YOUNGPOWER Chapter 2: The Fractions

 

The Executive Lounge of MENLAIR was sacred ground—a private den carved from concrete and testosterone where only Jonah Redfield and his generals held court. Captains rarely stepped inside unless summoned, and when they did, they usually kept their eyes low. The air itself felt heavier here, thick with cigar smoke, sweat, and the myth of brutal masculinity that held MANPOWER together.

At the center of the chamber sat a massive round table forged from blackened steel. Jonah occupied the head seat with an ease earned through decades of violence. His short, coarse facial hair shadowed a jaw built for intimidation, and even in silence he radiated authority. Corbyn Alexander, Zach Dean, Daniel O’Reiley, and Jack Patterson—his generals—formed a circle around him: the Inner Circle, the highest authority of MANPOWER.

Belmont knelt on the cold floor before them, breathing hard, shoulders tense.

Jonah didn’t raise his voice. He didn’t need to. “Report. How was the mission?”

Belmont kept his eyes down. “Supreme Leader… Justice Girl came to Phallusic. She brought the Velvets. They almost ruined everything, but we managed to transport most of the girls. The Swamp team is sorting them now for the auction in the Swamp. Jacob will handle the logistics.”

Jonah’s expression barely changed, but the flicker of irritation in his eyes was enough to chill the room. “Still not a clean win,” he murmured. “I expect better next time. Understand?”

“Yes, boss,” Belmont said quickly, nodding like his neck had no bones left.

Corbyn rose from his seat and tapped a console embedded in the wall. A holographic 3D map of Eastern Alarica shimmered to life above the table, bathing the men in icy blue light. Corbyn looked sharp as ever—brown hair styled, polo tucked neatly into his jeans, the image of a clean-cut strategist. “Phallusic is interesting,” he said. “After the epidemic, the city filled up with youth. Even the mayor is barely twenty. That place is ripe for expansion.”

Daniel scoffed from across the table. Tall, blond, and annoyingly elegant for a criminal, he crossed his arms. “Expand for what? There’s barely any money coming out of that place. It’s mostly university complexes. Sure, we can collect pretty girls here and there, but economically? Dickville or Sackerio make more sense.” He pointed sharply at the cities glowing on the map.

Jack leaned forward, forearms braced on the table. The curly-haired general exchanged a look with Daniel before answering. “Phallusic isn’t about money. It’s about bodies. Young ones. We need more men if we want to expand—fresh, strong recruits, not washed-up old assholes with beer bellies.”

Corbyn nodded. “Exactly. Phallusic is a hunting ground. We recruit the young men and sell the women. With an army raised from there, we can sweep into Dickville or Sackerio with no resistance.”

Zach, the burly general in a black tank top and jeans, huffed. “So what’s the plan? March in and force the entire university to kneel? You know those kids aren’t built like us.”

“That’s precisely why we don’t use force,” Corbyn replied. “Gen Z doesn’t respond to intimidation. They didn’t grow up in the same world. They speak a new language—patriarchy through brotherhood. They’re tired of being told men are toxic. They want to be us. They want to reclaim masculinity. They want to feel like alphas again.”

Jack smirked. “They want the glory days.”

Corbyn spread his hands. “Exactly. If we go in swinging like old-school MANPOWER, they’ll see us as another threat. But if we send boys their age? Make a fraternity? Throw parties? Give them girls? Let them taste what real manhood feels like?” He smiled. “They’ll pledge themselves to MANPOWER before they even realize it.”

Jonah drummed his fingers once against the table, the sound echoing like a judge’s gavel. “Good. Bring me the files of every rank under twenty-three. I’ll choose personally.”

The door creaked open and Captain Carter Baker walked in, older than all of them by at least two decades. His presence commanded respect—former general under Jonah’s father, Henry Redfield. His voice boomed with certainty. “Supreme Leader, if I may. My son is perfect for this mission. Felix has trained his whole life for leadership. He’s strong. He’s capable.”

Jack snorted without shame. “Your son got folded by Pink Velvet. The weakest one.”

“To be fair,” Corbyn muttered, grimacing at the memory, “Pink Velvet is a menace. I’ve been ambushed by her before. It’s… very persuasive.”

Carter glared but fell silent.

Then Belmont cleared his throat nervously. “Boss… there’s something else. You should see this.” He handed a device to Florian Writz, MANPOWER’s tech captain, who plugged it into the massive monitor on the wall.

The footage played.

Justice Girl clashing with a young fighter—barely twenty—matching her movements, swinging with precision and ferocity. And then, in a single blinding moment, the boy exploded with an aura that threw soldiers aside like paper.

A raw shockwave of pure dominance.

A Conqueror Spirit.

Daniel whispered, “No fucking way…”

Zach actually stepped backward, shock all over his face. “A kid? A kid unleashed that? That’s impossible.”

Jonah leaned forward, watching with a slow, predatory grin stretching at the corners of his mouth. The expression of a man seeing a new weapon carved in the shape of a boy.

“The Conqueror Spirit,” he said softly, savoring every syllable.

Then he stood.

