"Strip?!"
The word burst out of Alex's mouth not as a question but as a raw eruption of fury, humiliation, and frustration that had finally hit its breaking point. Everything that had been crushing him since last night—his father's threat, the shame, Yukie's contemptuous stare—ignited into a blaze of blind rage.
"ADAM SOCHE—!"
He never got the chance to finish shouting my name. His body surged upward from his kneeling position, fist clenched, ready to smash my face in.
But I had already anticipated it. I had seen the storm gathering in his eyes from the start.
So before his momentum could build, before he could even stand, my leg shot out and struck his flushed, rage-twisted face.
Thud!
The crack of his nose cartilage echoed sharply across the silent grounds. My kick landed perfectly.
