alone isn't enough."
His hand reached into his belongings.
When he pulled out the object, Beltrán's eyes widened.
"Remember this?"
It was the metal rod Beltrán had picked up from the garden back in Realta.
It had remained among his possessions ever since he'd returned to the academy after spending half a cycle and a day bedridden.
"The rules clearly state that injuring another student is strictly forbidden," Noah explained, idly running his fingers along its edge. "That could mean suspension. Maybe even expulsion."
A grin spread across his face.
"Of course, there's nothing in the regulations about carrying tools like this. Pretty clever of you, actually. Anyone who asked could've been told it accidentally ended up among your things."
Noah had seen through Beltrán's precaution with disturbing ease.
Then he handed the rod to one of the boys beside him.
"Still…"
He turned toward him.
"I wonder how you'd explain blood on it."
"John."
Under Beltrán's stunned gaze, the boy named John hesitated only briefly before punching Noah square in the face.
The blow wasn't particularly strong, but it split Noah's lip and guaranteed a bruise.
Noah held his face with both hands before slowly lowering them, smiling.
"That was a little harder than I expected."
Then he snatched back the rod and struck John across the face.
The boy stumbled backward, blood immediately spilling from a cut above his eyebrow.
Beltrán stared in shock.
His perception of Noah shifted instantly.
He had always assumed Noah preferred manipulation from the shadows.
But now he understood.
He had gravely underestimated both Noah's hatred and the instability behind it.
If Noah could kill him, he would.
Beltrán felt himself split in two.
One side burned with Beltrán's childish rage, demanding he fight back no matter the cost.
The other—older, calmer, colder—desperately searched for a way out.
His thoughts slowed under the pressure.
Noah repeated the act with three more boys.
Though they were clearly displeased by the arrangement, none of them resisted.
A dreadful premonition settled in Beltrán's chest.
"This is simple," Noah said, dusting off his uniform as if rehearsing a play. "A resentful student finally snaps. First, he takes revenge on Larson during the competition…"
He deliberately dirtied his clothes.
"And then he attacks his tormentors after class."
He smiled.
"Now comes the interesting part."
The others grinned.
The boys restraining Beltrán forced his arms upward, exposing his torso.
Without warning, Noah swung the bent metal rod into his abdomen.
Pain exploded through him.
His body folded instinctively, but the others held him in place.
Then the beating began.
Fists crashed into his face.
Into his ribs.
Into his sides.
Unlike before, they barely restrained themselves.
Beltrán's mind raced.
Could he accuse Noah?
No.
Noah's family name would protect him.
Could his father intervene?
Impossible.
What could he expect from a man who hadn't even visited after he'd nearly died?
Each blow dulled his senses.
Each impact dragged him deeper into helplessness.
If this continued, this wouldn't end as one of the usual beatings.
This would be final.
And if Noah presented his fabricated story alongside his injured companions, the academy would likely accept it.
The teachers avoided disputes involving noble families.
Beltrán would be expelled.
…I can't let them.
Rage twisted inside him.
But his strength was gone.
When they finally released him, he collapsed onto the floor, gasping for air.
His entire body screamed in agony.
"I think we might've gone a little too far," John muttered.
"Yeah…"
Noah panted, tossing aside the rod.
"Hit me a little more. Make it convincing."
The sheer madness of his tone stunned everyone present.
Noah Gibraltar was the embodiment of everything rotten about noble privilege.
The power to do as he pleased oozed from every movement.
Then—
"I really hope you're not being serious."
A childish voice echoed from the bathroom entrance.
Every head snapped toward the door.
A boy around Beltrán's age stood there, with amber eyes and brown hair.
Stuart.
One of Beltrán's classmates.
And one of his frequent tormentors.
Noah frowned.
He didn't recognize him.
The others, however, relaxed immediately.
"Damn, you nearly scared the shit out of me," one of them muttered. "Stuart, want in? We were just getting started."
Noah visibly loosened.
But only for a moment.
His reflexes kicked in as he abruptly twisted aside.
A stone flew past him and smashed against the wall.
The bathroom fell silent.
"Cowardly trash," Stuart spat, his voice dripping with contempt. "Ganging up on someone you all love mocking so much? I wonder if there's anyone your own age wh—"
He cut himself off, stepping back as Noah hurled the metal rod at him.
It narrowly missed.
"You little piece of—"
Noah lunged.
Stuart immediately threw his head back and shouted at the top of his lungs.
"HELP!"
His cry thundered through the halls.
Noah froze.
Panic flooded his expression.
Without hesitation, he turned and bolted from the bathroom, moving with startling speed as he disappeared around the building.
The others quickly followed.
Within seconds, they were gone.
Almost immediately after the last one fled, a teacher arrived.
Stuart remained where he was and quickly directed him toward Beltrán.
After receiving basic treatment, Beltrán was taken to one of the academy infirmaries.
This beating had been far worse than usual.
Several of his ribs were fractured.
When he regained full awareness, one of the teachers began lecturing him.
"This has gone beyond childish fighting," the man said grimly. "If this continues, it'll only get worse."
The teacher sympathized with him to some extent.
But like most academy staff, he lacked the standing to openly oppose powerful noble families such as the Gibraltars.
"I'll contact your carriage driver. He may still be waiting. The ointment should be enough for now, but avoid physical activity for at least two cycles."
A month…
Beltrán clenched his fists.
He had worked so hard.
He had proven himself during the competition.
He had defeated Larson.
Improved his grades.
And for what?
Everything had been crushed beneath Noah's heel once again.
His nails dug into his palms.
His teeth ground together.
His eyes stung.
…Don't cry. Damn it.
The frustration only worsened.
What was wrong with trying?
He had tried again and again.
Only to be met with rejection.
Contempt.
Indifference.
From his classmates.
From the teachers.
From his father.
Beltrán had once been just a child.
Even with an adult's memories now intertwined with his own, that truth remained.
His mind filled with stories of youths who endured impossible hardship.
People who had survived hell through sheer determination.
So why did it feel like everything was collapsing?
Was he not allowed even a fragment of hope?
His breathing grew uneven.
His thoughts darkened.
And just as he was on the verge of lashing out—
The door opened.
Beltrán looked up.
It was Stuart.
"Want me to leave you alone for a bit?"
Beltrán quickly wiped away the tears forming at the corners of his eyes.
"No. It's fine."
Though his voice betrayed him.
Stuart stepped closer.
"Then I'll get straight to it."
His amber eyes darkened.
"I hate this kind of bullshit injustice. Watching those bastards gang up on you made me sick."
The hatred in his voice was genuine.
And somehow contagious.
Beltrán felt his own anger sharpen.
"…I hated it too."
He had been naïve.
He'd convinced himself that staying out of sight and proving his worth would eventually make things stop.
How stupid.
He had treated them like children.
As if adults were any different.
I tried to block out the sun with a single finger.
Stuart slowly calmed.
But his expression remained serious.
"The only real way to end this…"
He looked directly into Beltrán's eyes.
"…is to make them feel the weight of what they've done."
Beltrán found it hard to believe those words were coming from an eight-year-old.
At that moment, he realized something else.
He had been underestimating the children of this world just as badly as he had underestimated Noah.
The instructor's words echoed in his mind.
It's simple. Decide whether you're the hunter or the prey. If you're that afraid, then just avoid them.
And in that instant, Beltrán understood something undeniable about himself.
He hated being prey.
"…Do you know how to make them pay?"