Chapter 3

𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 3 •

"You look absolutely terrible today," Sabina teased, a sly grin tugging at the corner of her lips as I turned my head to the right. Her eyes sparkled like mischief itself.

I rolled mine in return and raised an eyebrow. "Thanks," I muttered dryly.

Truth was, I hadn't slept in days. My thoughts had been clawing through the shadows of my grandfather’s murder case, even as my muscles screamed from constant training. Sleep had become a distant ghost—just out of reach, I barely remembered.

“Uno, you should rest,” she said gently, her voice a contrast to her earlier jab. “Sleep, even just for a while.”

“I’m fine,” I replied, though the lie tasted like rust on my tongue.

I shifted my gaze toward the field, where Quatro, Singko, and Sais were already sprinting. Their feet pounded the dirt like war drums. They moved as one, shadows split from the same flame. We had all been preparing for this—the return of the missions. And now that we were officially back in the line of fire, my uncle made sure we trained like our lives depended on it. Because, well... they did. 

I tightened the straps on my gloves, forcing my body to obey despite the exhaustion clawing at me. My uncle’s orders weren’t suggestions—they were commands. And in this line of work, disobedience wasn’t just disrespect; it was dangerous. Sabina stepped closer, lowering her voice. “Uno, you can’t carry this case and the missions at the same time. If you burn out, you’ll be useless to both.”

Her words stung because they were true. My grandfather’s murder wasn’t just a case—it was a shadow that followed me into every mission, every sleepless night. I clenched my jaw, staring at the horizon where the sun dipped low, painting the sky in bruised shades of orange and violet.

I  stood up. My presence was blade drawn clean from its sheath—silent but sharp. “Everyone!” I called, voice cutting through the morning air. “Hand combat. Now.”

We gathered in the arena, a circle of worn earth ringed by sweat and memory. Primo was the first to step forward, brushing dust from his knuckles as he faced me.

I didn’t hesitate. I launched forward, fast as lightning over open water. Primo blocked, barely, his arm catching mine mid-strike. The clash echoed like thunder cracking across a storm-worn sky.

“Again,” I said, breath steady.

This time Primo ducked under my jab, sweeping low with a counter-kick. But I twisted midair like smoke slipping through fingers, landing behind him. I tapped the back of his shoulder.

 “You’re dead.” He turned, breathless but grinning. “Barely.”

“Dead is dead,” I replied, fixing my gloves tighter. “No second guesses in the field.”

He turned, a smile playing on his lips. "That was quick."

"Out there, quick is the only kind that matters." I reset my stance. “Again.”Around us, the others watched. Not just with interest, but with need. Because out there, the next breath could be your last if you didn't learn to fight like it was already stolen from you.

The sun had started to sink behind the clouds, casting long shadows across the arena like ghostly warnings from battles past. Sweat stuck to my neck like a second skin, and the ground under my feet was scarred from hours of sparring.

"Can we rest, Uno? I might die right now!" Khalil whined, his voice cracking like dry wood.

I checked my watch. Eight hours.. I raised an eyebrow, letting the silence speak louder than any scolding. Sabina caught my glance with a grin tugging at her lips. Her look said it all—she knew what was coming.I turned to face Khalil slowly. My voice came out cool, like steel dragged across marble. “Are you complaining during training hours?”

His eyes widened like the moon in a stormy sky. He shook his head so hard, he looked like a puppet with strings pulled too tight. “N-No, ma’am!”

Without warning, I unsheathed my katana. The sound was like thunder ripping through silk.

He yelped and leaped back, grabbing his own katana from where it hung across his back. We fell into rhythm, a silent agreement sparking between us—training wasn't over.

I charged first, blade singing through the air. He blocked, barely, his arms trembling with the weight of it. Sparks flew where metal kissed metal. I could feel the hesitation in him, the doubt in each step, like he wasn’t sure if he was fighting me or surviving me.

“Move, Khalil!” I barked, slicing downwards. He spun to the side, sweat flying from his brow. His katana slashed back, this time with more purpose, more fight.

Good. 

We circled each other like lightning looking for a place to strike. He swung low—I jumped. I swung high—he ducked. The wind around us crackled with focus. For a moment, I saw fire in his eyes—not fear, but determination. He struck forward, blade straight, and I twisted just in time, sliding my edge against his and sending both swords into a shivering pause midair. We froze, inches from each other.

Then I stepped back and lowered my katana.

“You’re improving,” I said, breathing steady. His mouth opened slightly, surprised. Maybe even a little proud. “But you still owe me fifty push-ups after this,” I added with a smirk. I saw his shoulders drop in exhaustion—but this time, he didn’t complain.

