Sid didn’t sleep.

  He stood on the balcony long after the call ended, the city lights flickering below like a thousand indifferent stars.

  “You can’t run from your real one.”

  That voice.

  He hadn’t heard it in years.

  But muscle memory doesn’t forget.

  Neither does trauma.

  His phone vibrated again.

  Unknown number.

  This time, a message.

  “We should talk. Before they find out who you really are.”

  No signature.

  No location.

  But attached was a single image.

  An old photo.

  Four boys standing in a concrete underground arena.

  Bruised. Bloodied. Victorious.

  And in the center—

  Him.

  Younger.

  Colder.

  Unsmiling.

  Underneath the photo:

  “Aren’t you tired of pretending to be Sid?”

  His hand tightened around the phone.

  So they found him.

  Or someone did.

  Su noticed immediately.

  He was quieter.

  Still composed.

  But distant.

  “Did something happen?” she asked during breakfast.

  “No.”

  Lie.

  She narrowed her eyes.

  “You don’t get that look for ‘no.’”

  He smirked faintly.

  “What look?”

  “The calculating one.”

  She wasn’t wrong.

  He reached for his bag.

  “Just preparing.”

  “For what?”

  He met her gaze.

  “For war.”

  She didn’t laugh.

  By midday, the school exploded.

  Not physically.

  Digitally.

  A video surfaced.

  Anonymous account.

  Private network dump.

  Title:

  “Scholarship Saint?”

  It was the underground fight footage.

  Edited.

  Enhanced.

  Clear.

  Sid in a cage-like ring.

  Dodging.

  Striking.

  Breaking someone’s nose.

  Finishing the match without emotion.

  Students stared at their phones in disbelief.

  Whispers turned into chaos.

  “That’s him.”

  “He’s insane.”

  “He’s not normal.”

  “Is that even legal?”

  Su’s phone buzzed.

  If you discover this tale on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the violation.

  She opened it.

  The video loaded.

  Her breath stopped.

  That wasn’t self-defense.

  That wasn’t schoolyard training.

  That was brutal.

  Efficient.

  Controlled violence.

  Her fingers trembled.

  She looked up.

  Sid was standing at the end of the hallway.

  Watching her.

  Not panicked.

  Not defensive.

  Just… waiting.

  She walked toward him slowly.

  “Tell me that’s fake.”

  Silence.

  “Sid.”

  “It’s real.”

  The words were steady.

  Her chest tightened.

  “Why?”

  He glanced around the hallway.

  Too many ears.

  “Not here.”

  They stood where it all began.

  Wind sharp.

  Sky grey.

  “You lied to me,” Su said quietly.

  “I omitted.”

  “That’s worse.”

  He didn’t argue.

  She held up her phone.

  “You were fighting for money.”

  “Yes.”

  “In illegal arenas.”

  “Yes.”

  “Why?”

  Finally—

  A crack in his calm.

  “Because I needed to.”

  “That’s not an answer.”

  “It’s the only one you get.”

  Her eyes watered again — but this time not from helplessness.

  From frustration.

  “I told you I didn’t want to be part of a power game.”

  “You’re not.”

  “Then what is this?!”

  He stepped closer.

  “Survival.”

  She froze.

  “What does that mean?”

  He looked at the skyline.

  “You think I studied martial arts for fun?”

  “You said you trained since five.”

  “Yes.”

  “Why?”

  Silence.

  The wind filled the space.

  “I didn’t grow up in a bakery,” he said finally.

  Her heartbeat spiked.

  “What?”

  “My family owns one now.”

  Now.

  The word landed.

  “You’re not making sense.”

  “I wasn’t always… this.”

  He ran a hand through his hair.

  “Before twelve, my name wasn’t Sid.”

  The air went still.

  “What was it?”

  He looked at her.

  Long pause.

  “…Arin.”

  Her breath caught.

  “That’s your real name?”

  “Yes.”

  “And why did you change it?”

  His jaw tightened.

  “Because Arin died.”

  She stepped back slightly.

  “What are you talking about?”

  “I grew up around people who don’t play fair. Fighting wasn’t sport. It was training.”

  “For what?”

  He met her gaze.

  “For becoming useful.”

  The words chilled her.

  “Useful to who?”

  He didn’t answer immediately.

  That hesitation said enough.

  “You were part of something,” she whispered.

  “Yes.”

  “What?”

  “A private network.”

  Her stomach dropped.

  “Criminal?”

  “Strategic.”

  “That’s not better!”

  He stepped closer.

  “I got out.”

  “How?”

  “I won.”

  The way he said it wasn’t pride.

  It was memory.

  She looked at him differently now.

  Not scared.

  But aware.

