Semua Bab THE PRICE FOR HIS NAME : Bab 111 - Bab 120

Fiero Johan Avancii was three years old.His surgery had been a success, and although the doctors hadn’t managed to close the hole in his heart completely, his breathing had improved drastically. He no longer wheezed when he played, no longer tired out after just a few steps. He could laugh without coughing, run without collapsing—and that alone felt like a miracle.He was still pale, still smaller than other boys his age, but it only seemed to add to his impossible charm.Everyone in the estate adored him.The young master. La gioia della casa.With his dark curls always in a state of artful rebellion, his honey-brown eyes that gleamed with mischief, and that delicate, heartbreakingly beautiful face, he was a sight to behold. He had inherited all of his father’s features but softened by something gentler, something Maria. His voice was sweet, his stubbornness legendary, and his sense of timing… impeccable.Ou

The black car hummed quietly along the backroads of Hayport, sunlight beginning to slant through the windshield in golden streaks. Luca kept one hand on the wheel, the other resting casually against the gear shift. Fiero sat beside him in the passenger seat, legs swinging slightly, his boot heels bumping the glove box every few seconds. His hands were smudged with dust from the crates and ledgers he'd touched, and his hoodie still smelled faintly of sea air and old metal. He looked content. Quiet, thoughtful—but content. Luca watched him out of the corner of his eye. He saw the way Fiero traced patterns with his finger on the foggy window, how he stared out at the passing streets with a quiet kind of hunger. A hunger to understand. To belong. Luca knew that look too well. “You did good today,” he said casually. Fiero perked up. “Really?” Luca nodded. “You watched

Fiero, now bored, sighed loudly, signaling to the others that it was time to move. He pushed off the lockers with an air of indifference, his eyes scanning the corridor, already half-checked out of the scene unfolding. Without a second glance, Fiero brushed past Adonis, his shoulder colliding solidly with the senior’s. The subtle gesture wasn’t accidental; it was a declaration. Fiero had made it clear: there was no need for formalities or acknowledgment, only his presence.Adonis—clearly offended—bristled, a muscle twitching in his jaw as he turned to watch Fiero walk away. But he was no fool. He was not going to let a junior walk by without a word, a mere first year at that. His pride wouldn't allow it.In a swift motion, Adonis reached out, his hand latching onto Fiero’s wrist in a sharp grip. He yanked, pulling him back with a force that suggested more than just a desire for attention—it was a challenge.The hallway went si

Professor Cedric Limmins stood at the front of the classroom, his presence commanding immediate attention.Tall and lean, he had the air of someone who belonged in a courtroom, not a classroom. His silver-rimmed glasses perched low on his nose, and his suit was immaculate—sharp enough to cut glass.He placed his leather briefcase down with a sharp snap, his eyes scanning the six students before him. His gaze lingered just a second longer on each of them, as if trying to figure them out in one swift glance.“Good morning,” he said, his voice smooth but edged with authority. “You six are the only students in this class. That means I expect your full attention. Ethics isn’t just about right and wrong. It’s about power. Control. Manipulation.”He grabbed a marker and wrote on the board: Power: To wield or to fear?“Thoughts?” he asked, turning back to face the class.Mika was the first to speak, tapping her pen with a sharp rhythm. “

The principal’s office was suffocatingly full—twelve parents, six bruised yet unbothered students, and one overly dramatic Adonis, who was currently demanding justice. The atmosphere buzzed with an undercurrent of tension, mixed with the biting scent of freshly brewed coffee and the lingering trace of cheap cologne from too many bodies packed into a small, sterile room. It felt like a pressure cooker on the verge of exploding.Seventeen students injured. Seventeen. A number that wasn’t even half of the chaos that had transpired, but still, it was enough to keep everyone on edge.The principal, looking one stress wrinkle away from quitting, had recounted every detail of the fight, no matter how ridiculous or exaggerated it sounded. Fiero breaking bones, Samuel tearing skin, Moses leaving them paralyzed with a glance, and the girls knocking them unconscious—each incident had been met with gasps and angry mutterings.The mothers? Furious.