By the time Friday night rolled around, I had learned three important facts:
Mikhail had the patience of a rabid wolf.
Evan could hack into the cafeteria to change the daily menu. (We had cake three days straight.)
Ace had the energy of a caffeinated squirrel and zero brain-to-mouth filter.
And tonight?
Tonight was apparently Fight Club Night.
Held underground — literally under the main school building — the illegal matches were "voluntary" according to Madam Viper.
Which basically meant: you join, or you regret it.
The basement reeked of sweat, blood, and broken dreams.
Boys were gathered around a crude fighting ring made of metal chains.
Bets were flying through the air like confetti.
Ace clapped me on the back hard enough to dislocate my soul.
"C'mon, newbie! Time to prove you're not just a pretty face!"
I coughed.
"Define 'fight,' exactly."
"You punch. They cry. Simple."
Helpful.
Mikhail lounged against a pillar nearby, arms crossed, jaw tight. His black hoodie was half-zipped, revealing a ridiculous six-pack nobody asked to see.
His dark eyes gleamed dangerously when they locked on me.
Oh, he wanted me dead.
"Sign him up," Mikhail told Ace casually.
"Gladly."
Ace grinned and practically dragged me toward the ring.
Betrayal. So early.
Inside the circle, I sized up my opponent.
Big.
Muscles like tree trunks.
Tattoo snaking up his neck.
Great. I'm gonna die before I even get my first mission report filed.
The bell clanged.
The crowd roared.
My opponent lunged — fast for his size — aiming a brutal hook at my face.
Instinct kicked in.
I ducked, slid under his arm, and elbowed him sharply in the ribs.
He staggered, blinking in shock.
The crowd went wild.
"Pretty boy's got moves!" Ace howled, tossing a handful of cash into the air.
Mikhail's smirk dropped about two inches.
My opponent growled, charging again.
This time I sidestepped neatly, planting a foot right behind his heel.
He tripped and smashed face-first into the dirt floor.
KO.
Silence.
Then chaos.
Money was being exchanged faster than bullets.
Boys slapped my back as I stumbled out of the ring, breathing hard but grinning wide.
Evan tossed me a bottle of water without looking up from his phone.
"You're not terrible," he said mildly.
"High praise, coming from you," I joked, gulping the water.
Mikhail stalked closer, towering over me like a storm cloud.
"You got lucky," he muttered, eyes sharp.
"Or maybe you're underestimating me," I countered sweetly.
Something dangerous flickered across his face.
For one tiny second, it felt like the entire world narrowed down to just the two of us.
Heat. Challenge.
Unspoken threats.
Then Ace ruined it.
"WINNER BUYS DINNER!" he whooped, throwing his arm around my neck again.
I nearly choked as he dragged me away from Mikhail's murder-stare.
Later that night — Cafeteria
Ace insisted on celebrating by ordering everything deep-fried and sugar-coated.
Evan muttered about cholesterol and possible heart attacks but still ate three donuts.
Mikhail sulked silently across the table, stabbing his food like it owed him money.
And me?
I sat there, laughing too loudly, pretending not to feel the weight of Mikhail's burning gaze.
Mission Update:
Ingratiate into the group: Check.
Blend in like a regular criminal student: Check.
Avoid catching the attention of the mafia prince I was spying on:
Massive, spectacular FAIL.
Notes to self:
Do not accept random soccer challenges from Ace. (He plays dirty.)
Do not touch Evan's laptop. (He has booby-trapped it. Literally.)
Never turn your back on Mikhail. (I like my kidneys where they are.)
And most importantly:
Remember why you're here, idiot.
Because this school?
It wasn't just any criminal training university.
It was a front.
And somewhere deep inside these walls, the real masterminds — the true enemies — were hiding.
The ones who destroyed my life years ago.
I wasn't just here for intel.
I was here for revenge.
And if I had to pretend to be a cocky, reckless, pretty-boy student to get it?
So be it.
End of Chapter 3.