“Bring me the file on this young man,” Jonah ordered. “And tell Benson I’ll be overseeing his training tomorrow.”

At MENHELL

Mentari woke with a violent inhale, like someone who’d been underwater too long. Sweat clung to her skin, and her heartbeat slammed in her ears. The ceiling above her wasn’t the university dorm, nor the forest, nor the hellish campsite she last remembered. It was soft cream paint, with tiny carved patterns like something from a cozy bed-and-breakfast.

She sat up slowly, trembling.

This room…

It felt safe.

Warm lighting. Comfortably thick sheets. A soft rug under her feet. The faint smell of jasmine and something herbal. It was the kind of place a girl would imagine when picturing “sanctuary,” not a vigilante hideout.

“Teyona? Syd?” Mentari whispered, panic rising again. “Where are you? Please…”

The door opened with a soft click.

A woman stepped inside with the grace of someone who knew every inch of her territory. Tan skin, delicate Southeast Asian features, long black hair pulled into a low ponytail. Her presence calmed the air immediately, like a soothing hand pressed gently over a fever.

“Mentari,” she said, voice soft but steady. “Tenang. Semua baik-baik saja.”

Mentari… calm down. Everything is alright.

Mentari’s jaw fell open. “You—you’re… Justice Girl? Silla Kinanti?”

The woman smiled, amused by the awe in her voice. “Just call me Silla. No need for titles here. This place is your home for now, at least until you heal.” She crossed the room and sat on the mattress beside her, moving with a confidence that made Mentari feel strangely… protected. “Your friends are in the dining hall with Rebecca. They’re stuffing themselves with our cooking. Rebecca never lets anyone go hungry.”

Mentari sagged in relief… until another memory cut through her like a knife.

“The man—the one with the sword—Joshua. Did he capture us? Did he follow us? That guy had—something. Power.” She hugged herself instinctively. “I’ve never seen anything like that.”

Silla helped her stand and guided her into the hallway. “No. He didn’t follow you. No man gets to walk freely in Menhell. This place is protected by layers of security, traps, and very angry women.” She winked. “Believe me, Joshua would lose more than his ego if he walked in here. We will castrate him”

Mentari’s mind raced. The way Joshua had grabbed abducted girls by their hair. The way his aura exploded, making the forest tremble. His eyes—wild, focused, almost glowing with something ancient.

“He has… something,” Mentari whispered.

“Conqueror Spirit,” Silla replied. “Only true fighters have it. I have it. Jonah has it. A few of his generals. But that boy? He awakened it young.” She exhaled sharply. “He’s dangerous. And the fact he doesn’t even know the extent of his power? Worse.”

Then Silla’s lips curled into a wicked, lighthearted grin.

“But at the end of the day, men are pathetic. Doesn’t matter how strong they are—they’ve got those ugly fucking balls dangling between their legs. Kick ’em right, and any big tough bastard becomes a squealing little bitch.”

Mentari burst into a shaky laugh, tension breaking like a snapped string. “God, I can’t wait to kick Joshua in the balls. After what he did to those girls? I want him crying blood.”

“That’s the spirit,” Silla chuckled.

The hallway broadened into a long corridor lit with lanterns. The walls were decorated with paintings, photos, and cloth tapestries—some depicting victorious battles, others simply showing smiling women and children. It felt oddly domestic for a vigilante base.

“The girls we saved,” Mentari said softly. “Are they safe?”

“In the East Wing,” Silla answered. “We’re helping them recover. Teaching them self-defense. Making sure they can return home strong instead of broken. We’ve been doing this for years.”

“And the others?” Mentari’s voice cracked. “The girls we couldn’t reach… I should’ve fought harder.”

Silla stopped, turned, and pulled her into a tight embrace.

“It wasn’t your fault, Mentari. They’re being taken to the Swamp. We can’t launch a full assault while Jacob and his men are there—it would be suicide. But Camila will intercept the convoy before they arrive. She’s fast, ruthless, and unpredictable. If anyone can free them, it’s her.”

Mentari nodded weakly. The fight had barely begun, yet guilt was already eating her alive.

“But why Phallusic?” she whispered. “Why target my city? Isn’t Cockville enough for them?”

“Evil never stays contained,” Silla replied. “And you’re a college girl, Mentari. Your life wasn’t meant for war.”

Mentari froze. Slowly, she turned to face Silla. Her eyes were sharp, offended, burning with defiance.

“What does that mean?” she demanded. “Because I’m young, I can’t fight like you? If you say that… you sound just like MANPOWER. They said I couldn’t fight because I’m a woman. Now you’re saying I can’t fight because I’m young?”

Her voice rose, trembling with anger.

“No. I’m not useless. I’m not fragile. I will fight. I’ll cut Joshua’s dick clean off if I have to.”

A moment passed. Then Silla’s lips curved upward in a slow, proud smile.

“Good,” she said. “Then you’ll do it your way. But we must be smart. That’s why I want you to meet the others.”

They walked deeper into Menhell. Along the wall hung a photograph framed in dark wood: Silla holding a bright-eyed little girl, while an Asian man with a confident smile stood beside them.

