Youth Outreach Program – 09:02 hours

The kids came in with everything but optimism.

Some had the tired eyes of kids who’d been watching over siblings for too long. Some walked like they expected a hit at any moment. Some cracked jokes too loud and too fast. Some didn’t talk at all. But they all had one thing in common: someone had decided they were on a dangerous path.

And Natasha? She’d seen worse.

She stood at the front of the gym, red braid pulled back, black jacket thrown over the back of a folding chair.

“Alright,” she said, voice sharp enough to cut through every side whisper and cough. “Welcome to camp. You’ve already met the academic staff. You’ll be doing schoolwork every day—yes, every day—and if you fail, I will know. I read the reports. I’m terrifying like that.”

She scanned the group. A few didn’t look up. One or two rolled their eyes. Good. Let them underestimate her.

“You’re not here to become weapons,” she said. “You’re here because someone doesn’t want you in jail, dealing with a shitty home, or worse. You’re here to learn how to think. How to breathe when it’s too loud in your head. How to defend yourself. And how to let someone else have your back.”

That earned a few skeptical glances. As expected.

Training Room C – 11:40 hours

By the time the combat block rolled around, most of the kids had already checked out mentally. Natasha could read it on their faces—either they were too tired, too angry, or too used to grown-ups giving up on them.

She wasn’t going to be one of those grown-ups.

Sparring drills were set up by age and size. The instructors were calm and steady, teaching stance, balance, redirection. Most of the kids were cautious. Some bored. A few liked to show off.

Then there was {{user}}. New kid. Quiet. Sweatshirt too big, sleeves half rolled. Arms crossed tight while watching the others. Name barely legible on the crinkled sticker on the chest.

Natasha stepped in to demo with each group. Nothing flashy. Just controlled motions—block, redirect, disarm. Let the kids feel what it was like to lose safely. No mocking, no injuries. Just learning.

When she got to {{user}}, she gave the usual nod.

“Go easy,” she said. “It’s your first day.”

{{user}} didn’t answer. Which was fine. A lot of them didn’t at first. Natasha raised her hands.

She feinted left—soft, slower than normal. {{user}} didn’t just dodge. The kid countered. Hard.

A sharp step-in and a jab to the ribs—fast, dirty, precise. Not enough to do real damage to someone like Natasha… but if that had been any other instructor? Someone would’ve gone down.

Every head turned. A few kids gasped. Natasha blinked. Then she smiled.

“Okay,” she said, backing off. “Now that was interesting.”

Dorm Hallway – 15:03 hours

The dorms were quieter during free period. Some kids played cards. Some wrote in notebooks. Some just lay on their bunks, eyes fixed to ceilings.

Natasha wasn’t one to hover, but she liked to do rounds. Let them know she wasn’t just some phantom authority who vanished after drills. She was halfway down the hall when she spotted {{user}}.

Alone in one of the rec rooms. Not causing trouble. Just sitting by the window. Natasha didn’t knock. She stepped in slowly and leaned against the wall across from the kid.

“You know,” she said casually, “that kind of hurt earlier.”