I watched them closely—every heaving chest, every trembling hand clutching a water bottle like it was a treasure pulled from the depths of a dry well. Their eyes were dull with exhaustion, their movements slow like wind dragging through heavy fog. They looked hungry too—not just for food, but maybe for mercy. I sat down quietly, dust brushing the back of my legs. My gaze lifted to the sky. It looked peaceful, like it hadn’t just watched us fight and bleed against time all day. The clouds drifted gently, uncaring.

For me, this kind of training—after a year of rest—felt like stretching old muscles, like lighting a match that still remembers how to burn. But for them? It was different. It was like trying to teach a child how to walk again after they’d forgotten the ground beneath their feet. While I was away, no one shaped them. No one guided their hands or pushed their backs forward. They just... endured. Yes, they went on missions. Yes, they fought. But missions don’t sharpen your blade the way training does. Missions test what you’ve learned—training teaches you how not to die.

That’s why I don’t let them rest too easily. It might seem cold, even cruel, but I know what’s waiting beyond these safe walls. If I let them eat too long or sit too still, it would be a disservice—not just to me as their leader—but to the nation we promised to protect.

Rest is sweet. But freedom is sweeter. And freedom isn’t bought with soft hands and full stomachs.

"Agent Uno, are you even listening?"

A voice sliced through my daydream like cold water on my face. My mind had drifted—maybe too far—sinking into that quiet corner of my head where thoughts echo loudest. I blinked, startled, scrambling back into the now.

"What?" I said, a beat too late. "No—sorry, what did you say again?"

The agent in front of me shot me a glare sharp enough to cut glass. Yeah, I deserved that. Singko just chuckled beside me, shaking her head like a disappointed older sister who'd seen this movie before. I shifted my gaze to Sabina—her lips pressed together, shoulders trembling. She looked seconds away from laughing.

"Mr. Davidson wants to see your team," the annoyed agent muttered. "Now. His office."

I gave a nod—curt, obedient—but even I could feel the storm in her eyes as she walked away. She offered one of those fake smiles that says, I’m pretending I don’t hate you, but her clenched jaw told another story. I hadn’t meant to get on her nerves…again. But lately, it’s like every time I open my mouth, I trigger someone.

Sigh. What now, Uncle?

He’s been breathing down our necks these past few weeks like some ghost haunting our every move. Always watching, always calling meetings, always saying it's because he "cares about our progress." I’m starting to think he just likes the sound of his own voice bouncing off the walls of that oversized office.

"My stomach's eating itself," Khalil groaned suddenly, snapping me from my thoughts again. "Can we eat first before facing the old man?"

"You dumbass," Sabina shot back without missing a beat. "Didn’t you hear her? It’s urgent. That fossil wants us in his office now."

Khalil pouted like a toddler denied candy, arms crossed and lower lip out. I almost laughed—almost. The digital clock on the wall glared back at me: 10:00 PM. Most people were getting ready for bed. But here we were, about to walk into another round of whatever surprise my uncle had cooked up. Eat and Sleep would have to wait.

“Please, Anastasia, let’s eat first,” Khalil whined like a starving puppy.

“We’ll eat later,” I said, already getting to my feet. I didn’t wait for his reply.

“This is gonna ruin my charm,” he grumbled behind me. “Hungry Khalil is not attractive Khalil.”

I didn’t even glance back. Let him sulk. The others muttered complaints under their breath too, but I knew they were only tired. I needed to get this meeting over with—for their sake. Maybe then they’d sleep in peace, even if I couldn’t.

I pushed open the door to my uncle’s office without a knock.

“What do you want this time?” I asked, my voice sharper than intended. He looked surprised—but only for a blink. His face returned to that calm, unreadable expression. Impressive. He wore Grandpa’s look like a second skin—blank, steady, practiced.

“I’m sure,” he said smoothly, “you still remember how to knock, my lovely niece?”

I just smirked and stepped further in.“Old guy,” Khalil cut in, rubbing his stomach, “if this isn’t life-or-death, can we make it quick? I’m starving.”

Uncle didn’t flinch. “I already asked my secretary to bring dinner. Sit.”

He motioned with a lazy flick of his hand. We obeyed like dominoes—one drop, and the rest fell in line. I sank into the seat and crossed my arms, pretending I wasn’t tense.

“So?” Primo asked, breaking the silence. “What’s this about?”

Uncle cleared his throat, fake and stiff, like he was rehearsing.

“New Mission.”