The rise of the unorthodox

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"I guess I should explain why I'm here," Devin started, breaking the silence. He sat down beside me on the grass, his posture relaxed but his expression heavy. "I'm the son of Archer Page, the country's biggest business tycoon."

I nodded slowly, not interrupting, letting him speak.

"I have a lot of siblings. Each one's more successful than the last. They've all done something to make my father proud—running his businesses, breaking global records, making huge decisions. But me? I'm the disappointment," Devin continued, his voice quieter now. "I wasn't like them. I'm not as smart. I've always been a little… dull. And my family made sure I knew that."

He sighed deeply, his eyes distant as he stretched his legs out and lay down, hands behind his head. The weight of his words lingered in the air. I stayed silent, letting him go on.

"My brothers and sisters, they're brilliant. They were making international moves by the time they were teenagers. Me? The first decision I made about one of Dad's companies? It went bankrupt. After that, I became the black sheep of the family. My dad… he hates me. My mom? She's ashamed to have given birth to someone like me."

Devin paused, taking a deep breath, as if he was trying to shake off the memories. "So, in exchange for their neglect, they spoiled me. Gave me money to keep me quiet. Told me to smile for the cameras and pretend everything was fine. But here's the truth…" His voice dropped lower, "If I died tomorrow, they wouldn't bat an eyelash."

I felt the anger in his words, but it wasn't directed at me. It was raw, vulnerable. He was fighting something much bigger than I had imagined.

"That's why I joined the Army program," he said, turning his head toward me. "To prove to myself that I'm not useless. To show that I can do something real."

I sat there, processing his confession. I had thought of him as arrogant and spoiled, but now I saw the depth of his pain.

"Thank you for sharing that with me," I said quietly. It felt like the only thing I could say.

Devin smiled, a small, genuine grin that didn't seem forced. "I'm not obnoxious, you know? I want to help you. I don't think you're weak. You just need to refine your power. Let's train together until the last day. Then, you can show those two how strong you've gotten."

His words, despite his earlier cockiness, felt sincere. I hadn't expected to hear that from him. I realized then that I'd been judging a book by its cover. And while I wasn't sure he wasn't still spoiled, I knew one thing—he could help me get stronger. And I was going to take that opportunity.

He reached his hand toward me, palm open. I met his grip firmly, shaking it.

"Great! Training starts tomorrow. Don't be late," he said, his usual cocky tone returning. "We'll train right here. See you then."

He walked off, leaving me alone with a swirl of thoughts. Maybe this was my chance. Maybe I could finally prove I wasn't as weak as they all thought.

As I made my way back to the dorm, the weight of the day pressed on me. I had barely gotten through the door when I ran into Mathew.

"Beatrix! What's up? It's been what? Five days?" He hummed around me like some persistent fly.

I rolled my eyes. "No, I will not fight you. Goodbye."

Every time we crossed paths, he asked me to fight again. I said no every time, but he just wouldn't take the hint.

As I entered my dorm room, I was greeted by the sight of Delight and Daniel sitting on my bed. Of course, I couldn't kick them out—it was her room, too.

The moment I walked in, their conversation stopped. They both stared at me, and the silence felt thick. I dropped my bag on the bed and didn't even try to break the awkwardness.

"Hey, what's good?" Daniel waved awkwardly at me. I ignored him. There was no reason to engage.

He and Delight were sitting on opposite sides of the bed, still in their uniforms. Their body language screamed tension, but they didn't speak up either.

"Look, Beatrix, let's talk about what happened in class, okay?" Delight said, her usual cheerful attitude plastered on her face.

I gave her a sidelong glance and then turned away. "Look, I got your message loud and clear. I'm weak. The weak and the supposed strong don't mix. You can continue with your discussion, but I won't listen in." I slipped my headphones on and tuned them out.

But as I sat there, I couldn't help but think about Devin's story. Something didn't add up. Could they really have outcasted him just because he wasn't as smart? He had an incredible fighting instinct—more than made up for his lack of academic success.

I pulled out my phone and started searching. There had to be more to this.

I dug through search results until I found something buried in an old blog. It wasn't widely known, almost hidden, but it caught my attention. I read through it twice, unsure if my eyes were deceiving me.

"The oldest of the Page twins has now been declared dead. It has been confirmed that Devin, the youngest of the twins, killed his older brother in a fight. Devin apparently couldn't control his anger, nor his power, and struck his brother in the head with such force that it resulted in his death. The deceased, Dion Page, was considered the greatest mind the Page family ever produced. This is all we know for now—stay tuned for more."

I froze. This had to be from when Devin was only seven years old. A seven-year-old, and a murderer? But as I thought about it more, I realized I couldn't judge him for something like that. His family had turned their back on him for less—who was I to think he was any different? Maybe it was something he had to keep hidden, something too painful for him to confront.

I touched the small, hidden horn in my hair, an instinctive gesture. I understood, more than anyone could know. Sometimes, some things are just too dangerous to let out.