“Why're you here?”

The sounds of the sea thundered in the air, violent waters battering against themselves in raging waves, crashing against the rocks. It was slightly muffled behind the foliage of trees standing between them and yet, despite that, the exploding splashes completely covered the sky in a sphere of loud, ambient silence. There was nothing to hear, and nothing louder to be heard.

Save for a maniacal gorilla, shouting into the depths of the dark distance.

“Hey, I’m asking you.”

There Jorge stood, in a small, empty field between the back of the boys’ dormitory, and the dark, thick forest beside the sea. He stood among the backdrop of the dormitory’s golden walls, along with a troop of primate lackeys standing behind him, peering and glancing into the distance in curiosity. The gorilla pointed into the dark silhouettes of the forest sitting in the distance.

“Why in bloody hell are you here?”

Across Jorge, facing the glaring, gleaming walls of the dormitory, standing among the black shadows of the woods behind, was a dog.

“Where’s Leo,” the gorilla asked.

The dog didn’t answer. He stood silent and still, with only a slither of light giving tantalizing glimmers of his body. His already black fur blended with the black uniform he wore, shrouding him more within the darkness of the forest behind him, leaving only a faint outline of his body as to who he is.

“I’ll ask one last time,” Jorge, with all his gargantuan size locked tight in a uniform barely keeping his frame and physique contained, threatened with a huffy voice, “Where the hell is Leo?”

"He didn't come," the dog spoke. The grumbling, deep growl of the silhouette prowled from the distance, letting off a dangerous, warning sound.

Jorge heeded none of the warning and directed a fat finger towards the silhouette once again. "Then where the hell is he?"

"He didn't say," the dog spoke.

The gorilla held onto a rising temper boiling in his head. His eyes twitched, along with his hands, now balled up into shaking fists. His breath began rising sharply, heaving out steaming frustration through his giant nostrils. Strikes of blood spread and reached into his dark eyes, covering his sight in uncontained anger. Veins coursed through his body, with pulsing lines stretching throughout his massive arms.

He brought up his finger and spoke again, "Tell him he's dead when I see him next time."

The gorilla then turned away and strutted towards the building in long strides, holding fists in his arms and rage in his chest. His followers frantically followed their leader from behind.

Jorge was on his way back in when the dog stepped out from the shadow and into the light of the building's gleaming, golden walls. He was a Doberman, about two thirds of the gorilla's height. He too, had fists tucked in his sides, with a strong, glaring scowl on his face that seemed to hold permanence on his range of expressions.

"I’m taking his place," Dove barked out, "I'm settling things for him."

Without turning back Jorge spoke, "Piss off. This is between me and that pussyfeet. You and I have no business. You mangy curs can stay out of this."

The other apes snickered and snorted as the gorilla continued on his way.

"Sounds like you're the pussyfeet," the Doberman called out.

Jorge didn't answer and kept on his way. His primate followers, in turn, responded in various ways. Some showed faces of indigent shock while others hurled howling rebuttals of their own, barbarically pointing towards Dove's docked tail, accusations towards his sexual orientation and many other insulting affronts. Among the primates was an orangutan, who seemed much more docile and thoughtful than his contemporaries. He was oddly silent within the screaming troop, opting to be quiet with a squeamish, nervous expression on his hairy face.

Dove gave no attention and approached the group in short, confident strides. He went on with his words, "Sounds like you're scared and a coward. Sounds like you're running away from a fight. Some monkey looking high and mighty won't fight a dog but would face Leo sounds like a whole lot of bull to me."

Jorge neither stopped nor turned around and spoke, "I don't fight crazed mongrels, that's all-"

"Bull," Dove said again, "You're just tough and loud with no strength to back it up. You're no gorilla, you're just some ape with a loud voice."

Even the primates fell silent as he barked out some more.

"You probably even regret coming down here. You're probably even relieved Leo didn't feel like coming to see you. Now you're scared of facing a fight, calling this none of my business and hightailing out of here."

Jorge gave no answer. Even his troop fell silent as Dove went on with his barrage of affirmations.

"You knew you couldn't beat Leo. Not before you knew you couldn't even swing past a skinny wolf."

Then the gorilla stopped dead in his tracks.

His troop went to a halt immediately like puppets as soon as their leader froze in his steps. For a moment everything seemed to pause. The Doberman, only a distance away from the gang, glaring at Jorge from behind. The primate band, looking back and forth at the both of them, concern towards their leader and scowls towards the canine.