Mentari paused. “Who’s that? Sorry—if it’s too personal—”

Silla’s face softened at the sight. “That’s my daughter, Solana. She’s with one of the older women right now, probably playing or causing chaos.” She gestured to the man. “And that’s my ex-husband. Alif.”

Mentari practically choked. “Wait—Captain Alif? The MANPOWER strategist? That’s your ex?”

Silla nodded. “Men have fragile egos. Alif couldn’t stand living in the shadow of a woman. Whether in our business days or my life as Justice Girl… he always felt emasculated. Jonah knew exactly when to strike. He recruited him the moment our marriage broke.”

Her voice grew quieter. “He’s the enemy now. I wish he could see Solana sometimes. But that’s a dream I can’t afford. I have to be her mother and father.”

Mentari felt her throat tighten. Silla wasn’t just a vigilante. She was a woman holding a world together with wounded hands.

“How do you do it?” Mentari whispered. “Being a mother, a leader, a fighter…?”

“Women can do anything,” Silla said with a half-smile. “We’re simply superior to men. Biology tried to give them balls and somehow made them weaker than toddlers.”

Mentari laughed—really laughed—for the first time in days.

They passed a reinforced glass wall. Below, in the basement, half-naked MANPOWER men were chained to steel beams. Women moved between them, delivering merciless kicks to their groins. Screams echoed upward, raw and agonized.

Silla tapped the glass. “Menhell. We punish Jonah’s dogs here. Feel free to kick their nuts whenever you’re pissed. It’s therapeutic.”

Mentari stared wide-eyed. “Holy shit…”

“Welcome to sisterhood,” Silla murmured with a grin.

Finally, they entered a broad meeting room. Sydney and Teyona shot up from their chairs the moment they saw her.

“Menti!” Sydney screamed, nearly knocking her over with a hug.

Teyona squeezed her harder. “Don’t ever disappear on us again, dumbass.”

Mentari laughed and buried her face between them.

Silla took her place at the head of the table, resting her elbows on the polished wood.

Silla stood at the head of the room, her expression sharpening as the atmosphere shifted from warm reunion to strategy. “Alright, girls,” she said, letting her gaze sweep across Mentari, Sydney, and Teyona until it landed like a steel blade. “Now it’s time for business.”

She moved to the center of the room with the presence of someone who’d spent years leading an army of women and surviving a war that never truly ended. “Welcome, ladies. Our mission yesterday—completed. Five girls rescued. The rest will fall under the Velvet’s responsibility, as usual. As for you three… I have an offer.”

The trio leaned forward instinctively. Teyona’s fists curled with anticipation; Sydney’s eyes practically sparkled; Mentari’s heartbeat fluttered with a mix of dread and hunger. It wasn’t every day Justice Girl invited you into a secret room for something serious.

Silla clasped her hands behind her back, pacing slowly. “Jonah and his MANPOWER dogs see potential in Phallusic. That city is practically overflowing with youth—young men with too much testosterone and not enough guidance. Perfect breeding ground for recruitment. If Jonah sends his boys there, we need to fortify the women. Teach them feminism. Teach them to aim for men’s stupid, ugly, fragile balls. Prepare them so they never become victims.”

Sydney snorted. “So basically, a campus self-defense workshop, but with more dick-kicking.”

Teyona lit up like Christmas. “So we’re joining the Velvets? Yes! Finally!”

Kiara leaned back in her seat and let out a booming laugh. “Oh, sweetheart… absolutely not. You think you can survive Zach or Drew? Please. They’d break you like a glow stick at a frat party.” She flicked her wrist dramatically. “You need time to grow those killer instincts.”

Camila nodded with a smirk. “Velvets are an open war team. You, however—your battlefield is psychological. Mind games. Sabotage. Subtlety. Secret identity is the key, honeys. The boys cannot know who you are.”

“We want you to be guardians of Phallusic,” Silla said. “Protectors of your city. We’ll equip you with state-of-the-art gear, custom armor, custom weapons. But this is not about glory. It’s about prevention.”

The trio exchanged looks—wide-eyed, thrilled, terrified, and clueless in equal measure.

“WE’RE IN!” they shouted together.

Rebecca stepped forward, her tone softer, motherly. “Babies, I need you to understand the reality of what you’re agreeing to. Even if you’re not diving into direct battle, this job is dangerous. Men get desperate. Men lash out when their ego is bruised. You need to be one hundred percent sure.”

Sydney twirled her hair and grinned. “Rebecca, sweetie, I’ve been wanting to kick frat boys in the nuts since I was fifteen. I’m emotionally prepared for mission.”

Camila rolled her eyes. “Actually, you won’t be doing missions. Not in the Velvet sense. Your job is to watch, protect, and disrupt. If they hold a recruitment event—ruin it. If they assault girls at parties—punish them. But you never start fights. You don’t provoke. You respond.”

Silla added, voice suddenly cold. “And never—ever—go after senior MANPOWER members outside your town. If I see you charging into Cockville or trying to hunt Jonah or his generals, I’ll take your weapons, your costumes, everything, and you’ll go back to being regular students. Understood?”

