The courtroom was suffocating, the stale air heavy with whispers and false sympathy. Hope Hale's golden eyes scanned the hall, noting the tension in every face—judges, spectators, police. They all believed they knew the truth.
But Hope knew better. He could read people. Even his sister's forced smile could not mask the fear in her eyes, the subtle flicker of hesitation as she confessed to a lie.
One of the parents of the boys leaned forward, a smirk twisting his face. "Isn't it wonderful, counselor? Everyone sees the story now—your daughter, not a victim, but a participant. She chooses her shame."
Hope's jaw tightened. He didn't need to move. His fingers twitched at his side, imagining twin daggers in each hand. His instinct, honed from the worst moments of his life, screamed at him—an echo of the rage that had once fueled his hands to kill five men before.
A soft, mechanical voice intruded in his mind:
[Vessel System Activated: Potential Detected. Human combat aptitude – HIGH. Survival instincts – MAX. Trial path initialized.]
Hope's eyes narrowed. He didn't yet know what the system would demand, only that it had chosen him for something. Something that would require more than survival.
The trial was not here, not in this room, but Hope felt the faint pull of it. He focused on his sister, seeing the truth behind the lie she was forced to tell. He didn't flinch, didn't scream—he only observed. Calculated. Stored everything.
When the gavel fell, the world against him, the whispers echoing hatred, Hope knew something had changed. The system had marked him. The gauntlet ahead would come—not for vengeance, but to test his worth.
And deep inside, a spark of anticipation flickered