Then he reached for the centre of his uniform. His fingers dug within the seams of the jacket and began unbuttoning.

Jorge asked in a low, menacing voice.

"You want to know how I got the Number Seven spot?”

"No," Dove answered.

Jorge went on as if Dove answered otherwise, "Months ago, it was sat on by some baboon from the Senior classes. One day, he decided to meet his baboon girlfriend at the Junior wing for lunch, along with his goons. He went to the cafeteria, and went to where I sat.

"He said he liked my table, and wanted to take my table. I told him to piss off, and go eat somewhere else. He asked me if he knew who he was instead. Hell if I knew who that clown-faced monkey was. He then brought out two things, and told me to choose.

"He told me I either respect the seventh strongest animal in the Academy, or join his victims in the infirmary."

The gorilla took off his jacket, unveiling a bunch of fat, angry, formless snakes creeping symmetrically across his back, hidden under a tight tank top barely holding itself in one piece. His spine was a valley of roiling muscles diving into the crevice, bulging in every expandable position from the nape of his bulky neck to his hips. His veins pulsed visibly as they were pushed against his dark skin by the bricks swelling from underneath.

“He joined his victims in the infirmary,” Jorge said, “And then more joined him. Soon, ‘his’ victims became ‘my’ victims. ‘His’ goons became ‘my’ goons. ‘His’ spot became ‘my’ spot.”

The gorilla tossed his jacket towards his goons on the back. He turned around, showing his barrel-chested torso tearing the straps of his tank top to its deepest strand of fabric. His shoulders were aircraft carrier runways shooting off both ways, holding his outer arms that draped like oversized weapons, with biceps that looked like it grew under pure pressure and forced to its physical limits out of sheer will.

"All because he didn't piss off when I told him to."

Then he took a step towards Dove.

"You're sending Leo more than a damn warning, this time," Jorge huffed, "You're sending him a message as well."

He gripped his fists, with the moonlight gleaming off the domes of his knuckles.

"Tell that leopard to keep his damn pets on a leash."

Dove didn't give an answer, but he did give a response. He arched his posture downwards, and pointed his shoulders sideways. His once tense arms slacked, with open hands unclenched, dangling just below his hips. His gaze sunk deeper, and the glare grew stronger than before. A brown ring blazed within his pupils, illuminating his dark demeanor to its maximum capacity.

Jorge made a short, fast stride towards Dove, pumping his arms as he walked. Dove himself gave no advancement of his own, merely staring down the primate as he got closer each step.

Jorge neither broke into a charge nor slowed down some. He kept a constant pace forwards in one set speed. He held a straight posture that rendered him taller with every step he took. Deep, sinking footprints trailed behind him as he went. His expression remained unchanging, save for a solid grimace of bellicose that he’d imprinted within his gaze.

Every inch he covered between him and Dove the darker his demeanor grew. His presence was reduced to a shadow, his features shrouded, leaving only an ever growing, menacing silhouette and the dome-shine of his knuckles dragging along by his side.

Ten steps remained between the two. Dove drew his glare upwards, meeting the head of the looming shadow approaching him. Seven steps remained. Audible cracks popped from Jorge as he flexed his shoulders, twisting it across the socket. Odours from both animals clashed, melting together in an undeniably odoriferous smell. Five steps remained. The odours coagulated into a scoffing stench pungent enough to smelt one's senses. Jorge's silhouette already towered over the building's golden glare, shrouding the Doberman in complete darkness. Three steps remained and Jorge flung an uppercut hailing from the depths of the darkness. A streaking gleam blasted towards Dove from below. The dog reacted within a tick of a second and thrusted his palms downwards in full force. One step remained when both strikes met with explosive contact. The uppercut broke through the Doberman's palms and caught him right under his chin.

Whatever sound Dove possibly made would've been covered by the striking thump thundering across the land as the Doberman flew a solid foot up into the air. It whipped through the cold, salty air,  booming across the land, belting its massive sound like a lashing whip. It roared into the sky, hard-hitting and thick, like a raw, audible representation of brute force condensed into a noise lasting no more than a fraction of a second. The sound was short, yet arduous to listen, even within that mere fragment of time.

Dove crashed onto the ground on his back with a muffled thud, skidding and tumbling off several feet before finally stopping with his face down on the grass, shrouded from view.

