The corridors of Hillcrest Academy emptied slowly.
Doors closed one after another along the hostel wing, each click sounding louder than usual.
Whispers travelled in fragments — unfinished sentences, half-formed accusations, quiet confusion.
Keris walked back to his room beside his father.
Eden walked in the opposite direction with his own.
Professors disappeared toward the staff room. Raymond returned to the canteen — but even the clatter of utensils felt restrained.
The academy was not noisy.
It was unsettled.
And across every mind, one silent question lingered:
Why didn't Adrian defend himself?
---
Inside Keris's room, silence filled the air.
His father stood near the window, arms folded. Keris remained seated on the edge of the bed, looking down.
Finally, his father spoke.
"After seeing those three students' videos, we were worried about your safety."
A pause.
"But your presence might be unsafe for others."
Keris swallowed but didn't respond.
"I never imagined my son could bully anyone," his father continued. "I didn't come here to defend you. Your mother believes you didn't torture anyone. That's why I came."
Keris's voice came out low.
"I'm sorry, Dad. I did bully others… but I didn't torture anyone. And I stopped a few days ago. You can ask anyone."
"I don't need to ask," his father said. "This is your last chance. If I hear again that you bullied someone, I will file a complaint myself."
Keris nodded.
His father's voice softened slightly.
"You are the lifeline of your parents. Just like you, every student there is someone's lifeline. When something happens to that lifeline… people don't survive it."
Keris looked down at his hands.
"I promise. I won't bully anyone again."
His father nodded once.
---
In Eden's room, the atmosphere felt heavier.
"Dad… why did you file a complaint against Principal sir?" Eden asked. "He isn't a culprit."
"If he isn't, the investigation will clear him," his father replied.
"But he got arrested because of my case."
"You're not responsible for that," his father said firmly. "Right now, your safety matters more than anything."
Eden lay back slowly on the bed.
"I can't take risks," his father continued quietly. "Not when your life was at stake."
Eden closed his eyes but didn't sleep.
Outside the room, Samuel passed by and muttered to himself,
"Why does the wrong person always get punished first…"
---
In the Devil Trio's hostel room, silence lasted longer than usual.
Marcus spoke first.
"That principal saved us from arrest before… and now he's arrested."
Ethan leaned back on the couch.
"I don't like Adrian. But this feels wrong."
Marcus nodded slowly.
"You noticed something? Everything happened too quickly After Adrian Arrival."
Ethan looked at him.
"Our old clips surfaced… police arrived… Hillcrest almost shut down… Eden tried to jump."
"And someone recorded that too," Marcus said.
"Everyone was watching Eden," Ethan replied. "No one was recording."
Marcus exhaled.
"What if this is planned?"
Neither of them spoke for a moment.
Leon stood near the window, staring outside.
"Leon?" Ethan said.
No response.
Marcus shook his shoulder lightly.
Leon blinked.
"What?"
"You've been quiet," Marcus said.
Leon hesitated.
"Eden's father came immediately… angry… protective."
Ethan nodded.
"If we did something like that," Leon continued, "our fathers would worry about reputation first."
Marcus didn't interrupt.
"Keris's father came himself too," Leon said. "He could've sent a lawyer."
Silence returned.
"Everyone thinks we're lucky because we're sons of Unicorns," Leon said quietly. "But we don't have fathers. We have Unicorns."
No one argued.
The phone buzzed.
Professor Finch's message appeared:
Counsellor team arriving in 20 minutes. Auditorium. Mandatory for students, staff, professors.
The three exchanged glances and left the room.
Not to attend.
To escape their thoughts.
As they stepped into the corridor, Leon slowed down.
For a brief second, the image replayed in his mind — Eden's hand slipping… Adrian's injured arm reaching… the sound of students screaming below.
He clenched his jaw.
For the first time in years, power didn't feel like protection.
It felt useless.
None of them noticed that he had stopped walking.
None of them noticed that something inside him had shifted.
---
The auditorium slowly filled, but this time the silence was heavier than before.
Students did not sit in their usual groups. Friends left small gaps between each other. Professors occupied the front rows, not as authority figures — but as uncertain adults.
