The Last Founder

Chapter 75: Hundao’s Nightmare.

"You look so useless compared to that peasant child with the surname Omorie." The sharp sound of a slap echoed through the air, followed by a heavy thud as someone hit the ground. The tension in the room grew thick, the sudden violence abruptly shattering any sense of calm.

Hundao woke up to a voice he wished he could forget. The ground beneath him was cold and muddy, soaking through his clothes as he slowly pushed himself upright. His head spun with confusion, and he couldn’t shake off the strange, dizzy feeling that clung to him.

’What’s happening to me?’ he wondered, his thoughts heavy and slow. ’Am I dreaming right now? The last thing I remember was hitting a sandbag, and then out of nowhere, I felt this strange numbness, like it started deep inside my soul and spread everywhere.’

He tried to look around, but everything seemed blurry and out of focus. ’Did my so-called friends finally go too far with their pranks? If this is their idea of a joke, I swear I’ll get back at them.’

His friends in the organization, who numbered only three, seemed to have made it their life goal to make his life miserable. He wouldn’t be surprised if they decided to pull off an elaborate prank on him. Sometimes, they would go to great lengths to play tricks on him, hoping to cheer him up, even if their version of ’cheering up’ meant making him angry enough to explode.

"Answer me, you little brat. Do you really think I won’t hit you again if you stay quiet?" The deep, harsh voice returned, followed by a sharp sting across his cheek.

This time, something inside him snapped. As he recognized the voice, he confirmed he wasn’t hearing things; a deep, overwhelming fear suddenly washed over him. His blurry vision began to clear, and memories he desperately wished to forget rose in his mind, sharper than ever.

He looked down at his feet, and a cold shiver ran through his body. ’Why... why do I look so small?’ he thought, panic starting to build inside him.

"Hey, you disgusting little thing. Don’t ignore me when I’m talking to you." The voice was full of anger, making it clear that more pain would follow if he didn’t respond.

"I..." His voice trembled and got stuck in his throat. It sounded weak and strange, yet somehow it was also the voice he remembered from his childhood. He hugged his knees tightly to his chest, trying to make himself as small as possible. ’Why am I here? Why is this happening? This must be a nightmare. I just need to wake up.’

Trying to escape the fear, he started counting out loud, blocking out the angry voice. "One, two, three, four... ten..." he whispered, hoping the numbers would help him wake up.

"You brat..." Suddenly, something hit him hard from the side, knocking the breath out of his small body and sliding him across the wet, muddy ground. Mud splashed into his mouth and one of his eyes, making him squeeze it shut in pain and disgust.

’It’s not working,’ he realized, panic rising as his breathing sped up and his heart pounded even harder. Desperate to wake up, he bit down on his tongue, but instead of snapping him out of the nightmare, the pain only made everything feel worse.

A strong hand suddenly clamped over his mouth, forcing it open and stopping him from hurting himself any further. "Pathetic. Now you’re trying to hurt yourself? Haven’t I taught you anything? You’re supposed to be a man."

For the first time since waking up, he finally managed to look directly at the person behind the cruel voice.

A big man. Wide shoulders, thick arms, the kind of muscle that comes from years of hard work rather than vanity. His hands were large enough that when one of them moved toward you, it blocked out whatever was behind it.

His face could almost seem friendly at first. He had a strong jaw and dark eyes, the kind that made strangers think he was a trustworthy or likable person. To people who didn’t know him, he looked like someone who would smile and welcome you in.

But if you looked closer, especially into his eyes, you’d see something different. His eyes weren’t exactly mean, but they had a coldness, as if he was always calculating and judging. He looked at people like objects to be weighed and measured, deciding if they were useful or not. Hundao had seen that look for as long as he could remember.

He always stood tall with his chest pushed out and his chin level, as if daring the world to challenge him. There was a stubbornness in the way he carried himself, like he expected the world to pay him back for every hardship. Just by being in the same room, you could feel his authority and the sense that what he said had real consequences.

Hundao never felt any warmth from his father. He was always distant and cold, and that’s what made Hundao afraid of him.

With a choking voice, he managed to squeeze out, "Please... Father."

