American variety show: Sniper Elite

Chapter 187 The Place Where I Grew Up

Carolina slowly rose to her feet and softly uttered two words towards the stage: "That's enough."

The girl who was spinning on the stage fell to the ground. She raised her sweaty face and looked blankly at the audience.

A dignified "female director," a blond man who looked intimidating, and a short-haired woman I'd never seen before.

Carolina turned around, her skirt sweeping across the seat.

She walked down the aisle towards the backstage, her heels clicking on the carpet. Beta and Ashley followed, the three of them moving among the red seats.

"I have quite a few people trained here," Carolina's voice rang out from ahead, ash falling with each step she took. "How many do you need?"

Beta paused slightly: "I want to build a force of about 50 people who will be completely under my command."

Carolina stopped and turned around: "Are you trying to empty my theater, you brat!"

She raised her hand to slap Beta on the forehead.

Beta took a half step back, covering her already reddened forehead with her palm: "A little less is fine too."

His voice carried a hint of weakness, as if he were bargaining like a child.

Carolina turned and continued walking forward, then suddenly asked, "Is Catalia with you?"

Beta did not deny it: "How did you know?"

Carolina gave a soft hum, smoke escaping from her lips: "The white moss scent on her is exactly the same as yours."

She stopped in front of the pillar with a still from the play "Giselle": "So, since you already have a lawfully wedded wife, what is Catalia's status in your home? She can't be a second mistress, can she?"

Beta's voice was exceptionally clear in the empty corridor: "She's my family, just like Ashley."

Carolina's gaze lingered on Beta's face for a full ten seconds before she slowly turned to Ashley: "So, you think so too?"

Ashley answered frankly, "It's better for him to have a woman I know by his side than for him to find other women behind my back. As the future emperor of a mafia family, what means can I use to stop him? So, having an ally who, like me, doesn't want more women around is much more effective than me stopping him alone."

Carolina's gaze lingered on Ashley's entire body, from her straight back to her clenched hands.

After a long silence, the old lady's voice softened: "I'll revise my evaluation."

She reached out and gently touched Ashley's cheek: "You're good, very good."

Her tone turned serious: "This can only happen once. If he dares to bring another woman home, you shoot that woman dead in front of him. Understand? You are the lady of the house, he is the master of the house, you each hold half the power, remember?"

Ashley nodded solemnly: "I understand, Grandmother."

Beta spread his hands, palms up: "Am I that kind of person?" His voice carried a hint of helplessness.

Carolina's gaze was sharp as she slowly exhaled a smoke ring: "You will change, Saron."

Smoke swirled in front of her, blurring the wrinkles on her face: "My dear little Salong, things will change someday."

Carolina pushed open the heavy, soundproof door, the hinges creaking.

In an instant, a cacophony of sounds erupted: the thud of wooden sticks, the slamming of muscles, and a chorus of reprimands echoed in the enclosed space. Inside the dance studio, three floor-to-ceiling mirrors refracted the space into an infinitely extending labyrinth.

More than twenty girls dressed in white ballet costumes had their legs resting on a stainless steel bar. The instructor, holding a cane, paced among them, then raised his hand and struck one of the girls' trembling calves with the cane.

After a crisp "snap," scarlet ridges immediately appeared on her fair skin.

The girl instinctively pulled her leg back, tears welling in her eyes. But the second stick came whistling down, this time striking her ankle. She gritted her teeth and put her leg back on the bar.

Walking down the corridor, the scene in the fighting room became even more brutal.

The foam mat was soaked with sweat and blood, and a dozen shirtless teenagers were sparring. There was no protective gear, no rules, only the coach's timer echoing in the air.

In the center of the arena, two bruised teenagers were locked in a struggle. One had a swollen face and nose, while the other's eyes were swollen shut, yet he still mechanically threw punches, the blows making a wet, dull thud as they struck flesh. The onlookers watched the two men in silence, their eyes calm.

Beta's gaze swept over these familiar scenes.

In his childhood, he was also a regular on this stage, either the one who got beaten up until his nose bled, or the one who knocked out someone's teeth.

Even as Carolina's grandson, he was never spared any of the brutal training. On the theater's roster, he was forever just that cold code name—β.

The dance studio next door was even more lively.

From a young age, Katalia was the one that the coach paid special "attention" to. To be honest, when she danced, it was like a cat being thrown into boiling water, with every movement filled with a desperate struggle.

She seemed to lack the genes for dance, which made her the girl who was beaten the most among her classmates. Eventually, the bruises on her calves were always layered, with new wounds covering old ones, until she became numb to the pain.

Every evening at dusk, the two wounded children would meet in the corridor.

Katalia limped over, supporting her swollen and painful calf, while Beta either covered his swollen face or dragged his dislocated shoulder.

They exchanged a wry smile, then walked side by side to the cafeteria. She helped him cut the tough steak, and he applied ointment to her bruised calves.

Year after year, Beta gradually went from being the one who got beaten up to the one who got beaten up, and Katalia's coach finally gave up on making her dance Swan Lake and instead gave her a fighting outfit.

When Katalia first stepped into the fighting room, Beta clearly saw the look of relief in her eyes.

The coach tossed her her first pair of fighting gloves, and she caught the incoming straight punch immediately.

She was born to fight, not to spin around in ballet shoes.

When she took down the strongest boy in her class with a beautiful sweeping kick, and then pinned Beta to the edge of the ropes with a chokehold, the coach canceled her dance class altogether.

From that day on, she never returned to the dance studio, which was filled with the scent of perfume. Instead, she was greeted by the endless sounds of punching bags and the dull thuds of bones colliding in the fighting room.

Beta pulled herself out of her reverie and whispered to Ashley, "This is where I grew up, and where I learned all my skills."

Ashley, watching the boys fighting fiercely, asked, "Did Katalia grow up here too?"

Beta nodded: "She's a complete dance idiot, she'll never learn to dance, and she's always getting whipped by the coach. But she's a natural killer. In close combat, I'm no match for her at all; she can always pin me to the ground and beat me up."

(End of this chapter)