A month had passed since Beru and Nobu first met in that dark alley.
What began as a single night of shelter had turned into weeks of shared hunger, stolen meals, and quiet promises to survive another day. They had no family. No home. No future.
Only each other.
Every day was the same—steal food, run from danger, sleep wherever they could. Survival was no longer a choice. It was a rule.
That evening, as they prepared for another robbery, the sound of an engine cut through the silence of the alley.
A sleek black supercar rolled to a stop.
It didn't belong there.
The door opened.
A man stepped out, dressed in a perfectly tailored suit. His presence alone made the air feel heavier. His eyes were sharp, cold, and filled with calculation.
He looked at the boys as if they were tools.
"I can give you food," the man said calmly.
"And a house. A place to live."
Beru and Nobu froze.
"All you have to do," he continued, "is work for me."
They exchanged a glance.
It sounded too good to be true.
But hunger doesn't allow doubt.
They had nothing to lose.
So they nodded.
The car took them far from the city, to a massive mansion hidden on the outskirts. Luxury surrounded them—marble floors, towering gates, endless lights.
It felt unreal.
And wrong.
The man led them into a dimly lit room. Without a word, he placed a photograph on the table.
Nobu's breath caught.
It was his stepmother.
The only family he had left.
"If you want her to live," the man said coldly,
"you'll work for me."
Nobu's heart dropped into his stomach.
"Fail," the man continued, "and she dies."
The room went silent.
Nobu didn't hesitate.
"I'll do it," he said, his voice shaking. "Whatever you want."
Beru clenched his fists.
If it meant saving Nobu's family, he would follow him anywhere.
The man smiled.
A dark, satisfied smile.
He was a foreign mafia boss—wealthy, powerful, and ambitious beyond reason. His dream wasn't money.
It was domination.
To build his army, he chose children with nothing left to lose.
Children like them.
The First Test
The training hall was wide and cold.
Beru and Nobu stood side by side, wooden swords in their hands.
Their opponent was already waiting.
Kashi.
A twelve-year-old prodigy raised in violence since childhood. His stance was flawless. His eyes showed no mercy.
"This is a 1 versus 2 match," the instructor announced.
The fight began instantly.
Kashi moved like lightning.
His first strike slammed into Beru's leg before he could react.
A sharp crack echoed.
Beru screamed and fell to the ground, his body refusing to move.
Disqualified.
Now, only Nobu remained.
Kashi smirked.
"Your turn," he said. "Try not to disappoint."
Nobu's eyes hardened.
He was fast—faster than anyone his age should be. Life on the streets had sharpened his reflexes.
He dashed forward.
His blade connected—lightly.
Not enough.
Kashi countered.
Nobu barely dodged, the strike missing his face by inches.
Silence fell.
The mafia boss leaned forward.
Nobu moved again. And again.
His speed shocked everyone watching.
But speed came at a cost.
His breath grew heavy. His muscles screamed.
Kashi saw the opening.
A precise strike.
Nobu stumbled.
Another hit.
His vision blurred.
With his last strength, Nobu swung—
And collapsed.
Unconscious.
Kashi stood victorious, but no one cheered.
The mafia boss nodded slowly.
"Impressive," he muttered.
"But not enough."
Kashi was ordered to train Beru.
As for Nobu—
He was handed to the boss's right-hand man.
A silent figure whose fists spoke louder than words.
The Price of Power
As the boys lay on the cold floor, reality finally sank in.
They were no longer street kids.
They were weapons in the making.
The mafia didn't want cities.
They wanted the world.
And children like Nobu and Beru were just the beginning.
Their future was uncertain.
Their freedom was gone.
But one truth was clear—
Their lives would never be the same again.