AN: New project up. Welcome to this new pit. I hope you will stick around for the new journey.
The sun blazed over Marico, its golden light spilling across the bustling streets. Vendors shouted their merchandise, skewers of sizzling meat perfumed the air, mingling with the briny tang of the nearby sea. Tourists wandered, cameras clicking, laughter rising above the hum of commerce.
Then a sharp horn split the air. Heads turned. A green sports car tore down the road, its engine snarling as it ignored the zebra crossing. In the blink of an eye, a young man in his mid-twenties lunged forward, yanking a small boy out of harm's way. Tires screeched, the car barely missing them.
The man's palm slammed against the hood with a resounding thud. "Watch where the hell you are fucking driving!" he barked, fury flashing in his eyes.
A woman rushed forward, breathless, calling her son's name. She dropped to her knees, clutching the trembling child against her chest. The driver, red-faced, shoved open the car door, but before he could step out, the young man's boot lashed out, slamming the door shut with a metallic clang.
Gasps rippled through the crowd. The driver cursed, shouting threats, but the young man leaned close to the window. His voice low and sharp, he spoke words no one else could hear. Whatever he said drained the color from the driver's face. Fear flickered in his eyes. He swallowed hard, then slammed the car into gear and sped away, as though escape was the only option.
The woman rose, tears streaking her cheeks. "Thank you—thank you so much," she said, clutching her son's shoulders. "Say thank you, darling."
The boy's voice was small, shaky saying, "Thank you…"
The young man's expression softened. He crouched, pulling a wrapped candy from his pocket, pressing it into the boy's hand. "Next time let your mum hold your hand," he said with a smile, ruffling the child's hair before straightening and walking away, calm as though nothing had happened.
From behind a stall, an older vendor called out, her tone half-scolding and half-amused. "Marcel, picking fights again?"
Marcel turned, his grin easy, unbothered. "Which eye of yours saw me pick a fight, auntie?" he replied, his voice carrying a playful lilt.
The older woman tsked softly as she pressed a large plastic bag into Marcel's hands.
"You boys must be hungry, I mad you something special," she said, her voice warm but edged with fatigue.
Marcel pulled out his wallet, the leather worn from use, and offered it to her.
"What would we do without your delicious food?" he teased, his smile faint but sincere.
She pushed his hand away, shaking her head. "You always do this. No, no. This is me repaying you for last week."
Her words carried weight. The memory of that day still clung to her like smoke. She had only wanted to earn enough to feed her grandkids, but the city officials paid her a visit. Hard-eyed and cruel, they wrecked her stall under the pretense of unpaid licensing fees. Everyone knew it was extortion. She had stood there, helpless, watching her livelihood splinter beneath their boots.
She never expected Marcel, the young man who bought food from her every week, to intervene. A day later he had dragged those men back, their collars twisted in his fists, and forced them to apologize. More than that, he had made them pay her back.
Now, Marcel placed the money firmly on the counter.
"If you don't want it, then buy your grandkids toys," he said, his tone leaving no room for argument.
The older woman faltered, her hands trembling as she stared at the wad of cash. "You kid… this is too much!" she called after him but Marcel didn't turn back.
He simply raised his hand in farewell, the plastic bag swinging at his side, and kept walking.
Four minutes later, he slipped into a quieter street and pushed open the door of a dimly lit gym. The scent of sweat and iron filled the air.
A young man with pink hair looked up from the bench press, his grin wide and eager.
"Boss, you're back!" he exclaimed, bounding forward with the energy of a loyal pup. If he'd had a tail, it would have been wagging.
Marcel passed the plastic bag to Archie with a casual flick of his wrist.
"Share among yourselves," he said, already moving toward the back.
Archie's grin widened as he clutched the bag. "Thanks, boss. You know how to treat us subordinates well."
Before he could even open the plastic bag, a swarm of sweaty fighters closed in, their eyes gleaming with hunger. Archie spun, clutching the bag to his chest like treasure.
