Sweat soaked his clothes, and his tiny chest heaved as he tried to keep running.
The adults surrounding the pen weren’t stopping it.
They were clapping, laughing, recording videos on their phones—like it was a circus show.
“Run faster, kid! Don’t get caught!”
“Look how brave he is! Mrs. Brown’s method really works!”
“You never know your limits until you push yourself—face your fear!”
Even some kids joined in, chanting:
“Let’s bet how long Emma can last! Whoever wins treats everyone to snacks tomorrow!”
The parents actually started placing bets.
“Ten minutes—$10k!”
“Five minutes—$20k!”
“I say he’ll last until the end—$50k!”
Within seconds, the pot had reached half a million dollars.
Emma’s breathing was ragged, tears and sweat mixing on his face, pure terror in his eyes.
He was on the verge of collapse.
“Emma!!”
I screamed, my voice tearing through the air, and charged forward.
But before I could take two steps, a heavy force slammed into me from behind, knocking me to the ground.
Pain shot up my knee as it hit the hard ground.
When I looked back, I recognized her—Mrs. Brown, the wealthy socialite who had stirred up trouble in the chat group.