The block moved on, same as always. Guards barked orders. Steel doors slammed. Trays clattered. The routine was a machine designed to grind kids down until they either broke or became part of it. But for the first time, Jayden wasn't just moving through it—he was watching it, studying it.
Every detail became a piece on a board. Who Spider used to run his trades. Who owed Rico favors. Which guard ignored things for a candy bar. Which kid flinched whenever Knox's crew laughed too loud. Information was everywhere.
And Jayden was starting to see how to use it.
---
Shifting Pieces
It began in the cafeteria. One of Spider's runners, a scrawny kid named Lenny, sat shaking at the far end of the table. His tray was empty. Jayden noticed his hands twitching, the way his eyes kept darting to Spider's crew.
Jayden slid a piece of bread across the table. No words. Just the gesture. Lenny hesitated, then grabbed it, eating fast.
Spider caught the exchange. His smile didn't slip, but his eyes narrowed. That's when Jayden knew: he'd just stolen something from him. Not much, just a scrap of loyalty. But in a place like this, scraps mattered.
---
Dre's Coaching
That night, Dre's voice came through the wall. "Good move. Feed the hungry, and they'll remember who gave it. Doesn't have to be food. Could be respect. Could be protection. Currency ain't always paper."
Jayden whispered back, "Spider's watching."
"Good," Dre said. "Let him. The trick ain't just surviving him. It's making him realize you're not prey. You're a rival."
The word stuck in Jayden's chest like a live coal. Rival. Not victim. Not target. A player.
---
Spider Tightens the Net
Spider didn't let it go. At rec, he walked the yard with Rico flanking him like a shadow. He spread his arms wide, addressing anyone who would listen. "Funny thing about fire—it burns bright for a minute, then it dies. All that's left is smoke."
Laughter rippled. Rico smirked. Spider's eyes stayed locked on Jayden.
Jayden kept walking the track, steady, ignoring the bait. But inside, the fire coiled. He wanted to smash the laughter out of Spider's throat. He wanted to erase Rico's grin.
Instead, he stopped. Looked Spider dead in the eye. And smiled. Small. Cold. Controlled. Then turned away.
The laughter faltered. Just for a moment.
---
Planting Seeds
Over the next days, Jayden repeated the pattern. Small gestures. A nod at the right time. A step forward when someone weaker was cornered. Never fists, not yet. Just presence.
Kids started watching him differently. Not just as the fire-boy who snapped. As someone steady. Someone who didn't break.
And Spider hated it. Jayden could see it in the way his grin got sharper, his whispers thicker. The game was shifting, piece by piece.
---
The Choice Ahead
That night, Jayden opened his sketchbook. He drew a chessboard again, this time with more pieces. Pawns scattered, a rook shaped like Spider, a knight with Rico's sneer. At the center, a king shaped like fire—but this time the flame didn't rage out of control. It burned steady, contained.
Underneath he wrote: My game has started.
Through the wall, Dre tapped twice. Their code for one word: Ready.
And Jayden was.
For the first time since the system had swallowed him, he felt like he wasn't just surviving its traps. He was setting one of his own.