Jorge still had his fist held high as he watched the dog fly into the air and crashland violently down onto the grass in a tumble. He slowly brought down his arm, staring at the dog with a sharp gaze. Moments passed as the wind blew and the waves crashed in the distance, dimmed by the thick forestry that laid at the end of the field.

Jorge stared for a single minute. Throughout the time, Dove moved neither an inch nor a finger. He didn’t even seem to be breathing. Not even the natural, slight bloat one might spot from a living creature. Anything alive would have things inside their bodies, deep within their skins, working and churning to keep themselves sentient and functioning.

Dove had none of the signs. Neither a peep nor a jerk. He was simply silent and motionless. Mere moments ago he was barking with liveliness and vigour, now he had morphed into the shadows of the scenery. It even seemed inappropriate to call him a dog now. A dog would imply the subject to exhibit signs of vital life. He seemed more like an inanimate body resembling canine species. A corpse, to be frank. An object belonging to a different topic of discussion, sitting in the same room as a rock or a mound of dirt.

“Boss! Boss!”

Jorge turned around.

“I got it,” a lanky macaque with a face occupied by tuffs of peach and hairy ears called out, holding a phone in his hand, showing it to the gorilla, “I recorded the whole thing and sent it to the boys. They’re spamming it on every board in the Academy Network right now. Canines, primates, felines, reptiles, birds; everyone’s getting the news.

“Now everyone will know who’s the third strongest in the Academy.”

Jorge didn’t answer for a while. He only gave a blank gaze towards the macaque, watching his baffled and mystified expression, as well as the other bewildered faces among the troop. In comparison, the gorilla seemed unfazed. As the man of the subject, he looked as if he was the one to be concerned the least. He gave no reaction towards the whole ordeal; at least none bigger than a simple “Good” he muttered towards the troop after a fleeting moment of silence.

He turned back once more. There the body stayed, laying on his face, as still as the shadows looming behind the distant mound of shadows he had been reduced to. The gorilla stared through squinted eyes for no longer than a second and scoffed away. He walked back to his troop, grabbing his jacket from them. He made furtive glances to the back as he went. The body still remained, motionless and quiet.

“Boss,” one from the troop jumped towards Jorge, plastering his phone to his face. “It’s up on every board. They’re reposting it on all the threads already.”

“Mm hm,” was all the reaction he gave as he slid his forearms back into his jacket with some considerable difficulty.

“Boss,” another popped out from Jorge’s field of view and shoved his screen into his eyes, “It’s getting pinned on half the boards. It’s gonna hit trending pretty soon.”

“Right,” he said as he yanked both flaps of his jackets to his sizable belly.

In an instant the troop suddenly became Jorge’s personal army of secretaries. Each of them were on their phones, busy swiping and checking on whatever, as long as it concerns their leader in any way possible.  They were referencing and cross-checking on statistics and numbers with each other like a team of professionals working on the most important job in the world.

All except for the nervous orangutan, who forced himself through the troop, reaching Jorge’s side, who’s busy slotting buttons back into his jacket. The orangutan had a stout body holding a hunched posture, with a face caving outwards and a nose hanging down like a fruit along with his chin, all dabbed with an abundance of dark, orange hair, nearing the brown territory. He tapped on Jorge’s shoulders with his long reaching arms and spoke with a high tone, dampened by his relatively low voice.

“So,” the orangutan quivered beside the gorilla, not out of fear but rather out of habit, “how’s it feel to jump the list?”

“Nothing,”  Jorge answered straightaway, adjusting his collar as he did, “It’s expected from the start and went exactly my way.”

The troop went hysterical for a moment. They gave hoots and howling cheers, praising their leader for his confidence and strength, and how he’s shooting into a higher realm of power and authority to ‘teach those fools to mess with the primates’. All save for the orangutan, who remained quiet and solemn while glazing his eyes to the back, towards the odd mound in the dark background of forestry.

“Boss,” another one from the troops spoke out, “The clip’s hot topic now. It broke into the trending tab.”

"Yes-"

"Boss," a voice from the far back emerged, "The clip's hit three digits. Everyone online's watching it."

"That's it," Jorge broke out, "I can see it for myself-"

"B-Boss," the same macaque from before called out from behind.

"What did I just say-"

"N-No, look," the macaque pointed.

Jorge didn't see where the macaque pointed towards, but he knew instantly. In fact, sometime during the fleeting moments where he looked back at the body in the grass, some part of within him came to terms with the fact already. He paused in his steps, frozen in action. The others, including the orangutan, turned back and took a long solid look.

