The sound of fists slamming against reinforced flesh echoed through the training room like thunder. Axel stood his ground, jaw clenched, his body already hardened into its steel-like form. Bob's punches were relentless, sharp, punishing, calculated, but Axel didn't flinch. He took each blow like a wall of iron, his breath controlled, feet rooted.
"Again," Bob ordered, throwing another hook that rang against Axel's side like a hammer on metal.
"Yes, sir," Axel grunted, tightening his stance.
Another strike. Then another.
The training session was less about form and more about pressure, testing limits. Bob wasn't pulling punches, not tonight. Not after the carnival stunt.
"You call that solid?" Bob barked, stepping back and shaking out his knuckles. "You're supposed to be a human tank. Right now, you're more like reinforced glass."
Axel didn't react. His breathing was steady, precise.
"Sir," he said, finally speaking, "if your goal is to get me to crack, it won't work. My objective is improvement, not pride."
Bob narrowed his eyes at that. "Good. Because pride gets people killed."
He lunged forward again, sweeping Axel's legs. The soldier hit the mat hard, but in the same motion, rolled and bounced back onto his feet. Efficient. No wasted energy.
"You've been hitting me like I'm a brick wall all night," Axel said calmly, adjusting his stance. "Is this really training?"
Bob paused, fists still up, eyes narrowed. "It's about control. Yours. Mine. Everyone's. When you're responsible for people, discipline isn't a suggestion. It's survival."
Axel nodded, sweat dripping down his temples. "Understood. Then hit me again, sir."
Bob smirked, only slightly.
He spun, pivoted, and drove his fist forward.
Crack.
The impact was like a small explosion. A deep thud echoed through the training room as Axel's hardened skin withstood the blow, but only just. His body lifted off the ground and slammed back down onto the mat, hard. The sound was sickening.
Bob froze, his chest heaving. He hadn't meant to hit that hard. Not even close.
Axel lay there, stunned. Not unconscious, not broken, but clearly rattled. His armor-like skin flickered for a moment, still intact, but bruised beneath.
Then came the noise, footsteps, fast and many.
The door slammed open and in rushed Selena, Ryan, Beth, and Alex—all drawn by the noise. Alex skidded to a stop, eyes wide. "What the hell happened?"
Bob's back was to them. His fist still clenched. His breathing ragged.
"He's fine," Bob muttered, eyes still on Axel.
Ryan raised a brow. "Doesn't look fine."
Axel slowly pushed himself up, face stiff but calm. "I'm… good," he said, breath short. He didn't sound angry, just winded. His soldier training kicked in immediately, sitting back on his knees with straight posture. "He didn't mean to. My fault. I didn't shift the density in time."
Bob looked down at him. "You're not supposed to take a hit like that. Not from me. Not when I'm not holding back."
"You told me to be a wall," Axel replied, eyes sharp but steady. "Walls don't complain when storms hit."
That got silence.
Beth blinked. "Okay, that's hardcore."
Selena crossed her arms. "Remind me never to spar with either of you."
Alex was staring at Bob, reading him like a book. "You didn't mean to, did you?"
Bob shook his head once. "No. I didn't."
He finally opened his hand, relaxing the fingers that had curled so tightly his knuckles were pale.
Axel stood, slowly, and saluted. "Permission to return to training, sir."
Bob stared at him, then let out a slow breath, nodding.
"Not today, soldier. Go ice your ribs."
Axel gave one short nod and walked out without another word.
The others lingered, watching Bob.
"Training's over," he said quietly. "Get some rest."
Everyone shuffled out, glancing back.
Only Alex remained. "You okay?"
Bob didn't answer for a long time. He just looked at his hand. He was slowly losing control, keeping all his power hidden away and training every day had started to make him lose control.