Almost there,
Gil thought.
He smiled widely.
That last strike had been close—closer than ever. Seeing the solemn expression on Hector's face only made his grin broaden.
Taking advantage of the man's newfound wariness, Gil took a moment to regulate his breathing and rest.
Feeling the strain on his body and his rapidly depleting stamina, he arrived at a grim conclusion: he had to end this quickly.
But that was fine; at least now he saw a way to reach that bastard.
Breathing deeply, he focused all of his attention on the chains, and though he didn't have the slightest clue about what they were, they could help him to win.
For Gil, that was enough.
Readying himself for what was to come, he focused intensely on them—every shift, change, and sound they made.
But just as things were looking up, Hector made his move. So focused as he was, he missed the change in the man's demeanor.
Instead, he felt it... more acutely.
It was too fast—almost too fast for Gil to even register, let alone react to.
Looking at the restless chains, Gil barely managed to throw himself to the side in time.
But he didn't come out unscathed this time.
He stumbled.
Without even knowing when or how it had happened, it felt as though he had tried to stop a battering ram with his bare hands.
He was wounded, instinctively cradling his left arm.
It hung limply at his side—bruised, battered, and bleeding.
He stared at his arm for a second, confused by the sudden damage.
Then came the pain.
It hit him with such intensity that Gil felt lightheaded, the world spinning for a brief moment.
"Hmmm—!!"
Gritting his teeth and pressing his lips tight, Gil didn't make a sound.
He refused to give his opponent that satisfaction.
Sweat poured down his face, stinging his eyes, but he refused to look away from Hector.
The state of his arm was warning enough.
Even through the agonizing pain, his mind grew increasingly clear.
Looking at Hector's cold eyes behind the mask—now completely devoid of their earlier playfulness—Gil knew.
Playtime was over.
Indeed, Hector didn't stop.
After the left arm came the right, making him lose much of his offensive power immediately.
Then, he targeted Gil's stomach, knocking the air out of his lungs and forcing him to keel over, scrambling just to stay on his feet.
The strikes were chillingly precise—calculated to inflict maximum pain and incapacitate him without being truly lethal.
At first, Gil thought Hector was acting out of anger or shame for almost being hit.
He thought the man wanted to humiliate him.
But as the seconds ticked by, he noticed a pattern in the abuse. Hector never once targeted his legs or his head.
As his thoughts reached this conclusion, a sinking feeling settled in Gil's gut. He could do nothing but try his best to dodge the onslaught.
Then, suddenly, Hector stopped his offensive. He stood still and asked a single, freezing question:
"What have you been looking at since earlier?"
Gil's heart sank to the bottom.
Gil stayed silent, looking defiantly at Hector.
The man seemed to have expected as much.
"You won't hide anything with eyes like those," Hector said.
My eyes?
Gil was puzzled, but he kept a straight face, refusing to react.
Yet, his expression must have betrayed him, as Hector continued to scrutinize him intensely, focusing particularly on his eyes.
"You seem unaware of it yourself."
Seeing that Gil wouldn't answer, Hector began to guess aloud.
"What could it be, I wonder?" his tone was speculative. "Since you walked in, you have been looking around, and that is how you found us. I first chalked it up to you having sharp senses."
Gil's breathing hitched as Hector continued.
"That could have explained why you ran earlier at the site; someone who dares to face me to this extent is no coward," he said, seemingly praising Gil.
Alas, the more he spoke, the more uneasy the "praised" boy felt.
Oblivious to Gil's discomfort, the man continued his monologue, his attention locked on the boy's expressions. "But then, in the course of our little game..."
A game.
Gil ground his teeth.
His suffering had been reduced to a mere game.
Once again ignoring the reaction, Hector said: "Your eyes were still darting around even before I acted. The longer we played, the more focused you seemed, as if you were gazing at something in the void."
There, Hector paused, his gaze growing sharper by the second.
Gil could almost feel the sting of it on his skin.
"The most curious part is that, since then, not only did your eyes change, but you became able to keep up—barely. So..."
Taking a step forward, he appeared directly in front of Gil, looking down on him. "Could you tell me how you did that? I am curious."
Silence fell once more.
Even the chains lay still, making no sound.
But the quiet did nothing to appease Gil.
Far from it.
More than ever before, Gil felt that no matter the cost, he couldn't let Hector find the truth.
So, taking a deep breath and flashing a bloody, defiant smile, he spoke:
"You're just too slow."
Hector blinked, taking a moment to process the words.
He sighed, and then...
A blur.
Followed by a heavy impact.
Gil's vision turned dark, and he collapsed.
Looking at the unconscious boy at his feet, Hector's mind raced.
It was obvious that something was off with the kid. Perhaps it would be better to end him right here and now to avoid future trouble.
But he... couldn't bring himself to do it.
Not because he lacked the heart, but simply because, to Hector, it would be a waste.
Crouching down, he hoisted Gil onto his shoulders and turned to leave.
Let's see what other surprises you have for me, kid.
His companion trailed behind him, his eyes filled with a complex mix of emotions as he looked at the unconscious Gil.
There was a faint animosity, a sliver of curiosity... and pity.
Sometime later, someone else came into the hallway.
.
Tall, handsome, fair-skinned, and svelte, with shoulder-length dark hair and beautiful green eyes like emeralds.
He was the picture of the dreamt-of charming prince; added to that, his somber temperament made him extremely popular with the opposite sex.
But now, urgency and unease clouded his face, as he clutched tightly a strip of cloth wrapping an old phone and earbuds.
He stopped at the fresh bloodstains on the ground. Seeing them, his expression grew ugly and his eyes cold.
Another group of well-trained and disciplined men came in after him, staying three steps behind, heads low, waiting for the first comer to acknowledge them.
Finally, taking a deep breath to rein in his feelings, the young man asked, his tone cold:
"Any clues?"
One of the men responded:
"No, boss, they didn't leave any."
"The recordings?" asked the young man.
"They ceased working at some point. We are still searching for the reason."
"And the others living there?" asked the boss again.
"They seem to have been drugged and are still unconscious."
"So, let me get this straight. My friend has disappeared, and you have no clue who did it or why. Have I got it right?" The boss, Elijah, asked, seemingly calmly.
But at his question, the men's expressions paled and shifted visibly.
Taking a last look at the bloodstains, he turned on his heels, his voice drifting as he left:
"Find something before midnight, or... I won't have any use left for you guys."