Page 11 of Red River (Eden’s Omegaverse #4)

After I finished talking to Milo, I knew it was time to move on to the main subject.

However, before entering Igor’s room, I pulled out my phone and made a few preparations to ensure my conversation with the teen would have the right impact.

When I stepped inside, I found a pretty shaken River. I could almost physically feel his despair, his inner conflict.

"River, can you leave us alone?"

River’s eyes were red and watery. He looked completely emotionally drained, like he could barely stand. He just nodded and walked out, wobbling a bit.

Igor’s gray-green eyes met mine. He looked like he wanted to smirk sarcastically, but his split lip stopped him.

"Okay. Life lessons. You hit Riley, and you got away with it. You wanted to hit me, and you got away with that too. This time, you hit someone again, but they fought back. What conclusions have you drawn from that?"

Igor shrugged arrogantly.

"My conclusion is that I should’ve been more effective the last two times. That’s what I have to say for myself."

"Good conclusion. Then I’m inviting you to my gym. It has everything you need: punching bags, training mats, boxing gloves, grappling gloves, strike pads. Starting today, you’re training with me so next time, you’ll be more effective. Let’s go."

I caught him off guard. He stared at me for a long moment, like he didn’t know how to react, then swallowed hard and huffed angrily.

"I’m not learning anything from you."

He sat down, determined to ignore me, and opened his app’s login screen. His face was indifferent, like I wasn’t even in the room. So I smirked to myself. Perfect timing.

Igor clicked the login button, but nothing happened. The page refreshed for a moment, then a message popped up:

"Login temporarily disabled. Report to the training room."

He stared at the screen for a moment. "What the fuck is this?"

"I’m a hacker, remember? You said you wanted to be better at beating people up. I’m giving you the chance, and I don’t want you distracted by your channel."

For the first time, I saw real fear on Igor’s face. He suddenly looked like just a scared teenager.

"Are you fucking kidding me? That channel is my life! I recently started making some money from it! You can’t just ruin it—I worked my ass off to grow it! I wanted to give these earnings to my dad; his account was drained by creditors!"

Our eyes met; his were slightly moist. What he said was actually quite surprising and gave me a glimpse into who he was deep down. Igor was determined to fight for his family in his own way… and not totally stupid, for that matter. The realization made me want to… fight for him even more—to help him become a man, to help him heal.

"That's… commendable. Igor, I can restore access right now, but first, you have to promise me you’ll follow the training regimen. And next time, you won’t let some idiots with insecurities beat you up or call you names, okay?"

"I hate you," Igor growled.

"I know, you told me before. So let it fuel you to train more intensely. Though I must say, the feeling isn’t mutual."

And it was true. Igor was River’s son. I could never hate this boy, who was so utterly lost. What I wanted for him was to be happy and thriving, but I knew it was still a long road ahead.

"So, what’s it gonna be?"

He slowly turned to face me. "When the enforcers show up, I’m telling them everything."

"Alright. But until they do, maybe I can train you enough so you’ll at least have a chance to defend yourself from a gangbang in the alpha boot camp. Sound good?"

Igor’s face was pale, his features tense. He stared at me for a long moment.

Then, without a word, he got up and walked out of the room, heading for the basement.

Once we were in my gym, I pointed to the sit-up bench, noticing that the training room made some impression on Igor, who had never visited this place before. Of course, he didn’t show it, but his discreet glances around gave him away.

Finally, with an irritated sigh, he sat down.

"Now, tell me how this all started with Philip and Josef. Some parts I know from Milo, but the rest I need you to tell me."

"I’m guessing if I don’t, you won’t restore my login."

"Just answer me."

He scoffed in frustration and crossed his arms. "They’ve been on my case since day one. Making fun of me, messing around, writing ‘love letters’ and stupid shit on the board whenever the teacher wasn’t there. Eventually, half the class joined in, and I’d had enough. When Philip said that with lips like mine, I could make money giving blowjobs on OnlyFans, I lost it and hit him. But there were two of them, so… you see how that ended."

I didn’t comment. Instead, I said, "Basic rule of fighting—when it’s not a sport—always fight dirty. The goal is to take down your opponent as fast as possible. Neutralize the threat. Effectively."

He snorted. "Didn’t you hear? There were two of them!"

"Then be twice as alert. It’s all about speed and precision. Under the right conditions, you can handle two guys. But you have to get yourself into the right mindset. You have to want to hurt them. No hesitation. NONE. The most determined one wins."

Igor studied me in silence. There was something in his eyes—maybe the slightest spark of interest.

"If you hate me, then think of this whole training as a way to beat me. Learn all my weaknesses. And one day, take this family back for yourself."

