The morning sun had barely climbed above the rooftops when the shouting began.
Ethan's mother, Eliza, had been sweeping the tiny apartment, humming softly to herself, when the pounding on the door shook the frame. Before she could answer, the lock gave way, the door slamming open against the wall.
Three men filled the threshold.
At the center stood Mr. Harland—the landlord. His cheap suit strained at the seams, his hair slicked back with too much oil, his face twisted with the satisfaction of a man who knew the power he held. At his side loomed two broad-shouldered enforcers, their smirks ugly, their arms folded like battering rams waiting to be unleashed.
"You've had your time," Harland announced, his voice booming through the small room. "Six months. No rent. I'm done waiting."
Eliza clutched the broom handle tighter, her knuckles white. "Please, Mr. Harland," she said, her voice trembling. "I told you—we've been struggling. But just last week, I gave you one hundred and fifty thousand. That's more than enough to cover us for a while."
The landlord's lip curled. "Pocket change. Do you think I care about scraps? You and your brats have been leeching off me long enough. Today, you're out."
Her daughter, Anna, stepped forward, her small hands balled into fists. "We're not leeches! My brother works hard! My mom—"
One of the enforcers barked a laugh, shoving her back with a single rough hand. Anna stumbled, catching herself against the wall, tears brimming in her eyes.
"Don't talk back, girl," the man sneered. "Your family's lucky we didn't throw you out months ago."
Eliza dropped the broom and grabbed Anna, pulling her close, shielding her with her own body. Her voice broke as she begged. "Please. Just a little more time. My son—he'll bring more soon. Just let us stay until then. I beg you."
But Harland's eyes gleamed with cruel amusement. "I don't care if your boy brings me gold bars. I want you gone. Today."
At his nod, the enforcers moved.
They swept through the apartment like a storm, pulling clothes from drawers, yanking books from shelves, throwing pots and pans into a heap by the door. Eliza cried out, trying to stop them, but was shoved aside. Anna scrambled to gather what she could, but the men laughed, kicking the pile out into the street.
Within minutes, their lives lay scattered across the cracked pavement outside.
Harland followed, watching with arms crossed as neighbors peeked from windows and doorways. None dared interfere. To them, it was just another eviction. Just another poor family discarded like trash.
Eliza stumbled into the street, clutching Anna to her, both of them collapsing onto the ground beside their belongings. Her knees scraped against the rough concrete, but she hardly felt it. She looked up at Harland, tears streaking her face.
"I gave you everything I had," she whispered. "Why are you doing this?"
Harland smirked, lighting a cigarette. The smoke curled lazily into the air. "Because I can."
That was the scene Ethan walked into.
He turned the corner, the weight of breakfast still warm in his stomach, only to freeze as his eyes took in the chaos before him. His mother on the ground, clutching his sister. Their belongings scattered like garbage. The landlord looming above them, his laughter cruel and cold.
For a heartbeat, the world fell silent.
Then Ethan moved.
His stride was steady, his expression unreadable, but his dark eyes burned. He bent, gently lifting his mother to her feet, his arm sliding around Anna's trembling shoulders. Their faces turned toward him, eyes wide with shock and relief.
"Ethan," his mother gasped, tears spilling anew. "You—"
"Shh." His voice was calm. Too calm. "It's alright, Mom. Anna. I'm here."
He held them both for a moment, steadying them, before straightening. His gaze turned to the landlord, sharp as a blade.
When he spoke again, his tone was quiet, almost polite—but beneath it, steel coiled like a spring.
"Why," Ethan asked, his head tilting slightly, "are you throwing my family into the street?"
Harland sneered, unfazed by the boy's calm. "Because I've been letting you squat here for half a year without rent. I don't care if your mother gave me some pocket change—this family is finished here. You're leaving today, whether you like it or not."
His enforcers chuckled darkly behind him, folding their arms, already imagining the satisfaction of tossing the boy onto the pavement beside his family.
