"You're leaving?! Wait—what?!" one of Gage's goons blurts out, instinctively glancing toward Judah.
Judah's eyes lock onto Gage.
Gadeon turns in his seat, caught off guard by how fast everything has escalated.
"If you leave," Judah says calmly, "the countdown is paused until you return."
The room erupts—not in noise, but in reaction.
Gasps.
Scowls.
Sharp, resentful glares aimed straight at Gage.
None of it fazes him.
"That's not my problem," Gage scoffs. "If they wanna leave like I am, they can just do it."
"What?!" one of the goons hisses. "Gage, you can't just walk out!"
"Yeah! You're gonna get in serious trouble!"
"Shut up," Gage mutters. "A few minutes ago you lot didn't care that the countdown kept restarting. Don't start caring now."
He grips the door handle.
"If you wanna leave," he adds, not looking back, "come with me."
The goons hesitate.
One step forward.
Then… nothing.
"If you leave and don't return," Judah says evenly, "you may want to start researching whether another Dojo Tribe will accept someone with a foreign element flexing."
That sentence lands like a weight.
The goons freeze.
Gage lets out a hollow laugh.
"What a joke," he says. "You all act tough, but when it actually matters, you fold."
"We're not scared—we're being smart!" one of them snaps. "My mum will kill me if I get expelled."
"Yeah," another adds without thinking, "just because you don't have parents doesn't mean it's easy for you."
Silence.
Gage turns slowly.
The look he gives them is enough.
They shut up instantly.
Without another word, Gage pulls the door open and walks out.
He's an orphan? Gadeon thinks, watching him leave.
No wonder he acts the way he does. No one raised him.
Kurtiz raises his hand, composed but wary.
"Sir Judah," he says, "it doesn't look like Gage is coming back. Does that mean we're stuck here until night? Our parents are going to think we've gone missing."
Judah doesn't hesitate.
"Don't worry. I've already informed all your parents about the conditions of this detention."
The room stiffens.
"And… they were fine with it?" Kurtiz asks.
"Yes," Judah replies.
Shock ripples through the class.
Of course they were, Judah thinks. Public destruction. Stolen property. Normally the parents would be fined.
We took responsibility instead.
Some of them sounded relieved.
A few even encouraged harsher punishment.
He looks over the students.
"And before anyone panics," Judah adds, "I promised your parents I'd personally drop each of you home, one by one."
Kurtiz lowers his hand, his expression hardening as the reality sinks in.
Shit… I'm really stuck here.
There's money to be made. I can't afford to be sitting in detention this long.
Every minute I lose is expensive.
And worse—
If it's too late and Sir Judah really drops us home himself… I won't be able to meet them.
Okay—this wasn't as planned. Gadeon clenches his fists as heat coils in his chest, anger quietly fuelling itself.
I don't mind doing work and planning while the countdown ticks… but pausing the whole thing? That's something I never accounted for.
Wait—why pause the entire countdown for one person anyway?
If he leaves, then only he should be punished. Not all of us.
That's illogical. It makes no sense.
Then Gadeon raises his hand to ask a question.
"I'm sorry, sir—but why are we being punished because one student decided to leave? That has nothing to do with us."
Gage's goons immediately chime in.
"Yeah! That doesn't make sense!"
Aren't they supposed to be on the same side? Gadeon thinks.
"Who makes the rules?" Judah asks.
The question throws Gadeon off guard.
"Huh?"
"I asked," Judah repeats, calm and unwavering, "who makes the rules?"
Pride wells up in Gadeon's chest. He knows the answer—but he hesitates.
"You do, sir," Kurtiz answers quickly, casting Gadeon a tired look.
"Exactly," Judah says. "And yet, you students seem to have a problem following rules."
His eyes sweep the room.
"This isn't the first time we've heard about fights and gang violence outside the dojo. And for some of you, this isn't even your first detention. Am I wrong?"
He's right, Gadeon admits internally.
But detention's usually an hour. Different teachers. Easy.
Unfortunately, today we got Sir Judah.
"The purpose of detention," Judah continues, "is reflection. To think about your actions so the chances of repeating them are low."
He pauses.
"But you children, that hasn't happened. In fact, it's gotten worse."
One of Gage's goons raises his hand nervously.
"Okay, sir—then we promise we'll change after this!"
Judah's gaze hardens.
"Do you think this is a joke?"
His voice drops—deep, heavy, absolute.
For a split second, every student instinctively grabs their throat, gasping, as if invisible hands are choking them—until they realise nothing is there.
The room fills with shallow breaths.
"This time," Judah says, "we thank God it was only buildings and property that were destroyed."
Another pause.
"Next time, it could be someone's life. Not just yours—but an innocent bystander's."
Silence.
"You don't understand how far your actions ripple."
Judah straightens.
"So this detention will be different from the ones you're used to."
His eyes lock onto the room.
"There is purpose in this detention."
A beat.
"And you will figure out what it is."
I knew it, Kurtiz thinks.
"This detention," Judah continues, "is meant to teach you exactly what detention should do. And it will work—because if it doesn't, then I've failed as an SLT member."
He continues.
"Strength isn't only about raw power, young ones. It's also about the ability to teach, to correct, and to trigger change. That is strength too."
His gaze sweeps the room.
"I'm doing this so that next time, none of you plan to be here."
"Plan?" one of Gage's goons scoffs. "Who the heck plans to get detention?"
Judah doesn't flinch.
"You did."
The room stiffens.
"Whether intentionally or unintentionally, every one of you planned to be here today. You woke up this morning and set events into motion that led you here. So don't look at me confused."
"I don't understand, sir," Kurtiz says carefully. "How did I plan to be here? I planned to be somewhere else. Detention was the last thing on my mind."
"You had a vision, not a plan," Judah replies calmly. "You imagined being somewhere else—but imagination is not planning."
He steps forward.
"In life, before any journey, you need two things. First: a destination—a vision of where you want to end up. Second: a plan to get there."
Judah looks directly at Kurtiz.
"You had the first. You lacked the second."
"But I did plan," Kurtiz insists. "At least in my head."
"Listen," Judah says.
Kurtiz immediately quiets.
"Most people plan their money—we call that a budget. They plan their time—we call that a schedule. They plan education, careers, families. Planning isn't a thought. It's structure."
Judah pauses.
"Now let me ask you something. If you have a budget and you overspend—what happens?"
"You no longer have a budget," Gadeon answers confidently.
"Wrong," Judah says instantly.
Gadeon freezes.
"You still have a budget," Judah continues. "It just became tighter. Scarcer. Your budget doesn't disappear—it adapts."
He lets that sink in.
"And time works the same way. Your schedule doesn't stop when you mess up. It shifts. Consequences don't erase plans—they rewrite them."
"I see," Kurtiz says slowly, understanding clicking into place. "So I did plan to be where I wanted to be—but because of my choices and actions, I unintentionally planned a different route that led me here."
"What?" Gadeon blurts out.
Kurtiz turns to him. "You still don't get it?"
"What do you mean I still don't get it?" Gadeon snaps defensively. But inside—
That's insane…
When you put it like that, it actually makes sense.
To think you can plan something without even being aware you're planning it…
That you can't blame anyone else for where you end up because it's the result of your own decisions—
He pauses.
—actually, hold on.
A flaw.
His jaw tightens.
"Actually, sir," Gadeon says, lifting his head, voice firm. "You're wrong."