Luther entered quietly and sat at the side, his eyes scanning the room as if expecting something to break again.
In the corridor, Eden and his father approached from one end while Keris and his father approached from the other. Their footsteps slowed when they saw each other.
No words.
Just two fathers who had almost lost something irreplaceable.
"As a father," Keris's father finally said, voice steady but restrained, "what you did was right. I only know my son can bully… but not torture anyone."
Eden's father looked at him for a long moment.
"When a child stands at the edge of death," he replied quietly, "a father doesn't calculate justice. He reacts."
Neither apologized. Neither argued.
They walked inside.
The counselling team entered shortly after — three professionals, calm, observant, carrying nothing dramatic. No loud introductions. No authority in their tone.
Just presence.
One of them stepped forward.
"This first session is for everyone — students, staff, professors. Later sessions will be separate."
Her voice was not loud, yet it carried.
"We are not here to investigate. We are not connected to the police. We are not here to defend the academy."
A pause.
"We are here because yesterday, a human being almost died in front of all of you."
That sentence landed.
"You may think you are fine," another counsellor continued. "But the body remembers what the mind tries to ignore."
A student in the third row swallowed.
"Before we speak about guilt or anger, let us stabilize something simple — breathing."
Some students shifted uncomfortably.
"Yes," the counsellor said gently, noticing. "It sounds basic. But when a crisis happens, breathing changes. And when breathing changes, thinking changes."
She guided them.
"Inhale slowly… hold… exhale."
At first, it felt awkward.
A chair scraped lightly against the floor.
Someone in the back muttered, "This is stupid," under their breath.
A professor hesitated before finally closing his eyes.
One student kept staring at the exit door instead of following the rhythm.
It wasn't perfect synchronization.
It was fragile participation.
And that was enough.
Then gradually, the room synchronized.
Even professors followed.
Even Raymond at the back.
Even Eden.
Even Keris.
After a few cycles, the air itself felt different.
"Now," the counsellor said softly, "raise your hand if yesterday is still replaying in your mind."
This time, hands rose faster.
Luther.
Marcus.
Ethan.
Three boys from the second row.
A professor.
Raymond.
Leon's fingers twitched… but he kept them down.
Eden's hands were locked together so tightly his knuckles had turned white.
The counsellor noticed.
"You don't have to raise your hand to be affected."
Her eyes briefly met Eden's.
"Some of you feel guilty."
Silence thickened.
"Guilty because you bullied. Guilty because you watched. Guilty because you recorded. Guilty because you stayed silent."
Keris's jaw tightened.
"Guilt," she continued, "is not punishment. It is a signal. It means your conscience is alive."
That sentence pierced deeper than accusation.
Another counsellor stepped forward.
"Anger is also present in this room."
A few students glanced instinctively toward the stage.
"Anger at authority. Anger at parents. Anger at privilege. Anger at unfair arrests."
Marcus shifted slightly.
Ethan looked ahead.
Leon finally raised his hand.
The counsellor nodded at him. "You may speak. Or you may pass."
Leon hesitated, then lowered his hand again.
"I'll pass."
"That is allowed," she replied gently.
Another Counsellor cleared his throat.
"Where is Principal Adrian? He said he would attend."
A slight pause.
One counsellor answered ,"Maybe he's resting. His shoulder condition isn't good."
They did not elaborate.
Instead, the lead counsellor said something unexpected.
"Whether you like him or not… he arranged these sessions."
The auditorium stilled.
"He transferred the advance payment himself."
"When?" someone whispered.
"Today. Around 4 p.m."
The room absorbed that quietly.
Keris looked up for the first time.
Eden's father frowned slightly.
Marcus leaned back slowly.
The counsellor continued.
"Let me say something clearly. Institutions fail when silence becomes culture. Yesterday was not created in one day."
Her gaze moved across students.
"Bullying is rarely about power. It is about insecurity seeking witnesses."
Keris felt as if the sentence had weight.
"Suicide attempts are rarely about one incident. They are about accumulated hopelessness."
Eden's breathing became uneven again.
The counsellor noticed immediately.
"Would you like to step outside?" she asked gently.
