"Rowan?"
Everywhere went quiet. The kind of quiet that came alongside a sudden shock wave hitting the room all at once.
Rowan was right there, body on a stretcher, pale, half covered with a white cloth.
I could see him over the glass, through the locked room where a woman with orange hair — like his — just kept hitting against the door, seemingly calling out his name like he could still hear her.
Turned out, he couldn't.
Looking at him in that freezer, my mind went blank. No process. It was like a bad wound in me that was staying neutral, refusing to bleed. I walked toward the glass slowly, placed my fingers on it, then called his name again.
"Rowan..." I heard my voice shiver through every word. "Come on, dude. Wake up."
"Ren—"
"Come on now. Don't make me seem like the bad guy." I kept muttering, now starting to hit the glass calmly. "You also wanted to stand up for yourself, didn't you? Didn't you want to learn how to fight?"
"Ren."
A hand rested firmly on my shoulder. Something in my brain gestured for mental purchase. I turned around and met the eyes of the Bureau officer — the same one who'd found us in the middle of the street the other day and was supposed to be in charge of Julian's case.
"I'm...sorry about what happened." He said with a kind of calmness that got on my nerves immediately. Then his hands found his waist. "Look, I want to help you set this right. But to do that, I need to know what actually happened that day—"
"Julian." I cut him off. "What about Julian?" I met his eyes, anger evident in every syllable. "Is he still under detention?"
"Yeah, about that..." The officer let out a short sigh and slightly looked away from me. "Julian was...bailed off."
I didn't reply. I just kept the same straight look, only with a deeper frown this time.
"The BHD reported that he was forced to be a part of this coordinated ambush." The officer said with raised arms. "Apparently, there was no evidence to prove that Julian was directly involved in the harming of Rowan."
"Evidence?" I scoffed. "Someone just died, and you're gonna sit around and wait for evidence?!"
"Ren..."
Whatever he was about to say, I didn't wait for him to finish. I just walked past him, storming out of the room and slamming the door behind me.
"Ren, wait!"
***
[External POV]
BANG. BANG.
"King!"
Whatever was causing the aggressive knocking on his classroom door at 11:30 in the morning, Zael already knew the highlight. But not today. Not when he was still trying to get over the messed-up catchphrases cycling through his head.
Break up. End it.
At least, those were the words Seraphine had used for her pitching. The usual trademark words. The same words he'd always thought would come from him instead of her.
And right there on the rooftop, he'd been too helpless to defend against it. He'd just been quiet — didn't ask her why, didn't try to beg for her understanding. He just nodded and walked away like he understood.
Or at least, he pretended to.
But his cigarettes knew better. He'd whisk out a stick once every hour, light it, and drag on it with all the suffocation that came with being broken up with. He'd been taught never to give out emotions, expressions, reactions. Unfortunately, however, he'd loved Seraphine deeper than all that.
"King, this is important!" The banging continued. "Dante and his gang are on their way here."
He knew. Of course he knew. If only Dante weren't so weak, he would've personally walked down the halls to roll out a red carpet for the gang boss. Maybe bow respectfully before taking the first blow.
But Dante was weak. Not just physically — mentally too. First, he'd hesitated on an immediate response after Silvic High students got his gang members beaten up in the arena. And just when he was going to respond, he'd discarded the option to ambush and decided that storming into Silvic High in broad daylight was the best way to settle the scores.
"What an idiot." Zael laughed amid his own words. He stuffed the butt of his cigarette against a small tumbler and waved smoke toward the window. "Why does he keep doing the stupidest things?"
He walked toward the door, flung it a few inches open and positioned himself in the gap.
"Inform the others." He said with a bored voice. "If anyone's interested, let them deal with that asshole and his ponies."
The high tier at the door had something more than fear in his eyes. Bewilderment. It made sense, technically. Dante remained a gang boss regardless of anything else. His proximity to power was on another level entirely. That was enough reason to be scared.
"What about you?" He dared to ask. "He wants to fight you specifically."
"And unfortunately for both of us, I kinda have to take a nap." Zael followed that with a slightly forced yawn. "My brain hurts."
