The first week was finally over.
It had been hectic for both students and teachers. Classes were barely taken today; most teachers didn't even show up, leaving the day to drift into something like a festival of noise and chaos. For the students of Wincher Lisa High, a "free day" meant mischief, not rest.
The classrooms buzzed with chatter. Groups clustered together, some leaning across desks, others sitting on windowsills, and others standing in doorways as if the entire hallway were theirs. It wasn't long before shouting and laughter escalated into trouble.
Kruel sat at his desk, arms folded across his chest, half listening to Mike's rambling about something he didn't quite catch. Nira sat close by, her head bowed, hair hiding part of her face. Strangely, she hadn't said a single word all morning. Normally, she'd add a sharp comment, or roll her eyes, or mutter something under her breath, but today she was silent.
Kruel found himself glancing at her every now and then. Not directly, just little side glances when he thought she wouldn't notice. A lock of her hair had slipped over her shoulder. The way it caught the faint sunlight streaming through the dirty windows made it look almost silver at the tips. He wondered if she was thinking about something, or if she was angry, or if she simply didn't feel like talking.
He wanted her to say something, even if it was just an insult or a sarcastic remark. But nothing came.
"Yo," Mike suddenly said, leaning forward with a grin. "Things are about to go nuts. You hear that shouting?"
Sure enough, from the hallway came the loud crash of something metallic. Probably a trash can being kicked over. Then came laughter, rough and mocking. Seniors were already moving around, causing mayhem.
"Here we go," Mike muttered as a chorus of jeers erupted outside their classroom. "The end-of-week carnival."
Kruel frowned. This was the part of Wincher Lisa he hated most. He knew from experience that walking out there now would only mean trouble. When seniors were in that kind of mood, they looked for easy targets—and his name was high on that list.
A fight broke out further down the hall. Chairs scraped across the floor, and the sound of fists connecting with flesh echoed like dull thuds. A teacher's voice briefly tried to break it up, but the noise was swallowed almost immediately by laughter and more shouting.
Kruel sighed. Wincher Lisa wasn't a school; it was a battlefield with textbooks.
Mike suddenly leaned closer, his eyes sharp with excitement. "Look," he whispered, pointing toward the open door. "Teddy's out there."
Kruel hesitated before glancing. And sure enough, Ted Post stood in the hallway.
He was impossible to miss.
Ted was tall, broad-shouldered, and muscular...the kind of build that came from fights, not gym workouts. His blonde hair caught the light, and his bright blue eyes seemed to glow even in the shadow of the hallway. A thin scar ran down his left cheek, making his face appear harder, sharper, like a blade that had already tasted battle.
At that moment, Ted wasn't fighting. He stood with his arms folded, watching an argument unfold between two seniors. But the tension in his body made it look like he could explode at any second. His posture said it all: if either side pushed too far, he'd step in...and when Ted stepped in, nobody walked away unscathed.
Kruel studied him for a long moment. His stomach tightened.
Ted wasn't just another senior. He was the strongest kid at Wincher Lisa High. Almost every fight he'd been in, he'd won. Most weren't even against students from their school; they were outsiders, kids from other schools who thought they could pick on the weaker ones from Wincher Lisa. Ted had made a reputation out of breaking bullies, and he did it with such ruthless efficiency that even the most fearless seniors thought twice before crossing him.
And yet, for all his strength, Ted wasn't reckless. He fought when necessary. He didn't pick pointless fights like Grayt or his crew. That's what made him so dangerous. He fought with purpose.
As Kruel watched him, an old memory surfaced.
It was about a year ago, when Kruel had been accused of being part of the Mierdas. Someone had gone out of their way to frame him, even producing so-called "proof." Kruel had been one step away from being beaten senseless by a group of furious students when Ted had intervened.
Ted hadn't said much. He never did. But he'd forced the accuser to present their proof again. Then, in front of everyone, Ted had pointed out the flaws, the inconsistencies in handwriting, the timing that didn't add up, the contradictions nobody else had noticed. Within minutes, Ted had ripped apart the case against Kruel and silenced the crowd.
Kruel had been grateful beyond words. For him, it had been a life-saving moment. For Ted, it had been nothing. He'd shrugged it off like swatting away a fly, then walked away without even asking for thanks.
That was Ted Post.
Kruel wasn't sure if Ted even remembered him now. That was the thing about Wincher Lisa: you could meet someone today and not see them again for weeks, maybe months, depending on your classes or whether you managed to stay out of trouble. Students got transferred, expelled, or simply disappeared with frightening regularity. Injuries were so common they might as well have been part of the curriculum.
Still, Kruel couldn't shake the thought: Did Ted remember him?
Beside him, Mike was still talking. "I heard his dad's in jail," he said, lowering his voice as if it were a sacred piece of gossip. "He's really bummed about it. But listen, there's no proof it was actually him. They only matched the voice and body movements to the crime."
Kruel blinked. "What did he do?"
"Robbed a store," Mike replied. "The owner tried to stop him. Got stabbed. Lucky he made it to the hospital in time. But Ted's dad..." he shrugged "...well, the cops think it's him. No hard evidence, though. Just suspicion."
Mike leaned back, frowning thoughtfully. "They're still gathering information, but until then, his dad's a suspect. Which means he has to sit in jail."
Kruel stared back at Ted, who was still in the hallway. His arms folded, his face pale but intense, like a storm hidden behind still clouds.
"That's stupid," Kruel muttered. The words slipped out before he realized it.
Mike shot him a look. "What?"
"Nothing," Kruel said quickly, shaking his head.
But his thoughts kept spinning. A scarred fighter with a jailed father. A student who could end fights with his fists or his silence. Someone who had once saved Kruel from ruin without expecting anything in return.
And then it happened.
Ted's blue eyes shifted. For the briefest moment, they landed directly on Kruel.
The hallway noise seemed to fade. Shouting, laughter, even the crash of another fight, it all dulled into background static as those piercing eyes locked onto his.
Kruel froze. His heartbeat quickened.
Did Ted recognize him? Was he just scanning the room? Or had he already decided something that Kruel couldn't see coming?
For a heartbeat, the air between them felt charged, like the pause before lightning splits the sky.
Then, just as quickly, Ted looked away.
The spell broke. Noise returned. The hallway roared with chaos again, but Kruel couldn't shake the weight of that moment. He glanced at Mike, who was still muttering something about rumors and suspects, but Kruel didn't hear a word.