There he stood against the backdrop of the dark forestry, a silhouette void of colours and details, slack-armed but firm in his stance, staring with blazing circles of burning brown from his eyes.

The Doberman.

Dove.

The macaque turned back, abhorrent shock in his face, asking "W-What now, Boss?"

The gorilla didn't answer. He held his fists hard in his arms, silent for a few deadly seconds. His enormous back rose and fell, seemingly growing larger by the moment. A suffocating quiet passed by, then he turned around.

Cracking his knuckles, he marched back down to the field, holding nothing but clenched fists and a dagger-like glare towards the Doberman. He trudged across the field, pulling the sleeves, pushing his massive forearms out of their constraints. Panting breaths huffed out between his cheeks, irregular and slowly growing faster as the moment passed.

Once again, ten steps remained between the two. The gorilla locked eyes with the Doberman, staring daggers into his still, burning pupils. The brown edges wobbled as they gazed towards the gorilla, burning in intensity and pressure. Seven steps remained and the Doberman broke into a sprint, immediately closing the distance. The gorilla reacted and charged a fist from his shoulder. Three steps remained and the Doberman slammed a foot on the ground, ripping himself to a halt just as the gorilla threw a roundhouse swing sweeping across the air, missing the dog by an inch from his snout, arcing to the other side. The Doberman pounced to the front and socked the gorilla by his jaw with an explosive crack of brute force.

The gorilla spun to his side, spit flying from his open mouth. He kept a firm eye on the canine and threw himself using momentum, hailing a backhanded swing with the same arm. His knuckles flew with an audible boom through the wind and yet, clipping only a hair by the tip of the Doberman’s ear. The dog stomped on the ground and spun an elbow, jabbing the gorilla right on the side of his head. A fist immediately followed, busting a one-two blow striking within the space of a split second.

A bellowing roar exploded from the depths of the gorilla’s lungs. Strikes of red lightning fired through the corners of his dark eyes, streaking towards his pupils. The gorilla teared a long, rising grunt, lunging with a blind fist ramming towards his front like a freight train, only for the knuckles to stop short at nothing, breaking the passing whiff of the Doberman's scent in the cold air. The dog swiped under the gorilla's hailing fist and rammed an uppercut, cutting his knuckle right at the tip of his nose.

The gorilla's head hammered upwards like a fish out of water in a neck-breaking arc, bringing along a crimson jet fountain bursting from his nose.

And thus went the cycle.

The gorilla flailed fruitlessly, raining down fist after fist only to clip the cold empty air with each swing. No matter how hard he threw his paws, the Doberman dodged his every move. Or rather, he was too slow for the Doberman himself. Every blow the gorilla threw the dog weaved through them with fleet movement, shooting towards his defenseless corner and cuffing him from every angle. The gorilla’s windmill barrage of swings lost all its intimidation to the Doberman’s agile footing and pinpoint knuckles. Swing by swing, the gorilla would fling pummeling knuckles at nothing while the Doberman, jab by jab, clipped him in the face at every open window. 

Slowly, the gorilla backed off, staggering from one foot to the other as sniping punches railed him every second. Every sign of weakness he showed the Doberman gobbled it up with another wallop. 

The dog let up none. The gorilla lobbed one useless fist after another towards him, only to find himself hitting an afterimage. The Doberman would duck and swing another shot, pushing the gorilla further back in defence, where the dog would step in, letting up no mercy.

With every hit the Doberman chiseled pieces off the gorilla’s hardened exterior. His aggressive, glaring face was forcefully contorted and smashed up  with every strike he delivered. Jab after jab the Doberman broke through the gorilla’s shell, hammering through the thick wall the gorilla put on, breaking towards a vulnerable secret the gorilla held just like everyone else - flesh that can bleed, and blood that can spill. Every punch the Doberman swung he gnawed through the shell even more, prying open the scarring secret wider than before, bruising more flesh, spilling more blood. Each blow the dog brought down took the gorilla closer to an endgame; a test of endurance where only one remains - his spirit, or his flesh.

The angry, raging primate with lumbering fists was stripped of facade, revealing to be nothing but a lump of fragile matter, capable of pain and suffering, no different than anyone else, laying bare to the gorilla that anyone can bleed, if punched hard and often enough. He was the deep-rooted canopy of the forest in the food chain, and the Doberman was the hurricane, the force of nature ripping him from his comfort zone.