Mentari’s jaw tightened. She hated the restriction. She wanted Joshua’s nuts in a blender. She wanted Jonah’s dick on a spike. But she swallowed the fury because she knew she had no negotiating power here. “Fine,” she muttered. “Understood.”

Sydney and Teyona echoed a less enthusiastic, “Yeah… fine.”

“Good,” Silla said. Then she turned to Mentari specifically. “But before anything, I need proof you’re ready. A test.” Her eyes gleamed with challenge. “In the basement, we’re holding Blake Gray. High-ranking MANPOWER member. Angry, violent, bitter he got captured. I want you to spar with him. If you can hold your ground against Blake, then I’ll approve the weapons and costume.”

Mentari inhaled sharply. Not fear—excitement. “Understood. For the women of Phallusic… I’ll do it.”

Teyona fist-pumped the air. “Fuck yes, kill him!”

Sydney added with a grin, “But like… not ‘kill kill,’ right? Just ruin his future kids?”

“Preferably,” Silla said dryly.

IN MENALAIR

Benson’s boots hammered against the metal floor as he stormed down the corridor, each step echoing the weight of General Jack’s orders in his skull. Jonah Redfield himself would be overseeing training today—a rare occurrence that turned the entire MENLAIR into a pressure cooker. When Jonah appeared, people didn’t get warnings. They got broken ribs, collapsed lungs, shattered egos. Captains could be punished and survive it, but recruits? Recruits ended up as stains on the concrete if Jonah didn’t like what he saw.

Benson shoved the barracks door open so violently that it ricocheted off the wall with a deafening slam. The room full of half-asleep men jolted upright like animals caught in headlights. “LISTEN UP, YOU USELESS BALL-SCRATCHING, BED-WETTING MOTHERFUCKERS!” he roared, throat tearing with the force of it. “The mighty leader, Jonah Redfield, will be present at training today! Uniforms ON—black leather, black tops, blue jeans! You have thirty minutes. Not. One. Fucking. Second. More!”

Panic detonated through the room. Men scrambled over each other, sheets flying, boots slipping, curses exploding, someone yelling for their underwear, someone else crying because he couldn’t find his belt. It would’ve been funny if it weren’t so pathetic.

Benson watched with a dead-eyed expression. Idiots. All of them. Except one.

Joshua Bassett.

While the rest were still fighting with their socks, Joshua had been awake for an hour, tearing through a self-imposed workout in the gym. Sweat dripped down his chest, tracing the line of muscle carved from brutal discipline. He hung from the pull-up bar, arms shaking with strain, but he refused to stop until his body gave out. Even exhausted, he looked carved—sharp jaw, low curls sticking to his forehead, the kind of physique Jonah could weaponize.

Yello sat nearby on the bench, his freckles bright under the harsh lights, wearing a black polo tucked neatly into his jeans—one of MANPOWER’s three approved tops. “You’re insane, Josh,” he said, eyes wide with admiration. “You’ve done like… a hundred and twenty.”

Joshua dropped from the bar, chest heaving. “A hundred and forty.” He wiped sweat from his neck with the bottom of his shirt, revealing defined abs that made even Yello blink. “Not enough. Zach can do two hundred easy.” He reached for his leather jacket and shrugged into it with practiced ease. “Your brother doesn’t forgive weakness.”

Yello’s smile dimmed, replaced with a familiar ache. “People are talking about you, though. About the Conqueror Spirit. You’re turning into a legend.” His voice was hopeful. “Jonah’s definitely heard by now. He’ll promote you, I’m sure.”

Joshua shrugged, unconvinced. “I barely held my own against that Justice Girl. She’s a monster.” Then he nudged Yello’s shoulder gently. “But… thanks.”

Yello hesitated, then whispered, “You’re more of a brother to me than Jonah ever was.”

Joshua paused mid-zip. His expression softened—not pitying, not patronizing, but warm. He placed a hand on Yello’s shoulder with steady reassurance. “Then I’ll make you strong.” His voice was low, firm, like a vow. “Brotherhood isn’t blood—it’s loyalty. We don’t tear each other down. We save our strength for the women who try to take what belongs to men.”

Yello’s eyes shone at that. They high-fived, palms slapping together sharply—an oath sealed between two young men fighting for purpose in a brutal world.

Joshua tilted his head. “Mind if I ask something, Yel?”

Yello tried to smile. “Go ahead.”

“Why the red hair? Jonah’s dark. He’s tall. You’re… not. Different mothers, right?”

A shadow passed over Yello’s face. “German mom,” he murmured. “I grew up in Hamburg with my mom and my twin sister, Jessica. Didn’t know who my father was until I was ten. Then a MANPOWER soldier showed up—said Henry Redfield wanted me.” His jaw tightened. “But before I got here… Henry was already dead. Castrated by some woman. Jonah was the leader. And he hated me from day one. Called me bastard, weakling. But… he didn’t throw me out. Brennan watches over me more than Jonah ever did. So I stay. Better than being nobody.”

Joshua’s expression softened. “Doesn’t sound like nothing to me.”

