Two weeks passed in a blur of sweat, bruises, and endless drills.
Einar's days began before sunrise. His muscles screamed every time he hit the punching bags, dodged Dean's relentless counters, or ran laps across the rooftop of the warehouse-turned-training ground.
'Just two more weeks until the tournament… I have to be ready. I have to.'
He barely had time to eat before Dean had him lifting weights, running, striking targets, and sparring until his arms felt like stone. And all the while, Dean watched silently from the corner, arms crossed, expression unreadable.
By the end of the second week, Einar's endurance had doubled, his reflexes sharpened, and his punches carried a subtle but dangerous precision.
Dean finally clapped once.
"Enough for today. You've earned a short break. Tomorrow, we start the tactical missions."
Einar blinked.
"Tactical… missions?"
Dean smirked faintly.
"You're joining the gang on actual street operations. Under supervision, of course."
Einar gulped.
The next day, Dean arranged a meeting with Rita and Paul.
They sat in the safehouse's living room, the low hum of the city outside blending with the occasional siren. Dean's tone was calm but sharp.
"You've been hesitant about letting Einar join your missions," Dean said.
"I understand. But he needs experience beyond the training yard if he's going to survive this tournament—and the city itself."
Rita crossed her arms, skeptical.
"He's just a kid. And the Tigers are still dangerous."
"Exactly," Dean said.
"Which is why I'll be involved if he can't handle it. But he needs to try."
Paul leaned back, rubbing his chin.
"And you guarantee you'll step in? You're certain he won't die?"
Dean's lips curled into a faint, knowing smirk.
"I'm certain. And if it gets messy… I'll handle it myself. But he will have to take the first step."
Rita frowned.
"And if he screws up?"
"Then I intervene. Simple."
Einar sat quietly, fists clenched under the table. His heartbeat was a drum in his chest. 'They're finally letting me… but I can't fail. I can't.'
After a long discussion, debating every risk, potential ambush, and strategy, Rita finally nodded.
"Fine. Two conditions. He comes under my supervision, and you step in if he can't handle it."
Dean tilted his head.
"Agreed. That's exactly what I said."
Paul chuckled softly.
"I have a feeling this kid is going to surprise us."
Einar's stomach flipped.
'Surprise them… and don't die.'
Their first mission was simple in theory: scout a territory claimed by the Tigers, gather intel, and make sure nothing escalated before the main strike.
Einar followed Rita closely through the narrow alleyways, the city buzzing with life around them. Neon signs flickered, cars honked in the distance, and from every shadow, a thousand dangers could be lurking.
Dean and Paul stayed a few blocks back, eyes scanning, ready to intervene if anything went wrong.
Einar's mind raced as he followed Rita:
'This is real. Streets, gangs, actual missions… not just training. And Dean's watching. I can't screw this up.'
The Tigers weren't far off. He spotted two sentries leaning against a wall ahead, chatting casually.
Einar froze. 'Wait for Dean? Or… handle it myself?'
Dean's voice whispered in his ear via radio:
"You handle it. I'm in the shadows. Only call me if it goes wrong."
Einar nodded subtly.
'Okay… I've trained for this. Let's go.'
Rita moved silently, signaling Einar forward. They approached the sentries, shadows clinging to the corners of the alley.
This was no longer a training drill. This was the city, the gang war, and the first test of everything Dean had forced him through.
And Dean, watching silently from the distance, allowed Einar the space to act, only ready to step in if the situation turned deadly.
The real mission had begun.