The gorilla jerked his shoulders and hurled a backhand, swiping the cold air once more. The Doberman lunged from beneath and cast his knuckles against the gorilla’s cheeks, rippling through his bruised, bleeding skin. Following was an animalistic howl churned by the unholy union of pain and rage and the Doberman clutching another fist, primed and ready to break some more.

 

---

 

The macaque turned back, abhorrent shock in his face, asking "W-What now, Boss?"

Jorge didn’t turn back. He held his fists hard in his arms, silent for a few deadly seconds. His enormous back rose and fell, seemingly growing larger by the moment. A suffocating quiet passed by, then he turned around.

“Leave it. We already got the proof,” he grunted, “I beat him. It’s done. Nothing he can do to change that.”

“R-right. Absolutely right, Boss,” the macaque said as he quickly followed Jorge from behind. He turned back as he went, shouting to Dove, “You stay back and away from the Boss! If you got a brain left in there, don’t ever come near us, you hear?”

The troop, following their massive Boss, trudged back into an open double door leading into the golden building, leaving Dove’s brown, burning glare all to himself back in the field.

They passed a hallway, leading up to the lounge of the front entrance. The early commotion of the evening had diminished, leaving only a few boys scattered across the place, making small talk between each other, or being occupied with themselves.

That all changed when Jorge entered the room. The gorilla drew gazes like a magnet, with a sudden, ringing silence descending upon the lounge as the few scattered occupants all turned to meet Jorge and his troop. No matter how busy they possibly were, their business was apparently no more important than Jorge’s presence. They all stopped and gazed towards the new company in the room. Their stares presented wonder and amazement, as if looking at an unfamiliar, unaccustomed change to the world they inhabit.

Evidently, word travels fast around here.

Jorge made a quick turn, heading towards the corridor leading to the elevator hall, leaving the gawking crowd to themselves  when something slithered in front of him from out of view.

It was the snake, emerging from an obscure corner the gorilla either didn’t notice or completely missed. The troop were taken aback, surprised and shocked as they took a few steps back as all dozen feet of the giant reptile rose from the bottom of their feet. The gorilla didn't move, however, as the anaconda dove down from its massive form to meet Jorge in the eye.

“Greetings theresss, Jorge'sssss,” the snake hissed, tipping the black Security cap as it spoke, “How’s it this eveningsss?”

Jorge didn’t answer, only merely nudging his head up as a form of response.

“Yess, you’s too’sss,” it hissed, “Apologies for’s interuptionsss, you’s seesss. Jorge’s ands gangsss justs pass tos thee cameth from thee back’s fieldsss, and's a dog's calleth Dove'sss joined's you's minutes ago'sss...

“Whath, may’s ais inquiresss, areth your’s businessss together’sss…?”

The anaconda’s green, alluring eyes stared deep into the dark, black beads of Jorge's eyes. Its gaze seeped into Jorge's eyes, as if it was peering through his material form, trenching towards his consciousness, aiming to dig an answer from the abyss that is his mind. Blindly the snake’s gaping eyes covered the gorilla, almost overwhelming him with the intense, solid blanket of unmoving attention blanketing his presence.

“It's personal,” Jorge muttered nonchalantly, “Nothing of your concern.”

“Are’s you’s suresss?”

A slight tick flickered in Jorge's stare and he spoke as glared back into the green abyss of the snake’s eyes, “Are you calling me a liar?"

“Of course's notsss,” the snake rose back up, tipping its hat once more, “Ais justh showing’s concernsss. Ais thee security’s-”

“I know who you are,” Jorge said, “So can I go now?”

“Certainliesssss…”

The snake retreated to the blind corner whence he came, and Jorge trudged on with the troop frantically following him. They passed by the golden walls of the golden corridor, coming up to the elevator hall. Six silver double doors awaited their arrival. A stout baboon emerged from the troop and sprinted up to the front, waving a white card in front of one of the doors.  A white number flashed above it.

It was a rather large number, and would evidently take some time before reaching the ground floor.

And there Jorge and Co. waited, standing before the silver doors, watching the numbers dwindle down as the moment passes.

No one saw Dove walking towards them in short strides, settling down to Jorge’s side, waiting for the numbers to come down.

It came like a sweeping wave of silence. First, Jorge took a gaze to his side, noticing the dog standing right beside him. Then the orangutan gazed up to the gorilla, wondering what’s wrong before peering onto the other side and seeing the dog right there. The troop behind him too, became intrigued by both primates in front of them. One by one, they turned towards Dove’s direction, came to the realization, and stopped the swiping and tapping. A bubble of silence rolled up into the hall like an unwelcome guest.

