"Men are driven by fear and desire more than reason."
—Niccolò Machiavelli
By the second month, Cerberus was no longer just a notebook and a small envelope of coins. It was a system. A machine designed to extract obedience and shape loyalty. And every machine needed fuel—sometimes money, sometimes manpower.
Ho-seok and I walked through the quieter hallways, envelopes in hand. We were going to collect debts again, but this time I wanted to see more than just payment. I wanted to see fear, hesitation, calculation. I wanted to see people bend.
Our first stop was Min-jun. He owed 1,500 won, but today he had none to give. Ho-seok tensed, expecting me to intervene, to back down, maybe even apologize. But I didn't. I leaned close to Min-jun, letting the shadow from the corridor stretch over him like a warning.
"You can't pay?" I asked softly, almost gentle. "Then you work. Simple. Clean the books for Ho-seok, help deliver coins, run errands. Work off your debt. No tricks. No excuses."
His eyes widened, panic flickering. This was not the school administration. This was Cerberus. And I could see the gears in his mind turning. Survival, after all, is the most basic instinct.
Ho-seok glanced at me, uncertain. I shook my head slightly. "Let him learn. Sometimes brains are enough. Sometimes he'll need muscle. Let's see what he chooses."
Min-jun swallowed and nodded. "I… I'll work. Anything. Just… don't hurt me."
I smiled faintly, my scar catching the light. "Good choice. Violence is acceptable when brains fail. But brains are often enough."
By the end of the morning, three more students were now working under us. Sae-bom couldn't pay the 1,200 won she owed. She washed tables in the cafeteria after class. Eun-ji borrowed 1,000 won and delivered notes to other students in the hall. Ho-seok was learning fast—how to command respect without raising his hand, how to bend others with opportunity and consequence.
And yet, the threat of violence lingered in the air. Every glance, every tense movement reminded them that while money could be replaced, consequences could not. My first rule as a leader: let them fear the edge without always showing it.
I watched from a distance as Ho-seok managed the small group, enforcing schedules, marking off debts, and quietly correcting mistakes. The power he wielded was intoxicating, but it was still guided—directed by me. I was teaching him the art of calculated dominance: when to push, when to let go, when to strike.
By the time the bell rang, signaling the end of the day, Cerberus had grown by three members. Not through brute force alone, but through structure, opportunity, and the promise of survival.
And as we left the schoolyard, I knew the lessons were sinking in. Every student who owed money or labor was a thread in the web. Every obedient action reinforced the machine. And I—Kai Riven—was the hand guiding it all.
Sometimes, brains win. Sometimes, violence is necessary. But control… control always belongs to the one who sees both paths.