Eden shook his head.
"I'm fine."
"No," she said softly. "You are surviving. That is different."
His father placed a hand on his shoulder.
The counsellor continued addressing everyone.
"From tomorrow, there will be individual sessions. No reports will be shared without consent unless safety is at risk. This is not a trap."
She paused.
"And one more thing."
Her voice lowered.
"If any of you feel that yesterday was not spontaneous… if something feels manipulated… you may share that privately."
That line created a ripple.
Marcus and Ethan exchanged a glance.
Leon looked down.
The session did not end dramatically.
It ended quietly.
No applause.
No announcements.
Just a room that felt shaken — but more aware.
Students did not rush out this time.
They walked slower.
Thinking.
---
At the police station, Adrian was seated in the inquiry room, not the holding cell.
His injured shoulder was supported, but the strain was visible.
The inspector entered with a thick file and placed it deliberately on the table.
"You're either very composed," the inspector said, sitting down, "or very trained."
Adrian didn't respond immediately.
"I've seen principals cry," the inspector continued. "Seen them call politicians. Seen them threaten media. You did none of that."
Adrian's gaze remained steady.
"Why didn't you defend yourself at the academy?"
"Because it was not the right place."
The inspector tapped the file.
"A student attempted suicide. Three prior bullying clips resurfaced. Public outrage escalated within hours. Police pressure increased. And you were arrested."
"Yes."
"You still didn't protest."
"No."
The inspector leaned forward.
"You knew bullying existed."
"Yes."
"You failed to stop it."
"I failed to stop it fast enough."
That slight difference caught the inspector's attention.
"You climbed a tower pipe with a recovering shoulder," he continued. "Why risk your life for a student?"
"Because he was about to jump."
"That is not an answer."
Adrian finally met his eyes directly.
"If I calculated consequences in that moment, he would be dead."
Silence.
The inspector changed direction.
"The viral clip of Eden spread unusually fast. Media reached before formal complaint documentation was completed."
Adrian said nothing.
"Three powerful families intervened immediately," the inspector added. "Yet you allowed yourself to be arrested without making a single call."
"Yes."
"Why?"
"Because influence contaminates investigations."
The inspector studied him more carefully now.
"Or," he said slowly, "because you want the investigation to dig."
Adrian did not react outwardly.
The inspector opened the file and pulled out printed timestamps.
"We traced the initial upload," the inspector continued.
"The IP masked itself through two temporary servers. Not professional level — but not amateur either."
He slid another sheet forward.
"The emergency call reached media before it reached our central dispatch."
His eyes lifted.
"That doesn't happen accidentally."
"The first clip upload time… the coordinated resharing pattern… the anonymous tip to media… and the emergency call timing."
He placed them in front of Adrian.
"Too synchronized."
Adrian's fingers remained still.
"You think this was planned," the inspector said.
"Yes."
"By whom?"
"Someone who understands panic psychology."
The inspector's eyes narrowed slightly.
"And who would benefit from destabilizing Hillcrest Academy?"
Adrian did not answer directly.
"Institutions do not collapse from one scandal," he said calmly. "They collapse when trust fractures."
"And you allowed trust to fracture?"
"I allowed truth to surface."
The inspector leaned back slowly.
"You're not protecting yourself."
"No."
"You're protecting something else."
Adrian did not confirm or deny.
After a long pause, the inspector closed the file.
"Medical officer will examine your shoulder," he said. "You will remain here tonight."
He stood, then stopped at the door.
"One final question."
He turned halfway.
"If I find that this was orchestrated… and that someone inside the academy assisted it… will you cooperate fully?"
Adrian answered without hesitation.
"Yes."
The inspector held his gaze for several seconds.
"You are either the only honest man in this building… or the most dangerous one."
He left.
Adrian remained seated alone.
Outside, night settled over Hillcrest Academy.
Lights turned off in classrooms.
Conversations faded in hostels.
But investigations had begun.
Not only in police files.
In students' minds.
In fractured trust.
In questions no one was brave enough to ask aloud.
And somewhere — whether inside or outside the academy —
someone was waiting to see what would break next.