Jorge stared at the Doberman with a mix of curiosity and confusion. A sudden surge of vehemence washed over the gorilla out of sheer instinct. He gripped his fists tight in a burst of energy, locking his shoulders into a tense posture. He kept a sharp eye on Dove as the moments passed, anticipating for a sudden move from the dog. He held his breath in silence, letting the ambience take over the soundscape. The last thing he needed tonight was a childish act of vengeance from some mutt.

Then he noticed something was wrong.

Slowly, the vehemence within him died down, washing away along with the blood and fluids in his body. His fingers released themselves unconsciously, along with his shoulders, slacking down to his loose arms. Jorge felt weirded out. Here was a potential trouble standing before his eyes, developed by his sense of sight to be someone he needed to put massive caution on. Yet, here goes his body, letting his guard down and unwinding the danger meter.

Then he noticed why.

Dove had his hands resting in his pants pockets. The once burning glare he had in the field diminished, with the usual scorning look printed on his face instead. He still had a slack posture, but his shoulders were completely tucked to his sides, kept to himself rather than for use. His eyes remained the same brown, but without the burning, blazing glare from before. He was the same Doberman as the one Jorge met in the field, but he was in a different state as before. He seemed neither vexing nor provocative.

He just looked neutral.

Then the silver doors rolled open. One by one they shuffled into the metal walls of the elevator, all with eyes diverted to one canine within the gang of primates. Most of them had gazes of clear contempt and disdain; they clearly didn’t feel like hiding it. A few made audible clicks from their tongues akin to the ones you’d make when stepping into a heavily unwashed lavatory, or in a cramped elevator where comfort could be achieved with the absence of one unwelcomed man.

Dove gave notice to none of them, acting like he was facing nothing but empty air.

As the elevator creaked to a rise, Jorge kept a keen eye onto the Doberman beside him. He seemed nothing like the dog he met before at the field. The more he stared the more fazed he got. A creeping sense of unease began rising from the depths of his body. The surreal sight of the dog standing beside him, riding in the same elevator without a care in the world being the same canine he’d thrashed halfway into the air was one to set alarms in his head. Dove didn’t seem like a threat now, but Jorge was ready.

A tiny, soft ding rang from the corners of the room. The doors rolled open, and a few of the troop stepped out, bidding their farewells to their gang, all while shooting hostile looks at the canine. Dove didn’t seem to notice, much less care. He was louring the elevator buttons with his naturally scornful expression, simmering with whatever that is going on within his mind.

The elevator resumed its journey not for long before another pitch grinded its ascent to a halt. The cycle repeated itself again and again, with the primates making their departures one by one and sending their goodbyes with contumely gazes stuck on the odd one out in the elevator. One of them even congratulated the gorilla for his new place among the ranks without a hint of decency to be heard in his tone.

Slowly,  the troop disbanded, slowly falling in numbers.

It wasn’t long until Jorge was left alone with Dove in the silver box.

Under the immense luck, or lack thereof, Jorge’s dorm was tens of floors above his followers, and a mere few below Dove’s.

For a solid minute, Jorge was stuck alone with the worst person to be with, second to an angry racoon. From thereon out there was no telling what would happen. For all Jorge knew the Doberman could be playing him like a fool and breaking out from his poise at any moment. The moment the doors rolled shut, Jorge already compiled a list of ways the dog could strike at any moment in his head. Though he knew he could take care of it any moment, he also understood that to let yourself get jumped on is the ultimate shame. The biggest show of weakness. Nobody plays Jorge like a fool, and he intends to keep that truth intact.

And so in that minute, Jorge anticipated. The withdrawn, uninterested face on the Doberman might be a façade for all he knew. He kept his body in a tight, elastic state, both loosened and tensed, ready to retaliate at the first sign of hostility.

Then the minute passed and the elevator pitch rang and the silver doors rolled open to Jorge's safehouse and sanctuary.

Absolutely nothing happened.

Jorge stayed fazed for a moment as the doors remained open, waiting for his departure. It wasn't that he felt unsatisfied with the situation. Being in one piece was the best possible deal he could've gotten out of this. He was just left with confusion. Confusion that he was left in one piece.

Was this really all there is to it?

Was this really all the Doberman has to offer?

Was this really the same Dove he faced in the field?