"Back up, you filthy animals! There's a share for everyone!" he barked, trying to fend them off. One of the bigger men reached in too quickly, and Archie snapped, "Hey, hey—you greedy bastard! I will teach you some manners!"
The gym erupted in laughter, the scuffle echoing like a pack of wolves fighting over meat.
Marcel ignored the chaos. He pushed open the door to his office, the hinges creaking,
and froze.
A familiar figure sat in his chair, tiny legs dangling, pencil scratching furiously across a notebook. It was his nephew, Leo.
Marcel's voice dropped into that firm tone only an uncle could wield. "What did Uncle say about sitting in my chair?"
Leo looked up, defiance flashing in his eyes. "But your chair is comfortable."
"Move," Marcel ordered.
Leo's stare hardened, stubbornness mirroring his uncle's own. His silence said it all: Make me.
Marcel accepted the challenge. He scooped the boy up effortlessly and tossed him onto the couch with a gentle thud. Leo burst into laughter, wriggling as Marcel leaned over, tickling him mercilessly.
"You want to act tough, huh? You want to act tough? This uncle will teach you." Marcel teased.
Leo shrieked between giggles. "No, no—stop! Hahaha!"
Finally, Marcel let him go, chuckling as he straightened. "Now will you behave?"
Leo wiped tears of laughter from his eyes, still grinning. "I will behave, I swear."
Marcel raised a brow as he asked, "Did you do your homework?"
Leo's smile faltered. "I don't understand it at all. Can you please teach me?"
Marcel shook his head as he replied, "Your mother can teach you. I have work to do."
Leo pouted, his voice dropping to a whisper. "But she yells a lot when I don't get math."
Marcel leaned back against the couch, the memory of his sister's voice echoing in his head. Even now, the thought of her yelling while explaining algebra made his body shiver. She had once held him hostage all night, refusing to let him sleep until every answer was correct. It was fucking torture.
He sighed, looking at Leo's expectant face. "Alright, let me help you," he said, settling beside him.
Leo's eyes lit up. "Uncle, you are the best!" He pulled out his homework eagerly.
Marcel softened. "Did you eat at school?"
Leo nodded, grinning. "I ate. It was so good. We had braised pork today and pudding."
"That's good," Marcel replied, rising to rummage through the snack drawer. He returned with a handful of packets which where all Leo's favorites and set them on the table.
"Let's see your homework."
Leo opened his textbook, and Marcel examined the problems with a soldier's seriousness. His voice was calm, patient, guiding Leo through each step. Watching him now, no one would have guessed his background.
His full name was Marcello Verrochi. An estranged son of the Verrochi legacy. It was an "Old World" empire built on shady shipping manifests and black-market trade. His grandfather had ruled the household with a literal iron fist. As an illegitimate son, beatings were delivered as lessons, to mold him into loyal dog for the family.
Marcel had endured it for years, until he had the opportunity to escape his grandfather's grasp.
He enlisted, using the army as his refuge. A war zone was safer than his grandfather's dinner table. In the structured violence of the military, he found a strange kind of peace.
But this peace didn't last long. His mother's death had dragged him back into the fold. The Varcano family, his maternal family, owed the Verrochi a debt and the Varcano family knew his weakness and that was his half sister. To free her, Marcel had bent his back for years, doing their bidding, bleeding for their schemes.
When the debt was finally cleared, he fled the country. He chose Marico, a small tourist town, where anonymity was easy. There, he built a gym and a security company, offering his services to the local elites. It was a quiet life, a life he had carved out with his own hands. Now, he lived peacefully, helping his sister raise her son.
Marcel leaned closer, pointing at the equation in Leo's book. "See? You move this number here, balance it out, and it works."
Leo's brow furrowed, then his face broke into a smile. "Ohhh… I get it now."
Marcel chuckled, ruffling his nephew's hair. The peace and happiness such moments brought him made was what he had struggled for, for years. If only he knew that his life was about to take a dark turn.