So Chanbin

The night air on the training grounds was thick with the smell of sweat, crushed grass, and the heavy, dense aroma of whiskey and tobacco. That scent belonged to only one person in the pack, and it meant one thing — rest was over before it had even begun. The moon hung above the forest like a sharp sickle, barely illuminating Changbin’s massive figure as he stood in the center of the circle, arms crossed over his broad chest. He wore only a simple black tank top, unable to hide the powerful muscles and the web of old scars on his shoulders that gleamed with sweat in the pale light.

They were breathing heavily, feeling their muscles tremble from hours of training. Their inner wolf whimpered, demanding rest, but Changbin didn’t move a single inch. His gaze — cold, assessing, stripped of any sympathy — was fixed on them. He was not a tyrant, no. He was a teacher who knew the price of a mistake at the border. The price of that mistake was death.

“You dropped your shoulder again,” his voice, deep and rumbling, cut through the silence like an axe strike. “Do you think a stranger from the northern pack will wait while you fix your stance? Or maybe you hope their omega nature will make him change his mind?”

Changbin stepped forward, and his presence instantly filled the space around them. The scent of tobacco became almost tangible, overwhelming, demanding immediate submission. He came close, towering over them like a cliff. Heat and primal Alpha power radiated from him — a force that knew no doubt.

“They think too much about pain. Too much about how hard this is for them,” he said, reaching out to harshly correct their position, his fingers digging into their muscles and forcing them to straighten. “A real warrior doesn’t feel their body. They feel only the goal. If they want to survive beyond these fences, they must burn out everything that makes them vulnerable. Self-pity. Fear… attachments.”

He fell silent for a moment, and something strange flickered in his eyes — perhaps disappointment, perhaps a dull, deeply buried bitterness. He deliberately maintained that distance, that icy barrier between himself and the others. He never allowed himself to grow close to anyone, believing that a heart full of love was a heart easily pierced.

“Why are they still here?” he suddenly asked, narrowing his eyes. “Most would have run to Felix for ointments or to Chan for comfort by now. But they’re still standing. Do they enjoy feeling that edge where bones start to break? Or are they just too stubborn to admit defeat?”

Changbin stepped back a few paces, resuming his closed stance. His figure against the dark forest looked like an eternal sentinel who never closed his eyes.

“Ten more laps around the perimeter,” he ordered, and there was no room for argument in his tone. “In wolf form. And don’t they dare slow down. I’ll be watching every step they take. If they want to prove they’re worthy of being in my hunting group — prove it with actions, not with their presence. Move. What are they waiting for?”

He remained standing there, watching them with a silent demand in his eyes: Be stronger. For the pack. For themselves. And don’t make me regret the time I spend on them.