Even then, Jorge had supposedly faced Dove, the infamous canine who climbed up the list, rank by rank, place by place, leaving fractured bodies behind on his way to the top, all in the span of his first year, and had defended his title ever since, undefeated for two whole years.

This was just some mutt who cowered under one hit from Jorge's knuckles.

As he walked out, Jorge felt two things. First, he felt cheated. When he got the acceptance letter to Rormund he was infatuated by the slogan. An Academy for the best of the best. An Academy built solely for the upper echelons of the one-percent in the whole world. He cared none for the brightest and the richest of kids. He cared for being the strongest. The most powerful, most athletic of the rising prodigies were going to be there, as the print said. Jorge was enrolled for his father’s position and as his heir, but the gorilla saw something else within himself. This was where he could truly test himself, where he could compete with the best of the best, and prove his ground and that he wasn’t some trust fund kid with privileges he didn’t deserve.

In his first month, without even noticing, he’d bested the seventh strongest in a bout that he wouldn’t even classify as a fight. It wasn’t even a spar, nor a brawl. It was a cakewalk. In his short time in the Academy he found himself in a spot reserved for the revered and the feared without trying.

Six months after that he found himself taking the mantle of Dove the Doberman in one hit. That too, was unintended. If Leo did show up it’ll probably never happen. But it did, and it went smooth. Too smooth.

Secondly, he felt pride. He felt strong and empowered. There was no other time in his life where he felt as good as now. He’d overthrown the best of the best that were supposedly handpicked from the best among the world. In layman terms, he was the strongest among the strongest of the strongest. And he did so without lifting a conscious finger. If this was what it’s like to be a prodigy then there was never a time where he wasn’t one. He was prodigious from the get-go; he just didn’t know.

He was a gift to the world; destined for the great things he’d soon come to inherit.

He wasn’t lucky. He was deserving of what he had and will have.

Holding both his biggest frustration and pride of his life, he strutted out of the elevator in large strides. He wasn’t sure if he should be holding a frown or a smile. Nevertheless, he looked onto the present, and went with the present fact, and put on a sly, inner grin he’d packed into his head soon as it leaked out. His mind soon wandered to tomorrow, wondering how he’d deal with the leopard that played him tonight. He made a furtive glance to the back, to see the Doberman in the face one last time as he left.

Then he forgot everything as soon he saw Dove’s gaze towards him.

As the silver doors slid shut, he caught a glimpse of Dove’s eyes face to face. They were still the same frown as before, scorning into an unknown distance. A slight contentment arose from Jorge as he fathomed the impossibly furious frustration the Doberman must be bearing within himself. It almost tore a smirk on his face, as he relished from the sight.

Then it changed.

His eyebrows loosened and drooped to the side, with his vacant glare opening up by a fraction, pushing his expression into a dull, uninterested look. For that one moment, Jorge had his attention caught and reeled in by the sudden change.  As the doors slowly rolled shut, Dove had put on a new face Jorge had never expected to see. Just before they closed, he caught just a slivering glimpse of the Doberman’s expression.

It was one of pity and disappointment.

There could be multitudes of reasons for this. Jealousy, hatred, grudges, shame, or even rivalry. Petty things only kids would hold to their hearts. Childish things people would do to instigate for what’s left of its worth. Things unworthy of Jorge's attention.

Yet, somewhere deep down inside him, Jorge felt the rage and anger boiling once more, coming back all over again.

 

---

 

“You’re certainly early,” Bara commented.

Dove gave no response as he made his way to the kitchen island. It was empty, save for Dove’s dinner; oily, yellow noodles and pieces of breasts steaming on a ceramic plate and a pair of silver tableware.

“I left your share,” the bear spoke, “I reheated it too, as you preferred.”

Dove said nothing. As soon as he arrived he slumped over the marble surface, seized the cutlery, began downing the noodles by the twirl of a fork. He ate standing, as the hunger clearly bested everything else of concern.

“Where’s Leo,” Dove mumbled with a mouthful of food.

“He got tired, as he said,” Bara stood on the other side, accompanying Dove as he ate, “He went to bed early.”

“Mm,” Dove went on shoving balls of spaghetti into his mouth.

Bara waited for Dove to finish, which wasn’t long. Within five minutes he’d done gulping the noodles and gnawing through the chicken. All that was left was an oily, green-stained plate. Bara exchanged Dove’s platter with a mug of water at the sound of the cutlery clashing onto the plate. He took it to the sink behind him, throwing Dove a question while he was at it.

“How was it?”