They walked toward the training field, the metallic scent of sweat and dirt filling the air. Recruits snapped into line, leather jackets creaking in stiff synchronization. The field buzzed with nervous energy as Joshua joined Garrett and Matt.

Garrett winced, rolling his shoulder. “Still sore from yesterday. But yeah, I’ll survive.”

Matt smirked. “That’s what everyone says before Jonah fucking kills them.”

Yello checked his clipboard, flipping through pages until he frowned. “Where’s Joshua’s chart?” he asked Benson.

Benson didn’t even look up from yelling at another recruit. “Jonah has it.”

Silence. Then Yello’s face brightened with hope. Jonah only personally kept files for men he intended to shape—or break. Either way, it meant Joshua mattered.

And that’s when Felix walked in.

Shoulders squared. Black hair gelled back like a smug prince. Brian followed, towering and broad, grinning like he wanted someone to bleed.

Felix clicked his tongue. “Oh look. The weakling and his emotional support dog.”

Yello flinched.

Felix turned his glare on Joshua. “And you. You’ll never beat my record. I’m the youngest captain in MANPOWER history. I sit at Jonah’s table. You? You’re just Yello’s fucking babysitter.”

Yello blurted before thinking, “He has Conqueror Spirit, you asshole!”

Time froze. Felix’s smile vanished as he stepped forward, rage tightening his jaw. “What did you say, bastard?” His fist curled. “Go on. Say it again.”

Brian laughed. “Get him.”

Felix lunged—

—but Joshua caught his wrist mid-swing, grip iron-tight. “You want a fight?” Joshua’s voice dropped into something cold and dangerous. “Fine.”

Brian charged, but Garrett intercepted, locking both of Brian’s arms like steel clamps. “Touch him,” Garrett growled, “and I’ll fucking tear you in half.”

Matt cracked his knuckles. “Come on, Baker. Give me a reason.”

The tension snapped taut, ready to explode—

And then the air changed.

Like every molecule in the field suddenly bowed.

“Well, well…” Jonah Redfield’s voice rolled across the yard like thunder disguised as silk.

He entered with a calm, predatory stride, black polo stretched tight across his build. His eyes swept the field with quiet amusement, as if he were watching animals in a cage. Behind him walked Corbyn with his calculating smirk, Zach with his thick arms crossed, Daniel polished like a magazine model, Jack with his dead stare, and Carter last—eyes glued to Felix with a mix of pride and anxiety.

Then Jonah unleashed his Conqueror Spirit.

It didn’t burst. It detonated.

The shockwave slammed through the field like a sonic boom. The ground vibrated. Leather jackets fluttered against bodies. Recruits collapsed instantly—some to their knees, others straight to the ground, unconscious. Breath left lungs in painful gasps. The air itself felt thick, crushing, like an invisible fist squeezing every ribcage.

Only the strongest remained standing—and even they shook violently, teeth grinding as they fought to stay upright.

Jonah sat on the throne-like chair near the field’s edge, crossing one leg over the other with leisurely dominance. “Two alphas,” he mused, eyes flicking between Joshua and Felix. “Let’s see which one is worth my time.”

His voice dropped to a brutal command.

“Joshua. Felix. Fight.”

The field fell completely silent as the two young men stepped forward. Felix rolled his shoulders, cracking his neck from side to side, flexing his fingers like he’d already won. His smirk was a slash of arrogance, the kind inherited from a father who’d always told him he was destined for greatness. Joshua, by contrast, stood calm—breathing steady, curls falling slightly into his eyes, fists loose but ready. He wasn’t cocky. He wasn’t scared. He was focused.

Yello hovered behind the front line, trying to look invisible while his fingers subtly curled into a fist. His lips moved with a whisper he prayed no one heard. “Come on, Josh. You can beat him… please beat him…”

Behind Joshua stood Matt and Garrett, both with arms crossed, forming a silent wall of support. Matt leaned in slightly and muttered, “Kick his ass, Bassett.” Garrett added, “Break his jaw. I’m tired of hearing that son of bitch talk.”

On the opposite side, Brian loomed behind Felix, grinning as though watching a public execution. “End him, Baker. Make him bleed.”

Jonah watched from his chair, elbows on his knees, eyes bright with hunger. “Begin.”

Felix moved first. He lunged with a wild right hook, meant to intimidate, to test Joshua’s reaction. Joshua ducked effortlessly, the punch cutting through nothing but air. Felix hissed, pivoting into a low kick aimed at Joshua’s ribs. But Joshua blocked with his forearm, absorbing the impact with a grunt and countering with a sharp jab to Felix’s jaw.

Felix stumbled back a step, shock flashing across his face. He recovered fast, snarling. “Lucky shot.”

Joshua said nothing, just repositioned. He didn’t fight with ego. He fought like water—fluid, adaptive, precise.

Then Felix surged again, faster this time. His knee drove up, slamming into Joshua’s gut. The impact folded Joshua forward, air ripped from his lungs. A ripple of satisfaction rolled across Felix’s face. “That hurt? Good.”

