BS Vol 1 Part 1

It was hard to breathe, as if there were something in the air, probably drugs, clouding his mind. Every breath sent a dull throb echoing through his skull. Something struck him sharply when he bit down on his lip and tilted his head back. It wasn’t a hand; something metallic hit his temple with a heavy thud.

“Get down!”

His vision went dark—partly from the black cloth thrown over his head, but possibly also from a mild concussion caused by the blow. He hadn’t liked this country from the moment he arrived on vacation. It was hot, humid, and so stifling that it was hard to breathe.

The sticky humidity clung to his body as soon as he stepped off the private jet. He wanted to slam the door shut and fly straight back to where he had come from, but that strange unease in the air gripped him tightly.

It was his mother who had planned the vacation to South America.

At the thought of his mother, the strong scent of blood seemed to return to his nose. Tristan nearly forgot to breathe as he recalled the spray of red that had splattered across his face. He had been the real target all along. Those merciless people killed his mother right before his eyes and abducted him with ease while he stood frozen in shock. The heat of the blood that had drenched his entire body chilled Tristan’s mind.

He licked his lower lips and tasted blood again. It was certainly not his, as it was already dry and crusted.

Dear Christina—That was what people used to call his mother. She had poured her entire life into founding a relief organization. How could the price of her lifetime of service be death, especially right in front of her only son?

Something had gone wrong here.

Tristan exhaled deeply. He would never forget the final trace of his mother’s life that lingered on the tip of his tongue.

Thop. Thop. Thop. Thop.

The helicopter made a racket as it slowly descended, preparing to land. His hands were bound. He had no idea where he was. All he could feel was the occasional blow to the head from a gun barrel and the suffocating pressure tightening around his neck.

“Get out!” a man barked at him in Spanish, yanking him out.

Tristan was fluent in the language—his status had required him to master many skills. Fluency in the local language was especially important, as he was expected to one day take over his mother’s South American relief organization.

“Can’t you move faster?” The man shoved Tristan’s shoulder roughly, urging him forward.

His hands had been tied behind him for so long that his shoulders felt like they might be dislocated. Pain surged through him. Tristan bit into his already torn lips once again.

The uneven ground beneath his feet made it clear they weren’t on a paved road. The huge leaves brushing against his shoulders and the people who laughed when he ran into a tree made him realize that his ominous fears had become reality.

Tristan swallowed his breath when the bandana covering his face was finally removed.

The distant howl of an unknown wild animal echoed through the air. Thick green leaves blocked out the sky, oppressive humidity pressed down on his body, and swarms of insects relentlessly bit and sucked at his exposed skin.

This was a jungle.

Seeing Tristan’s shaking pupils, the dark-skinned ruffians bared their yellow teeth and laughed mockingly.

“Let me remind you, young master. Don’t even think about running.”

A burly man with a scruffy beard and a sniffly nose grinned at Tristan as he spoke. Even if he were lucky enough to escape this place, he’d surely die lost in the jungle. Four or five houses were built on top of the trees for surveillance, and below them, a clearing was carved out of the jungle with a dozen or so tents set up in a circle.

Just from that alone, it was clear that the people who had kidnapped him were no small force.

“Answer me.”

His temple was struck again. When Tristan glared, the man drew a large machete from his waist and brought it up close to Tristan’s face.

“Do you want me to slice up that pretty face of yours, huh?”

A metallic smell hung in the air. He couldn’t tell if it came from his own blood or the man’s blade.

“Yeah, that’s more like it. Be obedient. We’ll let you live once we get the ransom.”

The man tapped the machete against Tristan’s face. He had been trained for the possibility of kidnapping since childhood. In situations like this, the best course was to stay silent—and even better, to avoid looking the kidnappers in the eye.

But he had already seen too many of their faces.

In the end, would he be able to leave this place alive?

Tristan frowned as the stench of someone’s breath hit his face.

“Jesús!”

“I’m here!”

The man gestured to someone in the distance, and a youthful voice responded. The boy who came running was bigger than Tristan.

“Keep a close eye on him. If he runs, you die first.”

“Don’t worry, boss.”

Jesús nodded with a submissive grin, but the look he gave Tristan next was sharp and cold, like a snake’s gaze. At a glance, he clearly looked like a young master from a wealthy family with nothing to envy. Though his skin was smeared with blood and filth, his pale complexion revealed mottled bruises from the beatings he had already taken.

His emerald eyes, tinged with blue, gleamed with arrogance. He didn’t look like someone who would cower in fear. That was simply who he was—a born noble, likely never having had to ask anyone for help. Pride and stubbornness radiated from him.

