Professor Arceta

The training grounds of the Vergara estate were hidden deep within their sprawling property, far from prying eyes. It was a stark contrast to the luxury of the family mansion. Here, the air smelled of gunpowder and sweat, and the sound of gunshots echoed through the high walls.

Colet stood at the center of the grounds, her hoodie replaced by a fitted black training outfit. A fresh bandage peeked out from under her sleeve, her arm still aching from the wound she’d earned in her father’s latest “lesson.”

Her father, Don Alvaro Vergara, towered over her with an intimidating presence, his sharp eyes scrutinizing her every move.

“Pick it up,” Alvaro barked, gesturing to the gun on the table between them.

Colet hesitated for a fraction of a second before stepping forward and grabbing the pistol. Its cold weight was familiar, yet it sent a chill down her spine every time she held it.

“Today, you’re going to learn how to fire under pressure,” Alvaro said, his voice devoid of warmth. He pointed to a row of moving targets on the far end of the grounds. “The moment you hesitate is the moment you lose. And in our world, losing means death.”

Colet clenched her jaw but said nothing. She raised the gun, her hands steady despite the storm raging inside her.

“Go,” Alvaro ordered.

The targets started to move erratically, sliding left and right on their tracks. Colet took a deep breath and fired. The first shot missed, the bullet hitting the wall behind the target.

“Again!” Alvaro barked.

Colet adjusted her aim and fired again. This time, the bullet hit the edge of the target.

“Not good enough,” Alvaro snapped. “In the field, that would’ve gotten you killed.”

Colet gritted her teeth, her frustration mounting. She fired three more shots in quick succession, hitting the center of the next two targets but barely grazing the third.

Alvaro’s lip curled into a faint smirk. “Better. But not good enough to lead.”

As the lesson ended, Colet wiped the sweat from her brow, her arms trembling from the strain. Alvaro approached, his gaze hard.

“You’ve improved,” he said, his tone neutral. “But you’re still holding back.”

“I’m not holding back,” Colet shot back, her voice sharp.

“You are,” Alvaro said, his eyes narrowing. “And I know why. You’re still clinging to the idea that you can live a normal life. That you’re not one of us. But that’s a lie, Colet.”

Colet’s fists clenched at her sides. “Maybe I don’t want to be one of you,” she said through gritted teeth.

Alvaro chuckled darkly, shaking his head. “It doesn’t matter what you want. You’re a Vergara. You can’t escape that.”

“I’ve been trying,” Colet said bitterly. “For years, I’ve been trying to leave. But you just won’t let me go, will you?”

“No,” Alvaro said simply. “Because whether you like it or not, you’re the only one capable of taking over. You’re smart, resourceful, and you know how to fight. That makes you valuable.”

Colet laughed bitterly, the sound hollow. “Valuable? Is that all I am to you? A tool to keep your empire alive?”

Alvaro’s expression hardened. “You’re my daughter. And that means you have responsibilities—to this family and to the legacy I’ve built.”

Alvaro gestured to a large crate nearby. Tomas, standing silently in the corner, opened it to reveal a set of knives.

“Pick one,” Alvaro commanded.

Colet hesitated, her stomach churning as she stepped forward. She picked up a small, sleek blade, its edge gleaming in the sunlight.

“You’re going to learn how to defend yourself up close,” Alvaro said. He stepped back and motioned to Tomas. “Tomas, show her.”

Tomas approached with a knife of his own, his expression unreadable. “Ready?” he asked.

Colet nodded, her grip tightening on the hilt of her blade.

Tomas lunged, and Colet barely dodged in time. She retaliated with a quick slash, but Tomas blocked her easily, his movements precise and controlled.

“Too slow,” Alvaro said from the sidelines.

Colet gritted her teeth, her frustration fueling her as she moved faster, her blade cutting through the air with more force. Tomas still parried her strikes, but she managed to graze his arm, drawing a thin line of blood.

“Good,” Alvaro said, a hint of approval in his voice. “Again.”

The session continued until Colet was panting, her body sore and her mind buzzing with adrenaline.

After the lesson, Colet sat alone on the steps of the training grounds, staring at the knife still in her hand. The weight of it felt heavier than before, as if it carried the burden of her family’s expectations.

Tomas approached quietly, holding a bottle of water. He handed it to her without a word.

“Thanks,” Colet muttered, taking a sip.

“You did well today,” Tomas said, his voice softer than usual.

Colet scoffed. “Yeah, well, it doesn’t feel like it.”

Tomas studied her for a moment before speaking. “You may not like this life, Colet. But you’re good at it. Better than most. That’s why your father won’t let you go.”

Colet looked away, her grip tightening on the bottle. “I didn’t ask for this.”

“No one does,” Tomas said quietly. “But sometimes, we don’t get to choose.”

Colet said nothing, her thoughts drifting to the life she had tried to build outside of her family—the nights at 7/11, the art classes, and… Aiah.

Her chest tightened. She knew she couldn’t go back.

Not now.