"So you can still talk," his father said, finally letting go of Hundao and letting him drop to the ground. "You are only allowed to call me ’sir,’ not ’father.’ Remember that, you useless child."

Hundao slipped back into old habits. After so many years of harsh treatment, it had become automatic: obey, don’t argue, just survive. He’d learned the hard way that fighting back only made things worse.

"Yes, sir," he whispered, his voice barely above a breath.

"Good. Now tell me, what happened with that kid from the Omorie family?" His father’s eyes narrowed, focusing hard on Hundao as he demanded an answer.

"I..."

"Don’t even think about lying to me, boy. I’ve known you your whole life. Do you really think I can’t tell when you’re not telling the truth?"

Hundao flinched, a chill running through his whole body. Sometimes he almost forgot how sharp and observant his father really was.

"He’s my friend," Hundao admitted, even though he knew what would probably happen next. ’It has to be a dream,’ he told himself. ’Maybe if I just go along with it, I’ll wake up soon.’ freēwebnovel.com

This memory was burned into Hundao’s mind. He wished more than anything that he could forget this day. It was both his biggest regret and the mistake that haunted him the most.

"Oh? So you lost because you couldn’t bring yourself to hurt a friend?" His father’s voice was calm, but that only made it scarier.

Hundao had learned that his father’s calm voice was worse than when he shouted. Yelling meant the anger was out in the open, but this cold calm always meant something even worse was about to happen.

"Yes, sir," he said.

His father looked at him for a long moment without speaking. Not out of restraint. Out of the particular patience of a man who knew the waiting itself was its own punishment.

"A friend," he repeated.

The word came out of his mouth like something he was turning over to check the underside of. Like he had picked it up and was deciding whether to keep it or throw it away.

"Yes, sir."

"You pulled your strikes."

It wasn’t a question, so Hundao said nothing.

"You let that boy win because you did not want to hurt him." His father crouched down to his level then, which was somehow worse than being stood over. The dark eyes met his. Up close, they were very clear. Very focused. "And you thought I wouldn’t see it."

"I didn’t think—"

"No. You didn’t." He stood back up. "That is always your problem. Do you know the consequences of your actions? You set us back by at least a few years, you little nobody."

Hundao dropped his gaze to the muddy ground. The cold, wet earth squished between his fingers, smelling like rain and old dirt. He focused hard on the feeling of the mud, hoping it would anchor him in the present and shield him from the sting of his father’s words. But as much as he tried, he couldn’t tune out the disappointment in every syllable.

"Do you know what you cost us today?" His father’s question was sharp, meant to make sure the lesson would stick.

"Yes, sir." The answer came out by habit, not thought. Hundao knew the consequences. He’d spent his whole life being lectured about the cost of failure.

"Tell me." His father didn’t let up.

Hundao’s throat felt tight as he tried to speak. "The Omorie family will see us as below them now. Any arrangement you had planned with—""Any arrangement I had planned," his father corrected, his tone sharp. "Say it right."

Hundao nodded quickly. "Any arrangement you had planned with the Elders will be considered worthless now, because this fight was supposed to move us up to noble status, and I lost.""Because you chose to lose." His father’s words landed with finality. "There’s a difference. Losing can be explained. Choosing to lose can never be."Hundao scouldn’t find anything to say in return

"Look at me." The command was as solid as a wall.

Hundao forced himself to lift his head. His father’s face was unchanged—calm, cold, and unyielding. It was this steady, judging stare that always got to Hundao, no matter how many times he had been here before. There was no anger, just that relentless gaze that made Hundao feel like he never quite measured up.

"You’re ten," his father said, voice flat. "You’re not a little kid anymore. Kids have friends. You have enemies and allies. Don’t ever mix them up."

Hundao’s next words slipped out before he could stop himself. "He was kind to me."

The words came out before he could stop them. Small and stupid and true.

Something shifted in his father’s expression. Not softening. The opposite.

"Kind?" he said, confusedly, as if looking at an idiot, "Kindness? In this city? Are you crazy? The only kind people in this city are the dead. Look at the city you are in before stating such naive things, boy. They only show kindness to those they wish to manipulate, you fool."