The General's Daughter: The Mission

Lara crouched immediately, her heart tightening at the change in the child’s voice.

”Sweetie,” she called softly.

Shay looked up, and at once, her face lit up—like clouds parting for the sun.

”Sweetie,” Lara repeated, brushing a thumb over her small knuckles. ”It’s okay. Go on. Play with your classmates. Didn’t you say you miss them? I’ll be right here.”

Shay nodded, though uncertainty still lingered in her eyes.

Just as she took a hesitant step forward, raised voices cut through the cheerful hum of the room.

A boy—thin and fragile-looking—was sprawled on the floor near the toy shelves. Three boys and a girl stood over him. They were laughing as the boy cried in pain from their kicks.

”Go back to where you came from.”

”Your clothes are dirty.”

”We don’t want to play with you.”

Each word landed like a slap.

Lara felt Shay’s grip tighten around her hand, felt the small tremor run through her. The child instinctively stepped back, fear curling in her posture.

Lara’s jaw clenched.

Is Shay being bullied at school? But how could it be? She is the daughter of a rich tycoon.

She squeezed Shay’s hand, steady and reassuring, then guided her firmly into the room just as one of the boys drew his foot back, heel lifted, ready to strike.

Lara moved without thinking.

Her voice sliced through the chaos, sharp and commanding.

”What do you think you’re doing?”

The room fell silent.

She crossed the space in three strides. She crouched down and caught the thin boy’s hands, which were protecting his head. His fingers were small, rough against her palm, the calloused skin speaking of a rough life that the boy had.

Lara tightened her grip—not in anger, but control—then pulled him to his feet and placed him behind her, shielding him with her body as she faced the other four.

Her expression hardened. ”Why are you hurting him?”

Her cold gaze swept from one boy to the next.

The tallest of them—chin lifted, eyes full of arrogance—snorted. ”He looks like a beggar. He doesn’t deserve to be in our class.”

The words struck Lara harder than she expected. He couldn’t have been more than five, yet the cruelty in his voice was already so practiced. A chill ran through her. What kind of person would this child grow into?

”Just look at him,” another boy sneered. ”His clothes are disgusting.”

She felt the small body behind her tense, shrinking closer, as if trying to disappear. Lara glanced back, and only then did she truly take him in.

The boy looked up at her, eyes wide.

A thin cut marked the corner of his mouth, already darkening. His shirt was clean but threadbare, the fabric stretched thin from too many washes. His faded shorts hung loosely from his narrow frame. On his feet were worn-out sandals that were too small; his big toe pushed through, exposed.

Then Lara met his eyes.

They were black and deep, filled with hurt—but beneath it, something unbroken. Determination. Strength. For a fleeting second, an image stirred in her memory: another small boy, another pair of soulful eyes following her in the mountains. The thought vanished when a girl with twin pigtails spoke up, her voice sharp with disdain.

Lara straightened slowly. ”Where is your teacher?”

She scanned the room. Along the back wall stood several adults, arms crossed, expressions blank. They were simply standing there, looking apathetic and just watching the show. By their looks, they were the nannies.

Her disbelief simmered. How could a school leave children like this unattended? No teacher? No assistant?

Before she could say more, hurried footsteps echoed from the hallway. Three women entered in a rush. Two wore identical dresses—teaching assistants, judging by their uniforms. The third, slightly older and dressed differently, stepped forward.

”What happened?” the teacher asked, one eyebrow arching as she looked at Lara.

”I don’t know all the details,” Lara replied evenly. ”But when I walked in, this little boy was on the floor—surrounded and being kicked by the four of them.”

The teacher’s gaze flickered briefly to the children—and then, almost instinctively, past them, toward the row of nannies at the back of the room. A trace of unease crossed her face before she smoothed it away and knelt slightly, lowering herself to the children’s level.

”Now, now,” she said softly, her voice careful, almost syrupy. ”That’s not very nice behavior, is it?”

The boys shifted on their feet, but none of them looked truly remorseful. The tallest boy merely crossed his arms, his lips twisting into a bored pout.

”We were just playing,” he muttered.

The teacher smiled faintly, the kind of smile meant to placate rather than correct.

”Even when we play, we must be gentle with our classmates,” she said. ”We don’t use our feet or our hands to hurt others. You all know that.”

One of the assistants stepped forward hesitantly, nodding along. ”Yes... Yes, children, please remember your manners.”

The girl with the pigtails rolled her eyes but said nothing.

The teacher clasped her hands together, her tone still light. ”Everyone comes from a different family,” she continued. ”We should be kind and welcoming. That’s what good children do.”

”Yes, Teacher Alice and Miss Rose, we understand.” The three boys said perfunctorily.

Lara felt her jaw tighten. Good children, she thought, or well-connected ones?

”Say sorry,” the teacher prompted gently, as though asking for a favor rather than demanding accountability.

There was a long pause.

”I’m sorry,” the tallest boy said at last, his voice flat, eyes already drifting elsewhere.

The others followed, their apologies little more than whispers forced from reluctant mouths.

Satisfied—or perhaps simply relieved—the teacher straightened.

”There,” she said, offering an uneasy smile. ”Let’s all go back to our seats now. No more trouble.”

The children obeyed, unpunished and unconcerned, drifting back to their desks as if nothing of consequence had happened.

Lara watched them go, a cold weight settling in her chest.

Behind her, the thin boy remained frozen, still half-hidden by her presence. This was not new to him. He had learned to endure—learned to be small, to be silent. Whatever softness a child’s heart should have had long since hardened into something calloused and guarded.

Lara turned to Shay and asked gently where her seat was. She pointed to the back.

Lara’s brows knit together at once. ”Why is your seat so far back?” she asked, unable to hide her displeasure.

”I don’t want to sit with them,” she said, her fingers tightening around Lara’s sleeve. ”They bully me.” After a pause, she added, almost inaudibly, ”Because I don’t have a mommy.”