Chapter 154: Don’t give them what they want

"This fucking day!" Tom grunted. His face tightened as the pain pulsed harder... And he clenched his fists so tight.

James’s attention snapped to Tom at the sound of the yell and his brows furrowed with concern.

"What happened, dude?" he asked, already walking closer.

Then he saw the blood and the trainer’s face changed immediately. "God- what the-?"

"How did this happen?" He asked but it didn’t look like he was asking to get an answer. His eyes darted between the bleeding foot and around the training space.

Nat and the other three came up behind him almost immediately, their expressions were arranged into shock with suspicious speed.

"Oh, no!" One of them gasped loudly.

"The new recruit definitely needs an ambulance," Jay pointed out as if nobody knew that.

James’s jaw tightened in anger as he turned toward the studio staff. "What exactly is the studio manager doing if glass can break on the floor and nobody notices?"

The studio manager was a slim woman who looked genuinely stunned. She had checked the space. She had made sure the floor was clean before training resumed. A broken glass appearing in the middle of an active practice area made no sense to her, and the panic on her face showed it.

"I supervised the cleaners as they cleaned this floor my- myself" she stammered. "Before break ended. There was nothing here."

"Then explain that," James shot back, pointing at the blood and the glinting shards. "Do you understand what could have happened if he had gone down harder? This is a training floor, not a scrap yard."

One of the junior studio hands rushed forward, already sounding apologetic. "Sir, we don’t know how it got there. We checked the props. We checked the side rails. Nobody brought glass into this section."

"That is not good enough," James snapped. "Somebody missed something, and now I have a model bleeding on my floor the day before exhibition."

Nat shook his head with false concern. "Terrible timing. Really terrible."

Before the argument could widen further, Stiles and Brit moved in from both sides of Tom. They took his arms as if volunteering out of concern, steadying him with a helpful urgency that looked convincing to anyone not watching closely.

"We’ve got him, Let’s not crowd the man."Stiles said.

"Yeah," Brit added. "He needs air more than he needs people staring."

Around them, the studio had already tipped into noise. James continued chastising the manager. Other staff crowded in with rushed apologies, insisting they had no idea how glass had gotten onto the floor. In the middle of that confusion, Brit and Stiles guided Tom toward the exit. Every step sent a sharp pulse up from the wound. Bree stayed right behind them, with a face tight as her eyes moved between Tom’s bleeding foot and the men holding him up.

They got him outside.

Only then did Stiles look up at him properly. The concern dropped off his face and a smirk took its place.

"Hope you got the hint..." he said under his breath. "You don’t belong here."

Brit gave a short laugh under his breath, still holding Tom’s arm like a concerned colleague. "You should’ve stayed in whatever room they found you in. This place isn’t for lucky outsiders."

Then, louder, for anyone nearby to hear, Stiles added, "Rest well, man. Recuperate properly." His eyes gleamed. "The runway will be done without you. Exhibition’s tomorrow."

Tom’s jaw clenched hard enough to ache. The pain in his foot was sharp, but the satisfaction on their faces cut just as deep.

Brit patted his shoulder once, mock-friendly. "Get well soon."

Stiles and Brit released him and walked back into the studio without waiting for a response.

Bree’s nostrils flared in disgust. "Animals," she muttered, then moved in immediately to support Tom herself. "Don’t put weight on it. I’ve got you."

The ambulance arrived moments later.

Tom was helped inside, Bree climbing in after him without hesitation.

~~~~~~~~~~

By the time they reached the hospital, the worst of the bleeding had been controlled, but the wound itself was no small scrape.

Tom lay back while the doctor finished stitching. The pain had settled into a deep, pulsing heat under the dressing, the kind that made every slight movement feel felt. When the work was done, the doctor stripped off his gloves and looked at him directly.

"The cut is deep," he began politely. "You’ll need to be careful with it. No careless walking. No strain. Proper healing will take a few days. About a week if you don’t reopen it."

Tom’s hands curled against the bed sheet. "A week?"

"Yes, If you treat it properly, If you don’t, longer." the doctor replied.

The exhibition was the following day.

That fact sat in the room like a second injury. Tom gritted his teeth and said nothing more. The doctor gave final instructions to the nurse, then left.

As soon as the door closed, Bree spoke.

"Those guys did this." Her voice was low but certain. "That was not an accident. The way they looked at you outside made it obvious."

Tom turned his head toward her. "I know."

"If you want, I’ll get back at them for you," she said.

Tom’s brows drew together in part surprise, part disbelief. "How?"

"I’ll make sure the runway doesn’t happen without you." Bree maintained firmly.

He studied her face for a second. There was no playful exaggeration there. She meant it.

"Really?" he asked.

"Yes. Really. Bree replied.

Tom let out a slow breath. The pain in his foot, the smirk on Stiles’s face, the lost exhibition window, all of it pressed together at once and he nodded that the men needed to pay.

"Okay, Do whatever you have in mind."

Bree nodded once. "I will. For now, don’t give them what they want by looking finished."

Before either of them could say more, the System panel opened across Tom’s vision.

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[SIDE MISSION]

Help a neglected patient obtain immediate medical attention by any way possible.

Condition:

Host must intervene personally and successfully.

Reward:

Complete recovery of injured foot

[Accept / Reject?]

```