The next morning, Simon arrived at the training hall sharply at 5 a.m., dressed in a simple black tracksuit. His steps were silent, steady, unhurried. He pushed open the heavy door and entered.
Empty.
A vast, echoing training space met him—sterile white lights, polished floors, and not a single soul in sight.
He stood there, expressionless. The silence in the hall was suffocating, almost eerie. He didn't pace. Didn't check the time. He simply waited.
One hour passed.
At exactly 6:00 a.m., the training hall door creaked open with a slow metallic groan. Simon turned his gaze toward the entrance.
A girl stood there, hesitating just past the threshold. She was slender, with round glasses that almost looked too big for her face. Her shoulders were hunched, her eyes low, as if trying to shrink into herself.
Sophie Lin.
The newest member of the Falling Feather team. A timid, socially awkward recruit who had joined the company more out of financial necessity than ambition. Simon remembered her not because of her personality, but because of her skill—Healing Light, a short-range astral ability capable of mending physical wounds in moments.
She shuffled inside, clutching her arms and avoiding eye contact. But when her eyes briefly met Simon's, she froze. His calm, unreadable expression was unsettling—like a statue carved from ice, unmoving and devoid of warmth.
She walked up to him slowly, her steps tentative, and stood there, nervously fidgeting, saying nothing.
Simon didn't speak either.
The silence stretched.
Another fifteen minutes passed.
At 6:15, the door creaked open again.
A young man entered, adjusting his glasses as he scanned the room. He wore a loose hoodie, sleeves rolled to the elbow, and had the same nerdy, withdrawn air as Sophie.
His eyes went straight to her—and immediately, his body stiffened like he'd just walked in on a crime scene.
Jack Care.
Another newbie. Recently added to the Wolf Breed team. His technical skills were respectable, but his presence was anything but commanding. When his gaze shifted to Simon, he froze completely.
Simon didn't move. Just stared at him.
It was like being in the presence of something dangerous—calm on the surface, but capable of unthinkable violence if provoked.
Jack swallowed hard, then quietly walked over to stand beside Sophie. Neither of them dared speak.
The room remained deathly quiet.
Time ticked on until, at exactly 7:00 a.m., the door slammed open with force.
A cocky voice cut through the silence like a blade.
"Well, look who actually showed up this morning," came the mocking tone. "Didn't think this bitch had the guts."
Simon turned toward the voice.
The speaker strutted in confidently, a smirk plastered across his face. His hair was slicked back, uniform casually undone at the collar. He moved like someone used to getting his way.
Aaron Smith.
Again another newbie. Recently added to the thief's sons.
Aaron looked around the room, laughing to himself.
"My team leader said I had to show up, so 'your pride' wouldn't lose face. And now I see it's just you lot? Yeah, I'm leaving."
He turned on his heel, already halfway toward the door—until Simon's voice rang out, flat and cold:
"Where do you think you're going?"
Aaron froze.
Simon's tone wasn't loud, but it carried weight—firm, commanding, unshakable.
"Turn around and stand here."
Aaron blinked, then turned back with a sneer. "Who the hell do you think you're ordering around, you little shit?"
He stormed forward, pointing a finger inches from Simon's face. "You got something to say to me, say it—"
THUD.
Before Aaron could finish, he collapsed to his knees, hands clutched to his gut. The room echoed with the sound of Simon's punch landing—fast, efficient, and devastating.
Simon bent down slowly, face calm as ever. "You were saying?"
Aaron was wheezing, trying to recover from the blow. Before he could form a word, Simon grabbed him by the hair and yanked him upward with brutal force.
"AAAGHH—!"
The scream tore from Aaron's throat as he was pulled up by his scalp, legs dangling slightly off the ground. He thrashed, trying to free himself, but Simon's grip was like iron.
"Repeat that for me," Simon said, eyes locked on Aaron's face, voice cold and curious. "What were you saying again?"
"You fu—"
THUD.
Another punch to the stomach. Aaron convulsed, air rushing from his lungs in a gasping sob. His limbs flailed, but Simon didn't flinch.
Again, the same question.
Again, the same punishment.
