Chapter 71

By the time the market was spotless—so clean that I swore I saw the cobblestones sparkle—the boys collapsed onto their brooms, panting.
“It’s… over Patchy Mustache wheezed. “We’re… free
Hehehe. Did they really think I’d let them off so easily?
I clapped my hands. “Nope. You’re not done.”
Luis Miguel groaned. “What more do you want from us?!”
I leaned against a stall, crossing my arms. “Since you’re so eager to learn about humility, I figured you’d love the next step. You’re going to go from vendor to vendor and personally apologize for all the trouble you’ve ever caused them. AND you’ll ask if there’s anything you can do to help them.”
Their eyes simultaneously widened in horrification.
“You’re joking,” one of the boys said flatly.
“Do I look like I’m joking?”
“But
I cracked my knuckles.
Luis Miguel straightened immediately. “We’ll do it!”
“Attaboy.”
Thus, the suffering continued.
They trudged from stall to stall, their pride bleeding out of them as they blurt out their forced apology.
“Señor, we are deeply sorry for
“Not good enough,” I cut in. “Put more heart into it.”
They clenched their jaws.
” SEÑOR!” Luis Miguel literally shouted. “We are SO very sorry for our past mistakes!”
The vendor who was an old man selling spices, stroked his beard. “Hmm… What kind of mistakes?”
Luis Miguel’s eye twitched. “Uh… stealing. And lying. And, uh
“Throwing eggs at my stall,” the vendor chirped in.
Luis Miguel winced. “Right. That too.”
The vendor nodded. “Good. Now carry these sacks of pepper for me.”
Luis Miguel’s mouth fell open.
I grinned, clapping my hands. “Chop chop.”
He heaved the sacks onto his shoulders, nearly falling over from the weight.
And so it went.
One by one, they faced the people they had tormented.
They polished fruit stands. They carried meat for the local butcher. They refilled grain sacks. They even helped the old lady who had thrown a coin at Luis Miguel, massaging her swollen ankles as she scolded them for being “disgraceful little rats.”
The market dwelled in their misery.
Shoppers gathered to watch as the once arrogant insolent boys became errand runners. Children giggled. Women whispered to each other. Vendors threw challenges at them just to see them struggle.
And through it all, I stood back, arms crossed, watching justice unfold.
Because this—this—wasn’t just punishment.
This was a lesson.
A lesson they’d never forget.
Now, that, ladies and gentlemen, is how it’s done.

By the time we left, the market was buzzing with stories of the day the mighty Luis Miguel and his gang became nothing more than street sweepers.
An hour later, we were back under the tree where we were previously playing the gambling game. The boys slumped against the tree, their bodies used and their dignity now nothing but dust in the wind.
Luis Miguel’s head lolled back and his face was drawn with exhaustion, while Patchy Mustache lay flat on the ground, breathing like a dying fish. Gonzalo and the last of them, sat hunched over, running their fingers through their grimy hair, looking like they’d aged ten years in the span of an afternoon.
It was a beautiful sight.
I leaned against the tree, arms crossed, watching them with the satisfaction like that of a king surveying his conquered land. The market was spotless, the vendors were still chuckling at their expense, and the boys? Well, they had been broken.
Almost.
Because I wasn’t done yet.
I pushed off the tree and crouched in front of them, my presence instantly putting them on high alert. Luis Miguel tried to sit up straighter, but his body betrayed him.
“Alright, muchachos,” I grinned from ear to ear. “You’ve learned a lot today, haven’t you?”
Luis Miguel swallowed. “Sí… mucho.”
“Good, good,” I said, nodding. “But there’s one last thing I need you to do.”
They flinched. Perfect reaction.
Patchy Mustache groaned. “Axel, por favor
I grinned. “Ah, so now it’s ’Axel’ and not ’Beta’ or ’señor’? Look how friendly we’ve gotten.”
Luis Miguel looked me in the eyes. “What do you want from us?”
“It’s about María José.”
Their faces drained of color. I didn’t elaborate. I didn’t have to.
Instead, I gave them clear instructions. And the boys? Their reactions were full of disbelief, dread, and reluctant acceptance.
“You can’t be serious,” Gonzalo whispered.
“Dead serious,” I replied.
Luis Miguel opened his mouth like he wanted to argue, but one sharp look from me had him shutting it again. He nodded stiffly, jaw tight.
“Good.” I stood up, dusting off my hands. “You’ll do as I say. No questions, no excuses.”
They didn’t speak.
I smiled. “I’ll take that as a yes.”
Then, just as I was about to enjoy my moment of victory, my phone rang.
I pulled it out, and glanced at the screen…
… And felt the blood drain from my face.
Papá.
Shit.
The entire market suddenly felt too loud, too hot. My spine went rigid as I stared at the phone, my father’s name burning through the screen like a direct summons from hell itself.
Luis Miguel and his goons noticed the change in my expression. Even through their exhaustion, their eyes blazed with interest.
“Trouble?” Luis Miguel asked happily like my sorrow would bring him joy.
I shot him a death glare. “Shut up.”
Then I answered.
“Axel.”
Father’s voice was of pure rage.
I held the phone slightly away from my ear because, Dios, the man was really roaring.
“Do you have any idea what you’ve done?”
Oh. So this was about…
“You mean figuratively putting Don Diego’s face through a table?” I said, feigning innocence. “Yes, Papá, I’m aware.”
“Axel,” he growled. “This is NOT funny!”
Like he wasn’t the last person on earth I’d want to joke with. Tch.
“I wasn’t joking,” I replied affirmatively.
What followed was a dangerous pause. The kind that usually ended with me losing privileges or getting threatened with exile.
“You have made a mess. A colossal, unnecessary mess,” he seethed. “And now I have to clean it up!”
I rubbed my temple. “You’re overreacting.”
“Overreacting? OVERREACTING?” he bellowed so loud that even the boys jumped. “Axel, I had to listen to the most powerful man in the pack cry over the phone about how you humiliated him in his own home!”
I grinned. “I mean… did you expect him to thank me?” For origınal chapters go to ~net
” Come home. Now. ”
Pfft.