But Ethan didn't flinch. Didn't shout.
He just stood there, his mother and sister behind him, his eyes locked on the landlord with a calm that was far more dangerous than rage.
The enforcers were the first to move.
One of them, the bigger of the two, cracked his knuckles and stepped forward with a grin that showed too many missing teeth. "You've got guts, kid. Let's see if you can back it up."
Ethan said nothing.
The thug lunged, his arm swinging wide for a blow meant to knock the boy clean off his feet.
But Ethan was no longer the boy they thought he was.
His body shifted with a speed that startled even him. Agility sang through his muscles, and in the heartbeat it took for the thug's fist to cut the air, Ethan had already stepped inside his guard. His hand shot out, grabbing the man's wrist.
A twist. A pull.
The thug's knees buckled, his body crashing to the ground with a howl of pain. Gasps rippled through the watching crowd.
The second enforcer cursed and charged. He was fast for his size, but Ethan's eyes tracked every motion with crystal clarity. Perception sharpened the world—the man's weight shifted to his left leg, his shoulder dipped, the telegraphed punch was obvious.
Ethan's fist shot forward.
The blow connected squarely with the man's chest. Not hard enough to kill, but more than enough to send him sprawling backwards, skidding across the pavement until he landed in a coughing heap.
Silence fell.
The first thug tried to rise, clutching his twisted arm. Ethan's foot pressed gently—almost politely—against his chest, pinning him flat. The man froze, his eyes wide with the realization that this boy, this seventeen-year-old student, was stronger than both of them combined.
The neighbors whispered frantically from doorways and windows.
"Did you see that?""He floored them—like it was nothing.""That's Eliza's boy? The quiet one?"
Even Harland, the landlord, had taken an involuntary step back, his cigarette trembling slightly between his fingers.
Ethan straightened slowly, dusting his hands as though the fight had been no more than swatting away flies. His dark eyes locked onto the landlord, his tone calm, almost gentle.
"You and my late father were friends," Ethan said quietly. "You know how hard it's been for us since he passed. You could have come to me, or to my mother, and told us to leave. You could have given us that dignity."
He took one step closer. The landlord swallowed.
"But instead," Ethan continued, "you threw them into the street. You made a spectacle of them. So this is what will happen. My family and I will go inside. We will pack our clothes, our things. And we will walk out of your house with our heads high. Do you understand me?"
His voice carried, sharp and deliberate, echoing off the walls.
The landlord's face twisted, anger flaring to mask the unease crawling across his skin. "You think you're something, boy? You and your pitiful family are nothing without me. I gave you a roof over your head! Without me, you're just rats in the gutter. Where will you go, huh? Who's going to take you in?"
His words dripped venom, loud enough for every neighbor to hear.
Ethan's mother flinched, her eyes wet with despair. She looked at her son, her lips trembling. "Ethan… where will we go?"
For a moment, the boy said nothing. His gaze stayed locked on the landlord, calm, unyielding.
Anna tugged at their mother's sleeve. Her eyes, red from crying, were wide with stubborn determination. She clutched Ethan's hand tightly, her small voice breaking through the tension.
"Don't worry, Mama," Anna said, her cheeks puffed as though daring anyone to argue. "Brother Ethan will solve it."
The crowd stirred. Some shook their heads. Some smiled faintly, pity mixing with awe.
And then, slowly, two women stepped forward from the gathered neighbors. Friends of Eliza, their faces hard with anger at the landlord's cruelty. "We'll help," one of them said firmly. "You don't have to do this alone."
More voices followed. A man offered his cart to carry things. Another neighbor bent to gather scattered clothes.
The thugs lay groaning on the ground, the landlord fuming, but powerless to stop it.
Ethan turned, his expression softening as he guided his mother and sister toward the doorway. His words were calm, but the fire in his eyes promised more.
"This isn't the end," he murmured under his breath.
The system's faint glow lingered at the edge of his vision, as if it too had witnessed the storm unleashed.