“Mm,” Dove murmured in assent.

A moment of silence passed between the two. The sound of rushing water and short sips occupied the empty space during the time being. An ambient universe was created during that short instance, with both animals preoccupied with themselves in the moment, alone and busy with their thoughts and themselves.

Then Bara spoke again.

“How was he?”

The background silence fizzled out as soon as Bara asked Dove the question, along with the rushing water and the short sips. Even the absence of sound seemed to disappear, as paradoxical as it seemed. It was replaced with a deaf pressure, suddenly rising within the air, pulsing with great livelihood and dangerous quietness.

Dove slammed his mug down onto the kitchen counter.

“He was all bull,” Dove growled.

“I thought he was of primitive origins.”

“He’s all size and show,” Dove continued, “But he’s all slow and sloppy. He’s only got weight and heavy punches and nothing else.  I could see him swinging from a mile away. Even a rabbit can outmove that hack.  He's nothing but a waste of time."

“Oh my…”

Dove brought his mug back up. He dipped his head down for another sip when he noticed something about the water. A splotch of red was present, rippling across the surface. Then, by the bottom corner of his eye, he spotted a drip of red falling from his snout. He threw his hands up, catching the droplet right as it fell. He opened his palm to see what it really was before finally realizing what really was in his water.

“Bull.”

Dove round across the kitchen island, pushing past Bara and ducking over the kitchen sink and turning on the tap. The water swirled into the hole, with his blood tainted the colourless spiral like a red scarf. He dabbed his nose with the water, washing the blood off his mouth.

He turned off the tap, but the blood still ran like a drain. Bara handed him a paper towel from the side.

“He still hit you hard, did he not?”

Grunting through gritted teeth, Dove handed the towel and wiped his snout.

“Yeah.”

Amidst wiping, Dove felt something strange in his mouth. Something was moving, as if it was alive and fumbling within his gums. He swiped his teeth with his tongue, pushing everything while he did. Something did come out. He spat it onto the paper towel. It was a tooth, coated red and dripping with saliva.

“Ah, a premolar,” Bara exclaimed.

“Right, whatever,” Dove bunched up the paper towel and opened up the tap again. He rinsed his mouth with the water, gargling the metal taste off his tongue.

“Oh no,” Bara exclaimed once more.

“It’s just a tooth,” Dove said.

“It’s not that,” Bara reached for Dove’s left hand and raised it to his eye level. Dove stared at him from the corner of his elbow, wondering what’s gotten into him.

“Your ring finger,” the bear said, “It’s swollen. There’s a deformity between the base and the tip. It doesn’t seem to be growing but it’s best if we don’t take chances.”

Just as Bara said that, Dove felt a sharp prick stinging on his left hand. It was a throbbing wreck, screwing with his finger and breaking his otherwise calm demeanor into a snarling wince. His breath slowly deformed, letting out shallow breaths as he struggled to fight against the pain.

Bara let go of his hand, “Hold it up but not upright. I’ll be back with a makeshift splint. Get some more paper towels and ice while you’re at it.”

Bara left the kitchen, leaving the Doberman alone with himself for the time being. Whether he’d heard the bear, no one could tell. Despite Bara’s instructions Dove remained silent and motionless, staring at his finger instead of heading to the refrigerator for first aid.

Bara came back holding a wooden stick, some bandage and a confused expression.

“Where’s the ice?”

“Give me your hand.”

“What?”

“Give me your hand.”

“It’s best if we do this as soon-”

“Just give me your damn hand, will you?”

Bara was mildly exasperated, but he eventually cave in, emptying his hands onto the kitchen island and giving Dove his palms. They were, as expected from a bear, rather huge, with a rough surface and a tough frame, almost similar to Jorge’s. Then he covered Bara’s hand and formed a fist. He twisted the wrist for the knuckles to face up and rested both his palms on top of it, broken finger and all. He closed his scorning eyes, feeling Bara’s fist beneath his hands as he took one deep breath after another.

He did this for nearly half a minute.

Then Bara opened his first and grabbed Dove’s left hand before he could protest.

“The longer it remains untreated the worse it gets,” he said, “Stand still. I’ll be quick. Try to sleep on your back tonight and keep that finger on your chest. If you’re lucky, you’ll be healed in two weeks. A month, at worst.”

Dove didn’t speak nor did he make a sound as Bara dealt with his finger. He was silent the whole round, glaring more intense than before towards his finger, burning it with his gaze and whatever that is going in his head.