Joshua staggered but didn’t fall. He inhaled sharply, pushed through the sting in his abdomen, and grabbed Felix by the waist. With a sudden burst of strength, he lifted him and slammed him onto the dirt. The ground shook as Felix’s breath exploded out of his chest.

“Fuck—!” Felix wheezed, scrambling to get up, but Joshua was already on him.

He swung his fist—Felix blocked it and responded with a brutal punch square to Joshua’s face. A crack echoed. Joshua’s lip split open, blood dripping down his chin, metallic and warm. Yello covered his mouth in shock. Garrett took a step forward, instinctively ready to intervene before Matt grabbed his shoulder to hold him back.

Joshua wiped the blood with the back of his hand, eyes narrowing. Felix smirked. “Aww, did I hurt mommy’s good little boy?”

Joshua’s jaw tightened. “Don’t.”

Felix laughed cruelly. “What? Sensitive? You’re a loser, Bassett. You hang out with losers. That bastard Yello is your only friend because no one else wants you. And you? You’re the son of a hardcore feminist whore who didn’t even WANT to raise you. Because you’re a man. Because you’re shame. You’re the bloodline of the damned.”

Yello gasped softly, color draining from his face. Garrett muttered, “Oh he fucked up now.”

Felix stepped closer, voice dripping venom. “While I—I’m the golden bloodline. The rightful heir. Carter’s son. A real man. You’re just—”

“Shut up,” Joshua warned, breathing heavier now.

Felix leaned in, sneering. “—a weakling birthed by a bitch who hated you.”

Joshua’s entire body froze.

Then shook.

Then cracked open.

“SHUT UP!” he roared.

The shout wasn’t just sound—it was force. The air vibrated like someone struck a massive drum. Jonah’s eyes widened sharply; Corbyn sat up straight; Zach’s brows shot up. Even the senior officers felt that ripple.

A faint aura shimmered around Joshua’s body—uncontrolled, raw, instinctive. Felix’s smirk faltered for the first time.

Joshua stepped forward, fist clenched so tight his knuckles turned white. He didn’t even realize what he was doing—his rage, his pain, the insult to Yello, the insult to his mother—all of it funneled into something ancient inside him.

Jonah whispered under his breath, “He doesn’t even know he’s awakening it…”

Felix didn’t have time to run.

Joshua’s roundhouse kick snapped across Felix’s head like a whip. The entire field flinched at the impact—the sound sharp, violent, final. Felix’s vision scattered into white spots as he staggered, dazed.

Joshua didn’t hesitate.

He stepped in, planted his foot, pulled back his arm—

and the Conqueror Spirit surged into his fist, a burst of invisible power tightening the air.

Then he punched Felix square in the face.

The impact cracked like thunder.

Felix’s body flew backward, crashing onto the field in a limp heap, unconscious before he even hit the dirt. Silence swept across the grounds as every recruit stared in disbelief. Carter’s face twisted with embarrassment and rage; his own son defeated, dethroned, humiliated.

Jonah rose slowly from his chair, eyes locked on Joshua like he’d just witnessed the birth of a god.

He raised one arm toward the sky.

“Joshua,” he declared, voice booming, “is the winner!”

The recruits erupted into whispers of fear and awe. Matt slapped Joshua’s back proudly. Garrett grinned wide, muttering, “Holy shit, kid.” Yello’s eyes filled with tears he refused to let fall.

And Jonah, smirking, thought only one thing:

I’ve found my weapon.

Back in Menhell

The heavy reinforced doors of Menhell’s training chamber groaned open as Mentari stepped inside with Teyona and Sydney flanking her like mismatched guardians—one all fire, the other chaos wrapped in lipstick and earrings. The room was colder than the hall outside, the air sharp with the metallic scent of steel and the faint echo of past screams. Bright overhead lights illuminated the circular arena at its center, where a single man waited shackled to a floor anchor.

Blake Gray.

He looked like every dangerous fantasy that could ruin a woman’s life: tall, broad-shouldered, a thick neck, dirty blond hair sticking from under a cowboy hat he refused to take off even in captivity. His MANPOWER black polo clung to a muscular chest that he obviously thought did half his fighting for him. His smirk was pure arrogance even before the cuffs came off.

Silla stepped into the ring with the calm authority of someone who’d broken bigger men than Blake before breakfast. “Here are the rules,” she announced. “If Blake wins, he walks out of Menhell today. Untouched.” She let the silence thicken before adding, “If Mentari wins, Blake stays here… and Mentari receives her suit and weapons.”

Blake barked a laugh, turning his head toward Silla like the absurdity physically hurt him. “Justice Girl, seriously? You want me to fight a college girl? What’s next—arm wrestling your daughter?” He jerked his chin at Mentari like she was a stray kitten. “She doesn’t even weigh as much as my left leg.”

Sydney scoffed loudly. “His ego weighs more than his brain. That’s the real problem.”

Teyona muttered, “Mentari, please rearrange his entire existence.”

Silla added simply, “Begin.”

Blake flexed his wrists the moment his cuffs unlocked, rolling his shoulders like he was warming up for a show. “Alright, sweetheart,” he drawled, swagger radiating off him, “don’t cry when I knock you out, okay? I don’t want your little friends over there screaming lawsuit.”