Igor made a face, then absently touched his split lip. "By the time I get that good, you’ll have given him two more kids."

"That’s the plan. But hey, better late than never, right? Maybe one day, you’ll come out on top, and you’ll be the one setting the rules."

Igor sat there for a long moment, staring at his hands. Finally, he let out a breath, and I felt a shift in his energy. A cautious kind of openness.

"Alright then. Let’s get started. No point wasting my time!"

I knew that his anger was the only armor he had left. The truth was, I felt sorry for him, but at the same time, I couldn’t show it. He’d take it as an insult. What he needed was harsh, manly love.

"Well?" Igor said mockingly, crossing his arms over his chest. "I’m waiting for the secret knowledge, sensei. What are you gonna show me?"

"You show me." I walked over to the heavy bag and tapped it. "Hit the bag like you would one of the bullies… or me."

Igor looked at me warily but clenched his fists. I couldn’t help but notice that, this time, he actually did it right—he didn’t tuck his thumb inside. Maybe something I’d said during his attack on me had actually stuck?

He stepped up to the bag and raised his hands in a guard position—sloppy and full of holes, but I knew fixing his technique would be easier than changing his attitude. But even with that, I believed I could get through to him.

Before he even moved, I knew exactly what punch he’d throw. And sure enough—he pulled his right arm back and launched a wide, looping hook. His fist slammed into the bag, and he immediately winced in pain, though he pretended nothing happened.

"That hurt?"

"What? The hell are you talking about?" He tried to downplay it.

"Guess you’re tougher than me, ‘cause that would’ve wrecked my wrist." I winked at him, but he only frowned.

"Look." I lifted his hand, ignoring his passive resistance. "This part—" I tapped the back of his fist. "—and this part." I pointed at his forearm. "They need to be tight, solid like a plank. The wrist is key here. If it bends when you punch, you’ll end up hurting yourself more than your opponent."

Igor didn’t say anything, but his expression shifted slightly—from defiant to focused. He actually listened as I explained the basics of the Muay Thai guard and even let me position him correctly.

"Now, walk across the room and back in this stance. Small steps. Don’t cross your legs," I instructed.

Igor sighed in frustration but gave it a shot. On his way back, he blurted, "This is fucking stupid! You were supposed to teach me how to fight, not how to prance around like I’m in some damn ballet class."

"Trust me, that hood stance looks way dumber than this. If someone squared up to me like that on the street—" I played his old stance. "I’d know right away I was dealing with a poser, not someone who actually knows their shit."

I made him keep walking like that for a while, long enough for him to get the hang of it. But he was getting impatient.

"When are you actually gonna teach me how to punch?"

"One step at a time. Basics first," I said calmly.

"Oh, I see how it is. This is gonna be like one of those old movies, huh? You’re gonna make me paint your damn fence or polish your floors, acting like it’s some kind of secret training, when really, you just want free labor." He huffed sarcastically—but kept following my instructions.

I chuckled. "That was a good one!"

This kid had a sense of humor, whether he realized it or not, though it was buried under all the misery he was feeling.

My laughter seemed to crack his armor—just a little. A tiny opening, but still, it was a step in the right direction. He looked at me, surprised, and his face relaxed just a fraction.

"Alright, that’s enough of that for now. But don’t worry, we’ll come back to it," I teased. Then, I picked up the focus mitts. "Now it’s time for punches. Just the basics."

I started explaining the mechanics of straight punches—the jab and cross. I could tell from his expression that he was disappointed. He’d been expecting something flashier, like spinning kicks or whatever fancy moves he’d seen in those movies he mentioned. But those flashy moves only looked good on screen. In a real fight, it was all about simplicity and efficiency.

I strapped on the mitts and had him start throwing punches. He was actually doing pretty well—good coordination. But he kept forgetting to bring his hands back to guard after each punch. So, I reminded him by smacking him lightly on the ear with a mitt. It didn’t hurt him, but it sure pissed him off.

"Hey! What the fuck, dude?"

"You keep dropping your guard."

"You could’ve just told me!"

"Oh, yeah? Think a bully would politely remind you in a fight? Or would he just punch you in the face? Pretty sure a soft mitt to the head is the better option." I grinned.

He huffed in irritation, but I was almost certain he was trying not to smile. He fought against it with everything he had.

But I was patient. I knew that sooner or later, I’d break through. And when that happened, he’d be able to… rebuild himself.

Two hours later, we stepped out of the training room, both drenched in sweat. I hadn’t gone full throttle on him—he’d already taken a beating today—but I was impressed by how fast he picked things up. The kid might actually have a knack for it.

Was there a light at the end of the tunnel for us? I firmly believed that through pain and frustration, he’d find strength and stability.

It was the only way.

I knew that well because I’d been there myself.