“They just told me to watch over you so you don’t escape, but no one said I’m not allowed to rip your eyes out.” Jesús grinned viciously. Tristan knew better than anyone the kind of feelings that man harbored toward him. “Try staring at me like that one more time, and I’ll have your eyeballs rolling on the floor.”

It was dangerous to provoke someone drunk on their own power. So, Tristan gave him a mysterious smile. Jesús might actually pose more of a threat to his life than the man who had directly held a machete to his face.

“Go ahead and try. I plan to have my ransom weighed by the kilo. So if I end up blind, do you really think he,” Tristan jerked his chin toward the man who had brought him, “will let you live?”

At that, Jesús’s brow twitched.

“The price of these two eyes is your life. I’d say that’s a fair trade.” Tristan spoke softly, his tone flat and without any inflection, showing no hint of intimidation. His calm eyes, impossible to read, did not waver. He was a stubborn one, the type who would drag anyone who harmed him down to the depths of hell, even if it meant sacrificing everything he had.

Jesús knew another person with eyes like that.

“Jiah!”

That stubborn girl was desperate to get rid of any outsiders somehow, so he would set the two of them together and enjoy watching one of them destroy themselves. In Jesús’s mind, if the boy died by mistake, the stubborn girl would take the blame; but if she messed up, that would be satisfying in its own way.

“Damn it, can’t you come down already?”

Jesús spat on the ground and looked up at the tree, barking.

Only then did Tristan’s gaze follow upward, realizing someone was up there. It was shrouded in pitch-black shadow, impossible to guess what might be hidden within.

“That crazy bitch…”

Just as Jesús was about to curse, something dark shimmered in front of Tristan’s eyes. At first, it looked tiny, but he soon realized it only looked that way because it had been so far up the tree. The pitch-black lump slid down the tree like a shadow.

What had dropped down in front of them from a height taller than a grown man slowly rose to her feet.

Her messy black hair looked like it hadn’t been washed in ages. It was so matted it resembled dreadlocks, her form indistinguishable. Her face and skin were so dark you couldn’t tell her original color, but worse than that was the stench coming off her body.

The smell was worse than any sewage pit. Tristan, who had held it together even while soaked in his mother’s blood, finally couldn’t take it. He doubled over and vomited everything in his stomach.

“Urk! Uuugh!”

“Pfft! Hahaha!”

Jesús burst into mocking laughter at the sight, though he too took a few steps back and crossed his arms, clearly repulsed by the stench.

“You’re in charge now. If he tries to run, just do what you’re good at—break something.”

If anyone was going to get in trouble for laying a hand on that annoying young master, it would be her. Thinking that he wouldn’t be the one getting beaten to a pulp, Jesús simply shrugged and passed the troublesome burden onto Jiah.

“Got it?”

When she didn’t respond, he asked again. She just stared blankly at Tristan as he continued to retch. The only thing on her that still shone were her pitch-black eyes. She was barely tall enough to reach Tristan’s shoulder and half his build, at best. A scrawny frame. Dressed in a rag that barely came down to her knees, she looked like something straight out of a nightmare.

Tristan thought that if there were such a thing as a black demon, it would look like this. He held his breath.

*smack!*

Jiah’s head snapped to the side. Jesús had slapped her for not even bothering to reply. He then swore and wiped his hand, now covered in black grime.

“Talk about bad luck. Whatever this bastard does, it’s on you now!”

“It doesn’t seem to understand human language.”

She looked more like a beast than a human. Tristan sneered sharply, but Jesús scowled and raised his hand to hit her again. Yet Jiah’s gaze, unfazed by pain, remained fixed on Tristan.

It was a stare more fitting of an animal, as if studying him. As if trying to assess whether he was a threat, calculated, and intent. Tristan couldn’t even tell if that black figure was a woman or a man; to him, she resembled an animal more than a person.

“You.”

As soon as he spoke, that dark gaze dropped to his mouth, staring intently. Tristan immediately shut his lips.

*smack!*

She got struck again, but whether she didn’t feel pain or simply ignored it, her relentless stare didn’t waver.

“Disgusting bitch.”

The way the dark-eyed figure casually brushed her filthy hand across his cheek made Tristan feel deeply uneasy. He would’ve preferred dealing with Jesús, whose threats were as blunt and obvious as his appearance. There was something ominous about this person—something raw and feral that unsettled him.

Perhaps deciding there was no point in continuing the conversation, Jesús brushed off his hands and walked over to a group of children around his age.

As Tristan watched the kids proudly carrying machine guns and whistling loudly, it dawned on him—this was the Resistance’s hideout, the very place his mother had often warned him about. This was where the child soldiers lived. Children born into homes too poor to feed them, or orphans, were sold here. Exposed early to weapons and drugs, most either died young or grew into adults who repeated the same cycle.