By the third time, Aaron's words had turned into pained cries, barely coherent.
Sophie and Jack stood frozen, their faces pale. Neither dared move. Neither dared breathe too loudly. This wasn't training. This was a lesson.
Simon finally released Aaron, who crumpled to the floor like a broken puppet.
"Stand up," Simon ordered.
Aaron struggled to his feet, legs shaking.
"Turn around."
Aaron obeyed.
"Go stand there. Silently."
He did exactly that—shuffling over to stand beside Sophie and Jack without a word. His face twisted in pain, his hands trembling. And yet, not a single sound escaped his lips. He didn't dare cry out. Not under that cold, focused gaze.
Simon understood one thing with absolute clarity:
He wasn't here to play house with these teams.
There was no time for diplomacy, no space for sentimental camaraderie, and definitely no luxury for trust-building exercises. If he was going to bring three fragmented teams under his command in just one week, then there was only one strategy that guaranteed results:
Domination.
Through fear.Through strength.
If any of them wanted to play power games—posturing like rebellious teenagers fighting for control—he would break them. Not later. Not strategically. But immediately. Brutally. Without hesitation. Right where they stood.
It wasn't cruelty.It was necessity.
Fear worked best on the regular members. The fresh recruits. The inexperienced hot-heads who thought barking loudly made them leaders. Most of them would fall in line quickly—whether out of terror or simple instinct for survival.
But the leaders?
No. That would require something else.
They had rank. Pride. Influence. A history of authority and a false sense of invincibility. For them, fear alone wouldn't be enough.
Simon would have to crush them with overwhelming force—the kind that stripped away status and reduced ego to dust. He wouldn't argue or negotiate. He'd make it clear with one simple message:
"There is no seat at the table unless I build the table."
Time passed.
The training hall remained silent—eerily so. The only sound was the dull hum of overhead lights and the occasional shuffle of nervous feet.
Then, at exactly 8:00 a.m., the silence broke.
Footsteps echoed down the hall. Another member from the Wolf Breed team entered, glancing around. Clearly, he had been sent to check on Jack.
But the moment he saw the room—full of stiff-backed, three silent recruits—and caught sight of Simon standing at the center with arms folded, something instinctual kicked in.
He froze.
Simon didn't need to say much. A single gesture—sharp and precise—told the newcomer exactly where to stand.
He obeyed.
When his eyes landed on Aaron, still pale, visibly trembling, and clutching his side, there were no more questions.
The room remained still.The atmosphere—heavy.
Then another arrived.And another.
One from Falling Feather, likely sent to find Sophie.Another from Thief's Son, checking on Aaron.
Each walked in with purpose. Each left that purpose at the door.
They entered. They saw.They fell silent.
Some tried to speak, confused.Simon didn't answer. His eyes said more than words ever could.
Others, bolder than most, showed resistance—until Simon stepped forward.
Swift. Calculated. Violent, if needed.
One look at Aaron—bruised, humiliated, and subdued—was often enough to erase any trace of bravado.
Within forty minutes, nearly all non-leader members of the three teams were gathered in the training hall.
No one had returned from their search missions.
No one dared to leave.
They stood quietly in lines, heads low or eyes darting nervously, unsure of what exactly was happening—but wholly unwilling to challenge the atmosphere Simon had carved into the room like a blade through silence.
Only the team leaders remained absent.
Whether they were too proud to come down themselves or too foolish to feel the pressure building beneath them, Simon didn't care. Their absence only confirmed what he already knew:
They thought this was still their territory.They thought this was still their chain of command.
They were wrong.
And when they finally arrived—because they would—they wouldn't find teams. They wouldn't find loyalty.
They would find silence. Stillness.Obedience.
Simon stood in the center of the room, arms folded, eyes sweeping across the recruits.
Some of them were still trying to understand what had just happened. Others didn't care to ask. They had seen enough to recognize the shift in hierarchy.
The silence was no longer passive.
It was discipline.
Simon didn't shout. He didn't threaten. He didn't grandstand.
He had already spoken—with presence, with dominance, with action.
This wasn't chaos. This was control.