Chapter 012: Unscrupulous
"Apologize to my friend." Smair's voice was cold and unwavering as his piercing eyes locked onto Hodge.
Hodge, however, didn't even spare him a proper glance. Instead, he kept his attention on Steve, a mocking grin plastered across his face. He waved dismissively at Smair, barking, "Get lost, kid! Go cry to your mama unless you're dumb enough to want a beating!"
Mama?
Smair's expression turned glacial. Of all the things to say, he had to bring up his mother? To Smair, that was the ultimate insult—a line no one crossed. The temperature in the air seemed to drop as Smair took a slow step forward.
"Care to repeat that?" he asked, his tone calm but with a deadly undercurrent that made the nearby recruits shift uncomfortably.
In the Nazi concentration camps, Smair had seen death more times than he could count. He'd dealt it with his own hands. The moral lines most people adhered to didn't exist for him anymore. If this soldier thought age or uniform would protect him, he was sorely mistaken.
"Repeat it? Sure! You little bastard—get out of here!" Hodge spat, his temper boiling over as he lifted his leg to kick Smair.
From the sidelines, Peggy Carter's brows furrowed in concern. She knew who Smair was—the adopted son of Howard Stark, a figure whose importance could not be overstated. If Hodge seriously hurt the boy, the fallout would be catastrophic.
But Smair didn't flinch. He didn't even try to move out of the way.
Hodge's kick landed squarely on Smair's chest, but instead of sending the boy flying, Smair stood rooted to the ground, completely unfazed. The kinetic energy from the attack dispersed into his body, absorbed like water into a sponge.
Smair's lips curled into a grim smile. "Big mistake."
Before Hodge could register what had happened, Smair stepped forward and delivered a punch aimed straight at his groin. His small stature meant that this was the easiest target for him to reach, but the result was devastating.
CRACK!
The sickening sound of breaking bones echoed through the training ground. Hodge's eyes bulged, his mouth opened in a silent scream, and then his body was hurled backward as if struck by a sledgehammer. He crashed into an empty oil drum with a deafening metallic clang and crumpled to the ground, motionless.
For a moment, the entire training ground fell silent. The recruits stood frozen, their expressions ranging from shock to outright terror. Many instinctively cupped their hands over their crotches, as though shielding themselves from the possibility of meeting the same fate.
Peggy Carter's mouth fell open in disbelief. She had known Smair was no ordinary child, but witnessing his raw, unrestrained power firsthand was something else entirely.
Steve Rogers, still nursing the pain from his earlier confrontation with Hodge, stared wide-eyed at the boy. "What the hell are you?" he whispered under his breath.
Smair, dusting off his hands casually, didn't even spare Hodge another glance. To him, the man had brought this on himself. If anything, he felt the punishment was too lenient.
"Recruits! Assemble!" Peggy barked, snapping the stunned soldiers out of their stupor. They scrambled into formation, casting wary glances at Smair as they did.
General Philip arrived shortly after, his face darkening as he took in the scene. Hodge, one of the recruits he'd been particularly hopeful about, lay crumpled on the ground, bleeding and groaning weakly.
Philip's gaze shifted to Smair, his expression a mix of confusion and fury. "What in God's name happened here?"
The general's booming voice drew the attention of everyone present, but Smair didn't so much as blink. He met Philip's gaze with an unflinching confidence that only served to stoke the man's anger further.
"Boy, you'd better have a damn good explanation for this," Philip snarled.
Smair tilted his head slightly, his sharp eyes narrowing as he studied the general. It was as if he were sizing him up, calculating his next move. For a moment, Philip felt an inexplicable chill run down his spine, and he shifted uncomfortably under the boy's gaze.
"Sir, it wasn't his fault!" Steve interjected, stepping forward despite the burning pain in his back. "Hodge attacked him first!"
"Silence, recruit!" Philip snapped, his tone dripping with disdain. He had never been fond of Steve Rogers, considering him weak and unfit for the military. Seeing him defend a child only solidified his low opinion of the man.
Smair crossed his arms, a faint smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. "It's true. He insulted me, then attacked me. I defended myself. It's not my fault he's fragile. Maybe he's just not cut out to be a soldier."
The recruits exchanged uneasy glances. Smair's calm, almost mocking tone sent shivers down their spines.
Philip turned to one of the recruits. "Is that true?"
"Yes, sir," the man answered reluctantly, his voice barely above a whisper.
Philip clenched his fists, his frustration evident. Technically, the boy's actions fell under self-defense, but the sheer brutality of the act made it difficult to ignore.
"Furthermore," Smair continued, his tone casual but laced with sharp precision, "Hodge's actions resulted in property damage and injuries. He even attempted to harm a civilian—me. I think my lawyers would find this situation very interesting."
Philip's jaw tightened. "Are you threatening me?"
"Not at all," Smair replied smoothly. "But I imagine the legal team behind me won't be too pleased to hear about your leadership. Allowing behavior like this in your barracks? That's a problem for someone in your position, don't you think?"
Philip opened his mouth to retort but stopped.
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