The town never slept completely. Even in the quietest streets, something moved just beyond sight.
That night, Frank—Spenser now in every heartbeat—walked home later than usual. The training from the man in the coat had sharpened his senses. He could hear the subtle scrape of metal against stone, the faint whisper of wind through broken shutters, and the low murmur of voices in alleyways he had once avoided.
Then he saw them.
Three figures, hooded and silent, emerged from a narrow passage. Their movements were deliberate, almost rehearsed. Frank froze. This wasn't a gang of boys teasing the town vendor. This was something else. Something organized.
One of them stepped forward. "You're the boy who thinks he can stand," a low, cold voice hissed.
Frank's heart raced. His first instinct wanted to run, to vanish into the shadows. But he remembered the lessons: silence, patience, observation, and—most importantly—courage.
"I stand," he said firmly.
The figure laughed, a hollow, cruel sound. "You'll learn quickly, little Spenser, that standing doesn't always save you."
The other two circled, cutting off any escape. Frank tightened his grip on his stick. He studied their stance, their spacing, their movements. Every inch of the alley was now a battlefield in his mind.
He had trained to fight, yes—but he had also trained to think. To use the environment. To anticipate.
He noticed a loose stack of crates near the wall. With a sudden shove, they toppled, blocking the path behind the tallest figure. Another swing of his stick sent a small barrel rolling toward the second attacker, forcing him to jump aside.
The first figure paused, scanning Frank with narrowed eyes. "Clever… but clever won't save you."
Frank pressed on, moving with calm precision. Every step, every swing, every dodge was calculated. He didn't panic. He didn't shout. He stood—and the attackers began to falter.
By the time the confrontation ended, the hooded figures had retreated into the darkness, leaving Frank alone in the alley, breathless but unbroken.
He realized something profound: courage was not about never facing danger—it was about facing it while staying clear-headed, using your mind as much as your strength.
The night air felt heavier now, charged with anticipation. Someone—or something—was testing him. And Frank knew this was only the beginning.
He walked home slowly, heart still pounding. For the first time, he felt the weight of a real enemy, one who would challenge not just his courage, but his strategy, his wits, and his ability to protect those who couldn't protect themselves.
Somewhere in the darkness, the watchers whispered again:
"There he stands…"
And now, they were paying attention for the long game.