On the way to the hospital, Chelsea gently applied an ice pack to Jesse’s swollen hand, her tone laced with exasperation.

“Were you the one hitting people, or were they hitting you? I sent you to settle a score, but you ended up with your hand looking like this. Just look at it—like a braised pig’s trotter.”

Julian stifled a laugh, though his expression betrayed a hint of amusement. Jesse, however, grinned sheepishly.

“It was my first time hitting someone—I didn’t know what I was doing. But, you know, action and reaction. There’s no avoiding it. Don’t worry, sis, her face is at least ten times more swollen than my...