  “You’ve been fighting your whole life.”

  “Yes.”

  “And now you’re fighting for me?”

  A pause.

  “Yes.”

  That part wasn’t calculated.

  It just… came out.

  Her eyes softened slightly.

  But confusion remained.

  “Why didn’t you tell me?”

  “Because I wanted you to see me.”

  “I did see you.”

  “Not him.”

  She looked at the video again.

  “You’re not that person anymore.”

  He didn’t respond.

  That silence was loud.

  Later that evening—

  A black car waited outside Sid’s dorm.

  He recognized the driver.

  From years ago.

  The door opened.

  The man stepped out.

  Tall.

  Scar across his cheek.

  Cold smile.

  “Well done, Arin.”

  Sid didn’t move.

  “Don’t call me that.”

  The man chuckled.

  “You think changing your name changes your blood?”

  “What do you want?”

  “To congratulate you.”

  “For what?”

  “For surviving.”

  The man stepped closer.

  “You left without permission. That usually ends badly.”

  “I wasn’t property.”

  A dark laugh.

  “Everyone is property to someone.”

  Sid’s fists tightened.

  “What do you want?”

  The man looked up at the dorm building.

  “You’ve become ambitious.”

  Sid’s eyes sharpened.

  “Stay away from her.”

  The man smirked.

  “Oh, this isn’t about the girl.”

  He pulled out his phone.

  Showed another image.

  Su’s father.

  In a much younger photo.

  Standing beside the same underground arena.

  Sid’s world tilted.

  “That’s impossible.”

  The man smiled.

  “You really thought your worlds were separate?”

  No.

  No way.

  Su’s father was corporate elite.

  Refined.

  Political.

  Controlled.

  Not underground fighting circuits.

  “Your ‘escape’ wasn’t random,” the man continued. “You were placed.”

  Sid’s heartbeat pounded.

  “Placed?”

  “Monitored. Groomed. Observed.”

  “For what?”

  The man leaned closer.

  “For this.”

  His mind raced.

  You have three months.

  Win.

  Survive.

  Light’s calm interest.

  The investigation.

  The invitation instead of destruction.

  It clicked.

  This wasn’t accidental rivalry.

  This was evaluation.

  He wasn’t infiltrating their world.

  He was stepping back into it.

  “You were never outside the board,” the man said quietly.

  “You were always a piece.”

  Sid’s breathing slowed.

  Controlled.

  If that was true—

  Then everything changes.

  “Why tell me now?” Sid asked.

  “Because the board is shifting.”

  The man’s smile faded slightly.

  “There’s a third faction moving.”

  Sid’s eyes sharpened.

  “What faction?”

  “People who don’t want the Light–Lee alliance.”

  That made sense.

  Corporate enemies.

  Political rivals.

  “And they want?”

  “You.”

  Silence.

  “Why?”

  “Because you’re unpredictable.”

  The man stepped back.

  “You’ve got three months? Cute.”

  He opened the car door.

  “You might not have three weeks.”

  The door shut.

  The car drove off.

  Sid stood alone in the street.

  Everything he thought he understood—

  Was incomplete.

  Light stared at the same underground arena photo.

  His assistant spoke carefully.

  “We confirmed it. Sid—Arin—was part of the Black Circle network.”

  Light nodded slightly.

  “And?”

  “They are resurfacing.”

  Light’s expression remained calm.

  “Good.”

  “Sir?”

  Light’s eyes gleamed faintly.

  “A predictable enemy is boring.”

  He placed the photo down.

  “But a ghost who doesn’t know his role?”

  He smiled faintly.

  “Now that is useful.”

  Su waited in her dorm.

  Sid hadn’t responded in an hour.

  Her anxiety rose.

  Her phone buzzed.

  Unknown number.

  She hesitated.

  Then answered.

  “Hello?”

  Silence.

  Then—

  A distorted voice.

  “Miss Light.”

  Her body froze.

  “Yes?”

  “You should tell your boyfriend to stop digging.”

  Her pulse skyrocketed.

  “What?”

  “You don’t understand the scale of the game you’ve entered.”

  Her voice shook.

  “Who is this?”

  A soft chuckle.

  “Someone who doesn’t care who wins.”

  The line cut.

  Her phone buzzed again.

  A photo.

  Sid.

  Unconscious.

  In the back of a van.

  Her vision blurred.

  The message under it:

  “Three months is too generous.”

  Su dropped her phone.

  Outside, sirens echoed faintly in the distance.

  And somewhere in a dark moving vehicle—

  Sid’s eyes slowly opened.

  He wasn’t surprised.

  He was calculating.

  But even he didn’t know—

  Who had taken him.

  Or why.