Mentari said nothing. Her stance tightened, her breath steadied, her eyes locked on him like he was already defeated. She didn’t waste energy talking. She watched. Calculated. Waited.

Blake made the first move—charging forward with the kind of brute force only a man who lived off protein shakes and delusion could generate. He swung a heavy arm toward her head, but Mentari ducked smoothly, letting his momentum carry him past her. He grunted, surprised, then spun back with a second wild swing. She dodged again, stepping just out of reach.

“Stand still!” he barked, frustrated already.

Sydney cackled from the sidelines. “Cry harder, cowboy!”

Blake growled and lunged again, this time faster. He grabbed her forearm, yanked hard, and slammed her down onto the mat. Mentari’s shoulder hit first, the impact jarring, and Blake wasted no time pinning her under his weight. His knee dug into her hip, his hands braced on either side of her shoulders, breath hot with victory.

“See?” he panted smugly. “This is what happens when little girls try to play hero. You break easy.”

Teyona snarled, “Get OFF her, you oversized barn animal!”

Sydney added, “His hat has more personality than he does!”

Blake ignored them, leaning in closer to Mentari. “You done yet? Need me to hold your hand while you tap out?”

Mentari’s voice came out low, tight, furious. “You enjoy this, don’t you? Feeling big? Strong? Pinning down someone smaller?”

Blake smirked. “You bet—”

He didn’t finish.

Mentari didn’t hesitate—her knee shot upward with perfect, vicious accuracy, burying itself between Blake’s legs with a crack of impact that echoed through the training chamber hitting his stupid fragile balls. The hit lifted him half an inch off the ground and ripped a strangled, animalistic noise from his throat. His whole body spasmed violently as if someone unplugged his spine. His hands flew downward in useless instinct, and he toppled sideways, curling around himself.

Teyona exploded into cheers, fists pumping. “THAT’S RIGHT! WELCOME TO HELL, COWBOY!”

Sydney clapped wildly. “God, the way he folded—like a chair! Beautiful!”

Blake’s breath came in broken, high-pitched gasps. He tried to push himself up, but every attempt collapsed into a whimper. “Y-you—” His voice cracked. “Y-you crazy little—”

Mentari rose slowly, brushing imaginary dust off her knee with exaggerated delicacy. “Aww. Did I hit something important?” She leaned down as he writhed. “Or was it just your ego screaming?”

Blake groaned, clutching himself, his tough-guy swagger shattered. He dropped his forehead to the mat, breath trembling. Sweat beaded on his temples.

“What happened to all that confidence?” Mentari asked as she stalked closer. “You couldn’t shut up a minute ago. Now look at you—crawling, shaking… pathetic.”

“I—just—just wait—” Blake stammered, trying to drag himself backward. “Give me—give me a sec—”

“Oh, of course,” Mentari said mockingly. “Take all the time you need.” She clicked her tongue and tilted her head. “It must be exhausting having your entire sense of masculinity live in one very vulnerable place.”

Sydney cackled. “Read him like scripture!”

Blake tried to stand and immediately buckled, falling to his knees with a choked cry. His face twisted in agony. “Please—just—hold on—please—”

Mentari stepped behind him, grabbed a fistful of his shirt, and yanked him upright only to slam him onto his back. He wheezed, disoriented. Before he could roll away, she planted her knee down again—sharper, harder—right into the same tender spot he was desperately trying to protect, his balls

Blake’s scream tore out of him raw and broken. His hands clawed at the floor. Tears streaked down his face. He wasn’t fighting anymore—he was just trying to survive.

Mentari leaned over him, her voice cold enough to cut steel. “You pin a woman down and you think you’re a king. One strike and you turn into a sobbing mess. Tell me again—who’s the weak one here?”

“I—I’m sorry—please—” Blake gasped, voice barely a whisper. “I’m begging you—please—stop—”

“Oh, now you’re polite,” Mentari scoffed. “Too bad politeness doesn’t erase what you did. Or what you would’ve done if we hadn’t stopped you.”

He trembled uncontrollably, eyes wide with terror.

Mentari shook her head. “Men like you always think those two stupid lumps between your legs make you invincible.” She pressed her knee just a little more—not crossing any lines, but enough to make him cry out again. “Turns out they’re just your biggest weakness.”

Blake let out a sob so pitiful it echoed, ragged and humiliating. “Mercy—please—I can’t—please—”

“Phallusic’s women won’t fear you,” Mentari said. “Not anymore. If you ever hurt another girl again, remember this moment. Remember how easily you break.”

Blake’s body finally gave out. His eyes rolled back and he slumped unconscious, breath shallow, pride obliterated.

The room fell silent except for his faint whimpering as he faded out.

Silla stepped forward slowly, arms crossed, expression unreadable. She examined Blake’s limp form, then turned to Mentari with a proud, knowing nod. “You’re ready.”

Sydney squealed and tackled Mentari with a hug. “YOU JUST DESTROYED A PROFESSIONAL MANPOWER CAPTAIN! QUEEN!”

