If you think regular schools have boring classes, try surviving a criminal university's Special Training Day.
Summary?
No textbooks.
No mercy.
No guarantee you'll leave with all your bones intact.
8:00 AM — Training Grounds
The sun barely peeked over the blood-red rooftops when the bell rang.
All students were already assembled in the massive courtyard — an open-air arena lined with cracked concrete, climbing ropes, obstacle courses, and oh yeah, blunt weapon racks.
Ace slung an arm around my shoulders casually.
"Smile, Pretty Boy. Today's the day you become a real criminal."
"I'd rather not," I muttered.
Evan, standing stiffly on my other side, adjusted his gloves and scowled at the sun like it personally offended him.
"If we survive, I'm dropping out," he grumbled.
From the raised platform, Professor Cain — yes, the Cain, rumored to have blown up a bank just for a "training exercise" — bellowed:
"PARTNER UP!"
Instant chaos.
Boys shoved, shouted, wrestled each other to claim the least violent partners.
I turned to grab Ace's sleeve, but—
A shadow fell over me.
I looked up.
And froze.
Mikhail.
Standing right in front of me, arms crossed, smirking like he knew I was about to pass out.
"Partner?" he said silkily.
It wasn't a request.
It was a death sentence.
8:15 AM — Sparring Area
"Ready, Pretty Boy?" Mikhail asked, cracking his knuckles.
"Ready to die?" I mumbled under my breath.
He grinned.
The whistle blew.
I barely dodged the first attack — a swift punch that would've cracked my ribs.
"Focus," Mikhail said lazily, circling me.
I backed away, hands up, trying to remember every self-defense move I'd ever learned.
Which, honestly, wasn't much.
Another attack — this time a sweep at my legs.
I jumped.
Barely.
Mikhail's grin widened.
"You're faster than you look."
"Thanks. You're scarier than you look," I shot back.
He laughed — a deep, warm sound that made my knees a little weaker than the roundhouse kick he just tried to land.
I spun awkwardly, trying to regain my balance—
—and tripped straight into him.
SLAM.
Chest to chest.
Again.
Our faces inches apart.
For one dizzy second, neither of us moved.
His hand closed around my wrist.
Tight.
Possessive.
"Careful," he murmured. "You're in dangerous territory."
I gulped.
"I know."
And somehow, I wasn't sure if I was talking about the fight or... something else.
8:30 AM — Locker Rooms
After surviving the sparring session (barely), I dragged my aching body toward the showers.
Ace waved from his bench, already shirtless and humming a murder ballad like it was a pop song.
Evan shoved a towel into my hands and muttered:
"Don't drop the soap."
"Not funny!"
I shoved him back.
Sighing, I peeled off my sweat-soaked uniform and wrapped the towel around my waist.
Just as I was about to step into the showers, I realized —
I forgot my shampoo.
It was still in my locker.
Across the huge, open room.
Where dozens of half-naked, very male students were wandering around.
Panic mode: activated.
Clutching my towel for dear life, I sprinted across the slippery tiles.
Halfway there — disaster.
"Oi, Pretty Boy!" someone shouted.
I slipped.
Arms flailing.
Heart plummeting.
Towel slipping—
Strong arms caught me mid-fall.
I crashed into a warm, solid chest.
Looking up, mortified, I saw—
Mikhail.
Again.
He looked down at me, wet hair dripping, towel slung low around his hips.
His bare torso glistened with water, tattoos crawling down one side like forbidden secrets.
My brain promptly short-circuited.
Again.
"You just love falling into my arms, don't you?" he drawled.
I yanked myself free, cheeks flaming, and bolted.
"NOT ON PURPOSE!" I yelled over my shoulder.
His deep chuckle followed me all the way back to my locker.
Mission Update:
Stay unnoticed:
Absolutely failed.
Avoid suspiciously hot mafia prince:
Crashed into him. Twice. Naked.
Remain cool and professional:
...hahahahaha.
I was doomed.
And something told me...
Mikhail knew it.
End of Chapter 5.