The test came sooner than Frank expected.
That evening, the man in the coat led him to the edge of the old marketplace. Shadows pooled in the corners, and the air smelled of damp stone and old smoke. The town was empty—or it seemed empty—but Frank could feel the presence of something watching.
"Your first lesson in action," the man said. "You've learned to move quietly, to see and hear. Now you will learn that strength is not loud."
He gestured toward a crate stacked against a wall. From behind it, two older boys stepped out. They were bigger than Frank, with rough hands and sharp eyes.
"Disarm them," the man said simply.
Frank's stomach twisted. Disarm them? He had no weapons, no plan. Just the lessons he'd learned in silence, in patience, in observation.
He remembered the stick in his hand. He remembered the shadows. He remembered the promise he had made.
He took a deep breath and stepped forward.
The first boy lunged. Frank sidestepped, using his momentum to shove the stick between the attacker and himself. The stick wasn't heavy, but it was leverage. The boy stumbled.
The second boy swung, and Frank ducked low, rolling under the arm and slamming the stick against his attacker's legs. The boy went down with a grunt.
Frank froze, heart hammering, waiting for the man to shout approval. None came. He glanced up. The man was watching quietly, a shadow among shadows.
"You see?" the man said finally. "You did not shout. You did not panic. You used your strength wisely. That is the difference between a boy who fights and a hero who survives."
Frank's chest heaved, but he felt… different. Not just strong, but capable. Not just lucky, but prepared.
He looked at the two boys, groaning on the ground. They had meant to intimidate him, to scare him, to make him run. But he hadn't run.
The man in the coat stepped forward. "Strength is not loud. It is controlled. It is patient. It waits for the moment when it matters most."
Frank nodded, gripping the stick tighter. The shadows didn't scare him anymore. The town didn't scare him anymore. Not completely.
He was learning to stand.
And the name Spenser wasn't just a promise now—it was becoming a reality.