Teyona took Mentari’s face in her hands, grinning savagely. “God, I love you. Do that again. To all of them.”

Mentari exhaled through her nose, calm, controlled, victorious.

She didn’t celebrate.

She didn’t gloat.

She simply stood over Blake’s unconscious body and understood something deep in her bones:

This wasn’t revenge.

It was justice.

And it was only the beginning.

Mewnahil in MENLEIR

Felix woke to pain.

Not the sharp, immediate kind from battle—a deeper, dull, humiliating ache that radiated from every limb and pulsed behind his eyes. The infirmary lights stabbed at his skull when he blinked. The antiseptic smell burned his nose. Every breath reminded him he’d lost. To Joshua. In front of Jonah.

He groaned and lifted a shaky hand to his forehead. “Fuck…”

A shadow approached the foot of his cot.

Felix’s eyes adjusted—and he saw Joshua Bassett sitting there quietly, arms resting on his knees, looking like the picture of calm soldier discipline. His black polo was still half unzipped, chest rising and falling steadily. A fresh bruise sat on his cheekbone, but otherwise Joshua looked irritatingly fine.

Felix jolted upright—too fast—and pain tore through his torso. “You—” He pointed at Joshua, rage igniting through his embarrassment. “You bastard! Rematch. Right now.”

Joshua didn’t flinch. “Felix—”

“No!” Felix slammed his fist into the mattress, wincing. “I don’t care what Jonah thinks. I don’t care what anyone thinks. You got lucky. We’re doing it again. Get up.”

Joshua sighed softly, almost sympathetically. “Felix… Jonah wants to see us. All of us. When you’re able to walk.”

“I can walk,” Felix snapped, swinging his legs off the cot. His knees buckled instantly and the room spun. Joshua caught him before he hit the floor, gripping Felix’s arm firmly.

“Don’t touch me,” Felix hissed, jerking away even though he needed the support.

Joshua released him without irritation. “Fine. But listen: I’m not fighting you again.”

Felix whirled on him, furious. “Why the hell not?!”

“Because,” Joshua said quietly, “you’re my brother.”

Felix froze.

Joshua held his gaze. “We don’t need to tear each other apart. We can lead together. Jonah wants something big from us, and we won’t survive it if we act like children.”

Felix swallowed hard, jaw ticking. The humiliation of losing still burned—yet something in Joshua’s tone, steady and sincere, disarmed him. Slowly, Felix reached for his jacket hanging on a chair and forced himself upright.

Joshua stayed close, steadying him when he stumbled, though Felix grumbled refusal at every step. Together—uneven but moving—they exited the infirmary.

THE EXECUTIVE ROOM

When they reached the Executive Room, the doors were already open. Brian Sampson leaned against the wall with arms folded, still sweaty from training. Garrett stood beside him, stretching his shoulder with a grimace. Matt adjusted the collar of his black tank, eyes sharp behind his curls. They all straightened when Felix and Joshua entered.

Inside, Jonah sat at the head of the round table, posture sharp, predatory calm radiating from him. Corbyn stood behind him with a faint smirk, arms crossed, observing every detail like a chessboard in motion.

Jonah looked up, eyes flicking from Joshua to Felix. “Good. You’re both here.” His voice was smooth, controlled, but carried the weight of command.

Felix stiffened automatically. Joshua’s spine straightened.

“Five young men,” Jonah began, “five with potential. Five who can shape the future of MANPOWER.” His gaze lingered on each of them—Joshua, Felix, Garrett, Matt, Brian—studying, measuring, claiming. “Phallusic is a youth city. A city ripe for influence. A city that will determine the next generation.”

Corbyn stepped forward, tapping a holographic map of Phallusic that flickered above the table. “Your job is not war. Not yet. It’s infiltration. Influence. Propaganda. Brotherhood. You recruit the boys. The future alphas. The men who feel hated, ignored, emasculated.”

Jonah nodded once. “And you five will be the core of this new movement. A fraternity. A symbol. A weapon.”

Felix straightened despite himself. Garrett smirked with excitement. Brian adjusted his glasses, calculating. Matt raised an eyebrow, interested.

Joshua waited—calm, unreadable.

Jonah leaned back, eyes glowing with something cold and satisfied.

“This unit,” he said, “will be called YOUNGPOWER.”

The room vibrated with anticipation.

“And,” Jonah continued, his voice dropping with deliberate power, “it needs a leader. Someone the boys will follow. Someone they’ll admire. Someone who can embody strength without needing to boast.”

Felix held his breath, heart racing.

Joshua remained motionless.

Jonah turned to him.

“Joshua Bassett,” Jonah said, “you will lead Youngpower.”

Silence followed. A heavy, seismic silence.

Felix’s jaw clenched. Brian’s brows rose. Garrett gave a soft, approving grunt. Matt smirked knowingly.

Joshua stared straight ahead, calm but burning inside, absorbing the weight of the words.

Jonah smiled faintly—dangerously.

“Congratulations, boys,” he said.

“The real war begins now.”

END OF EPISODE 2