Most adults would freeze up if a guy came at them with a blade. Even trained fighters sometimes got tunnel vision, eyes locked on the weapon, brain scrambling to calculate every move. That's just human nature.

So seeing Max handle the situation the way he did? That caught the Rejected Corps off guard. All of them.

He was just a high schooler. No military background. No combat history.

But the way he moved, quick, focused, deliberate, wasn't just good. It was professional. He'd disarmed the attacker and dropped him with a single, clean blow. Efficient. No wasted movement.

What really shook them, though, was how he did it.

The technique Max used? It wasn't random. It mirrored some of the exact methods they used. Stuff they were trained in. Moves they'd picked up through years of hard, ugly experience.

And Max had done it after seeing it once.

There was no way he'd learned that from some self-defense YouTube tutorial. Watching a move on video and pulling it off in a life-or-death moment? Completely different ball game. And the kind of stuff they trained in? It wasn't the kind of thing civilians were ever supposed to learn.

So the only logical conclusion? Max had been watching. Studying. Processing. And in a high-pressure moment, he'd replicated it near perfectly.

That wasn't luck. That was instinct and skill. And anyone with real experience would've been impressed.

"Will you look at that," one of the Rejected Corps muttered, ducking just as a meat cleaver sailed past his head. Without missing a beat, he caught the attacker's wrist, twisted it, and forced the guy to stab the blade into his own shoulder before dropping him with a heavy kick. "Guess there's a reason the boss wants to meet him after all."

"I never met that Dipter guy," one of the Rejected Corps said, brushing blood off his sleeve. "But I've heard stories. If you're his replacement, kid... I think I'm starting to see why."

Another member cracked a grin. "What do you think, Rain? Maybe the kid's not half bad after all. Guess you knew what you were doing when you sucker punched him outta nowhere."

Rain didn't answer right away. He just stared across the room at Max, who was still standing by the entrance, untouched.

The fight was winding down. Most of the Chalkline boys were either unconscious, bleeding, or running. No more knives flying, no more chaos, just bodies on the ground and the smell of blood and broken food in the air.

Upstairs, Dud was finishing things off in the most Dud way possible, fighting three guys at once.

They were big, fast, and knew how to swing a blade. But Dud? He looked completely at ease. Confident. Every step he took had purpose.

He didn't hold back either. His strikes were brutal, aimed at the neck, quick, relentless shots, not once, but in bursts of two or three, all in the same spot.

Then one of the biggest men lunged, and Dud pivoted, slipping behind him. One hard kick sent the guy flying into the upper-floor railing.

Without missing a beat, Dud charged. He leapt, knees first, crashing into the man's chest.

The barrier gave way.

Both of them flew through the air.

They slammed into a table below, the impact shattering it into splinters. The man's body hit first, cushioning the fall. Dud landed on top, rolling off like it was just another Tuesday.

"Good thing the guy was built like a truck," Dud muttered, dusting himself off. "Otherwise I'd be the one getting scraped off the floor."

He glanced around the room. The Rejected Corps were all still standing, some bloodied, one missing a finger, another barely upright, but alive.

And then there was Max, still near the door. Still unhurt.

Dud smiled.

"So the kid made it through, huh?" he said. "That's good. Real good. Now I want to test him myself... even more."

"Alright!" Dud yelled, loud enough for the broken windows to rattle. "Let this be a message to the Chalkline boys, we just hit a major part of your operation. And we're not done. We'll be back to clean up the rest."

The Rejected Corps erupted in cheers. Some laughed, others stomped on the guys they'd dropped, making sure no one forgot who had walked out on top. They moved toward the exit as a loose, rowdy unit, bloodied, bruised, and still proud.

As Dud passed Max, he glanced sideways. "Looks like you've been in a fight or two yourself," he said. "Now I get it. I'm starting to see why the boss has his eyes on you."

He gave a smirk. "So? How was it? A little different from your high school brawls?"

Max looked around at the wreckage, shattered tables, unconscious men, blood streaked across tile. Sure, the weapons made a difference. The techniques were more refined. Deadlier. But in his mind, nothing had felt more dangerous than that moment back when Dipter and Snide jumped him. That fear had been real.

Still, he knew better than to say that out loud.

If he told them street-level high school fights were even close to this, they'd laugh him right out of the building. Hell, hewould've laughed if someone had told him that before.

Either the streets had changed, or high school kids were getting a lot more dangerous these days.

As they stepped outside, Max felt Rain's eyes on him. A few glances, no words. Just quiet tension in the air.

The rest of the Corps piled into the van. Dud and Max headed toward a separate car.

"What?" Rain called out. "You're not letting him ride with us to the boss's place?"

Dud didn't even slow down. "And give you all a chance to beat him into mush? Nah. This one's got value. I've seen enough to evaluate that for myself."

He opened the car door, glanced back one last time. "Sorry, Rain. You'll have to wait a while before you get your hands on him again."

The car pulled out first, with the van trailing close behind. As they drove, Max watched the city blur past the windows, slowly giving way to more open roads and empty space. Streetlights thinned out. Buildings got smaller. Fewer people. Fewer signs of anything normal.

Where are we even going? Max wondered, watching the skyline disappear behind them. It felt like they were leaving the city entirely.

Eventually, he started seeing fences, tall, rusted, heavy-duty metal ones, stretching in every direction.

Is this... an old military base? Max thought. Of course it is. These guys love their theme a little too much.

Finally, Dud slowed the car and rolled up to a massive metal hangar. It looked abandoned from the outside, weathered paint, bullet-pocked steel, but something about it still felt alive underneath. Like it was holding secrets.

Dud threw the car into park and stretched his arms like they hadn't just stomped a gang into the floor a few minutes ago.

"Alright!" he said, cracking his neck. "We're here. And the boss is waiting for you."