He closed the door.
***
[Author's POV]
East High School didn't look like much. Just a low-budget construction dump at the end of the street. Rusty gates, weak fences, stained white walls with vines overgrowing on them. The kind of place that looked like maintenance had given up on it over a decade ago and never looked back.
The students matched the building. Rash, uncoordinated, and the first impression you got was a bunch of them smoking near trash cans. Very motivational environment overall.
Thankfully, none of them bothered to stop me. A few glances as I walked past — maybe also a few death threats whispered at the volume of someone who wanted to be heard but didn't want to commit — but regardless, they seemed too uncertain to make the actual judgment themselves. Silvic High uniform in East High territory. Bold move, or complete idiocy. Probably both.
I walked into something that looked like their hallway. An outstretched tunnel of people slamming lockers, chewing and blowing bubble gum, generally committing to the aesthetic. One idiot — apparently a junior — was testing out a paper plane that flew past me. I caught it, crumpled it in my hand, and let whatever was left of it drop to the floor.
"Hey, asshole—"
I met his eyes. He stopped talking.
"Where's Julian?" I asked.
He hesitated, probably quivering with the weight of his life choices in real time. Then he turned and pointed toward the stairway a few metres ahead. "Class A-3."
I walked away from him and headed up the stairs to the next floor. Class A-3 was at the far end of the hall. Through the door window, I could see a teacher inside — a young woman who looked like she'd completely lost whatever control she'd shown up with, doing something that was either yelling or very aggressive teaching. Hard to tell from the hallway.
I wasn't going to wait for the last minute of that episode anyway.
I pushed the door open — not with the energy of someone trying to make a dramatic entrance, just with the energy of someone who had decided they were going in.
My eyes found Julian immediately. Sitting near the window at the back of the class, somehow managing to stand out without trying.
He wasn't snickering like his classmates. He had a straight face on. The kind of expression that almost made me think he'd recently attended a funeral and wasn't finding anything funny today.
"And who are you—?" The teacher's eyes found me first, and twenty pairs of curious eyes followed.
I didn't stop moving. I headed toward Julian's desk, ignoring the surprised slash astonished expression assembling itself on his face.
WHACK! The blow landed right in his face. He tumbled off his chair, and as he fell, I heard a wheezed chuckle come out of him. The kind that found its way directly into my nerves and added to the anger that was already occupying the space.
"Hey, what do you think you're—"
I didn't wait for the teacher to finish. I went at Julian again, lifting him by the collar, staring straight into his unremorseful eyes. Murderer. And apparently, the Bureau knew that and still let him go.
WHACK!
Something smashed against my back. A chair. The pain registered in the worst way possible. With fully engaged endurance, I threw Julian off against the desks and turned around slowly toward the guy who'd just hit me. He was holding a sturdy piece of wood — probably the remains of the chair — with the energy of someone who was going to try again.
"Die, you piece of shit!" He came at me, attempting to stab. I knocked the wood off his hands and directed a punch into his skull.
Another came from behind. I caught his wrist, twisted until it broke, and threw my fist into his gut. He groaned as he went down. Two more came together from behind, same uniform attack pattern that had already failed twice. I ducked, grabbed both their heads and introduced them to each other.
The remaining guys surrounded me. Fear was visible in their eyes even through the abilities they'd activated — evident from the glow. But none of them came forward. They stepped back when I stepped forward. I reached down, grabbed the barely conscious guy on the ground, and WHACK, landed a stronger punch in his jaw.
"Everyone. Out." Julian's voice, testing his jaw as he stood. "Now."
His eyes settled on me with a look I didn't particularly care to define. Everyone in the class quietly ushered themselves out — including the teacher, who hesitated slightly but ultimately decided she didn't have a choice. She didn't.
"Breaking into my school premises just to attack me." Julian chuckled inwardly, his eyes moving to his uniform as he dusted it off. "You really don't know what you've gotten yourself into, do you?"
He didn't wait for a reply. He threw himself viciously at me, grabbed my torso, and I left the ground in a split second.
We were both heading toward the window.
CRASH!