These kids knew guns better than books and were more familiar with knives than toys. There were too many of them here—children destined to be discarded like worn-out cards.

But it wasn’t something he needed to care about. Relief work and world peace were his mother’s causes, not his.

“Don’t look at me like that. It’s disgusting,” Tristan muttered through clenched teeth.

After all, if they were carrying guns and knives here, that meant they were no different from the ones who’d kidnapped him. Even if they had no choice, it wasn’t his concern. The dark-eyed figure took three or four steps back at his low warning tone.

Then she waited there, as if silently telling him to follow. She didn’t move a muscle, like she wouldn’t take a step unless he did. In the end, it was Tristan who couldn’t hold out any longer.

“Lead the way.”

He wanted to collapse and lose consciousness right then, but he didn’t let it show.

He couldn’t afford to show any weakness in front of a group like this. In his world, weakness was never an option. The moment you showed it, you risked being devoured without a trace. His mother had been benevolent to others, but with Tristan, she was harsher than anyone. To protect everything he would one day command, she never taught him how to bow his head.

“Or just drag me there. I don’t care.”

His arms, tied behind his back, were already numb. The dark-eyed figure tilted her head slightly, then approached him. When the foul stench hit him again, he recoiled in disgust, and only then did those dark eyes blink slowly.

“You stink. Back off.”

Whether she understood him or not, she quickly moved a good distance away and just stared again. Either way, running was never an option for Tristan. Unless a satellite fell from the sky, the tracking device implanted in his body would give away his location anyway.

Tristan had always survived countless dangers, kidnapping attempts that had become almost laughable over time. None had ever succeeded to this extent before, but eventually, this jungle would be scoured, and the chip implanted in his body would respond to the signal, leading to his rescue.

All he had to do was stay alive.

Every time he moved his face, the dried blood tugged at his skin. As Tristan stood there, expression frozen, the dark-eyed figure in the distance gestured for him to follow.

She looked like she’d stay there forever unless he moved first, so in the end, he followed.

Barefoot and without proper shoes, she navigated the rough jungle path as if it were her second nature. In contrast, Tristan, unfamiliar with the terrain, stumbled several times. Because of this, the dark-eyed figure kept turning back every few steps to check on him, walking forward, then glancing back again, making sure he was keeping up.

Children’s voices could be heard as they reached the jungle. It must’ve been where the child soldiers stayed. Unlike where Tristan had first arrived, this one had a few crude structures—barely passable as houses—made from roughly tied-together wood.

The dark-eyed figure pointed towards that direction with her dirty finger, grimy under the nails.

“Big sis! Jiah! Big sis!”

A few children had been huddled together out front, and when they spotted them, they suddenly dashed over. Some of the kids had eyes as dark as coal, and a foul stench hit his nose, like the smell of animal waste from a filthy dung heap.

“Big sis!”

One of the kids flashed a wide grin, showing off white teeth, and threw their arms around the dark-eyed girl while casting a quick glance at Tristan. Only then did he once again confirm that the girl’s name was Jiah, the name Jesús had called her. And he was now certain of her gender.

“What happened to your face? Did Jesús hit you again?”

The question was filled with worry, as if it were a common occurrence. Jiah shook her head. Tristan left them behind and walked toward the hut Jiah had pointed out. It smelled like rotting wood. Better than the stench of filth.

To someone mildly obsessive about cleanliness like him, the jungle was hell. He desperately wanted to wash, but instead slumped into a corner, his mind completely blank.

He didn’t want to think about anything. The shock of losing what he loved most among all the things he had was still suffocating. It was as if time had frozen at the moment his mother died, making everything feel surreal. A short laugh escaped his lips.

“…”

The dark-eyed girl, who had silently followed him again, bent down on one knee.

“You…”

*click*

The handcuffs around his wrists came undone. His limp arms finally fell loosely by his sides. One shoulder slumped crookedly, but Tristan couldn’t move. He was completely exhausted. He closed his eyes, tuning out the stinking creature in front of him.

Suddenly, a strong force slammed him against the wall. His eyes flew open to find a filthy hand gripping his shoulder. As he opened his mouth to yell, a wad of cloth was shoved in.

Before he could resist, Jiah grabbed his forearm and, with swift precision, popped his dislocated arm back into place.

*crack*

With the sickening crack of bones realigning came a wave of intense pain that turned his vision white. He spat the cloth out onto the floor and muttered weakly.

“You brute…”

When Tristan tried to grab her, Jiah jumped to her feet and backed away. Aside from a dull ache, his shoulder was mostly fine. As circulation returned, his arm tingled, so Tristan gave up on trying to catch her.

And just like that, the first day of his kidnapping came to an end.