The morning sun hit the school courtyard with a cold brilliance, yet Daniel Park's expression remained unmoved. Eleven years old. Eleven, and already the architect of chaos in the province's middle school network. Around him, the Union—his loyal faction—moved like a living weapon: disciplined, precise, and utterly ruthless.
Daniel's eyes scanned the rival school across the street. Their banners fluttered defiantly, but he saw the fear lurking behind the bravado. Every movement, every whisper among them, he noted. This wasn't just a clash of fists; this was strategy, intimidation, and calculated force.
As the first strike launched, Union foot soldiers swept forward, a synchronized wave of power. Daniel himself moved like a predator at the forefront. A bully from the rival school lunged at him with a makeshift bat, sneering, thinking age meant weakness. In a heartbeat, Daniel sidestepped, countered with a precise Muay Thai knee to the ribs, then pivoted into an Aikido throw. The boy flew across the courtyard, groaning in defeat.
His cronies followed in his wake: punches, kicks, and sweeping wrestling moves executed with cold precision. Daniel's left eye narrowed as he observed a gang of three rushing toward him with knives. With an effortless shuffle, he grabbed the first, twisted the wrist, and sent the knife clattering harmlessly across the ground. A swift hook to the second's jaw, a spinning roundhouse to the third—one man army, eleven years old, and terrifyingly efficient.
Students from the rival schools froze mid-step. Some stared in horror, some whispered among themselves, trying to grasp the sheer magnitude of Daniel's dominance. Teachers attempting to intervene were shoved aside by the Union captains—black trench coats, golden dragon pins gleaming ominously in the sun. They weren't here for conversation; they were here to enforce the will of their leader.
From the second floor, rival school students peeked through windows. Fear rippled through them like a cold wind. Daniel's reputation had preceded him, but now they witnessed it firsthand: the boy with calm, ruthless eyes, capable of dismantling any challenge before him. Whispers spread quickly: "Who is this kid?!" "Eleven years old… and already this strong?!"
Meanwhile, Daniel's own faction moved with synchronized precision. Captains in black suits directed foot soldiers in formations that neutralized threats quickly and efficiently. Lieutenant squads with silver dragon pins handled crowd control, separating the weak from the strong, ensuring maximum impact and minimal resistance. Chaos unfolded under Daniel's command, yet every movement carried the weight of disciplined strategy.
As the dust settled, Daniel's Union stood victorious in the courtyard, rival students sprawled and groaning, some unconscious, others too frightened to move. Daniel's calm, cold eyes swept over the aftermath. No cheer, no outward emotion—just the satisfaction of efficiency.
In the rival schools yet untouched by Union's reach, news of the morning's massacre spread quickly. Fear, disbelief, and whispered curses filled their halls. "Who is that kid running this Union?" "An eleven-year-old? Impossible…" "If we don't act, our school will be next."
Daniel's conquest had begun, and the province's middle school network would never be the same. He stood among his loyal, disciplined soldiers, his presence alone enough to enforce respect, loyalty, and fear.
Tomorrow, the Union would strike again. And those who doubted, those who laughed, would soon kneel before an eleven-year-old boy who wielded violence, strategy, and power like a seasoned general.
The storm was rising. And Daniel Park was its calm, merciless eye.
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