The sun was shining.
That was the first thing I noticed.
Bright, warm, completely out of place with the way my stomach was twisting itself into knots. Around me, students filled the courtyard of Shalu Academy—laughing, chatting, walking in groups like they didn't have a single problem in the world.
A cold breeze cut across my face.
I didn't feel refreshed.
I felt exposed.
Because right in front of me—blocking my path, cutting me off from the crowd like predators circling prey—stood three ridiculously tall guys with very, very bad intentions.
And in that moment, the strongest thing I felt wasn't embarrassment.
Wasn't anxiety.
Wasn't even regret.
It was fear.
Not the kind you get from watching a horror movie.
Not the kind that creeps in when you're about to confess to your crush.
Not even the kind you feel bringing home a report card that screams "you're screwed."
No.
This was something deeper.
Heavier.
Primal.
The kind of fear that grips your spine and whispers:
You might not walk away from this.
And there they were.
Three muscle-bound monsters.
All staring at me like I was already halfway buried.
"YOOO GUYS—!" I shouted, throwing my hands up like I could physically stop what was coming. "I DIDN'T MEAN ANYTHING I SAID BEFORE GRADUATION! YOU'RE ALL SMART, BRIGHT INDIVIDUALS!"
Silence.
Then one of them grinned.
Not friendly.
Not forgiving.
The kind of grin that belongs in a nightmare.
"Nah," he said casually. "We're not beating you up yet."
My heart skipped.
Yet?
"We'll wait until orientation," he continued, cracking his knuckles. "Give you something to remember us by."
Right.
Context.
Before getting accepted into Shalu Academy—this prestigious, totally-not-a-death-trap school—I may have… hypothetically… absolutely trashed a group of guys online.
You know the type.
All muscle, no brain.
Walking around like they owned the world.
Bullying anyone who breathed in their direction.
Apparently, they had a name.
A group name.
And apparently—
They remembered me.
"Well, you can't blame me," I said, pointing a middle finger at one of them before my brain could stop me. "You used to go around bullying everyone. And also…"
Stop talking.
"You're all ugly as shit."
Why am I like this.
"WHAT THE HELL DID YOU SAY?!" one of them—Paul, I remembered now—lunged forward, veins practically popping out of his neck.
The other two grabbed him, holding him back.
Barely.
And that's when it hit me.
They weren't restraining him to protect me.
They were holding him back…
So they could decide when to break me.
They turned to leave.
Just like that.
Like I wasn't even worth the effort yet.
Before disappearing into the crowd, one of them looked over his shoulder and smirked.
"Remember the name," he said. "The Muscle Head Hightop Group."
I stared at them.
Processing.
Then scoffed.
"Your group name is just as dumb as your haircuts," I called out. "Seriously—who gets a hightop with no fade? Not even prison camps punish people like that."
They stopped.
All three of them.
Slowly.
Turned.
…Yeah.
I messed up.
"Wait," I said quickly. "I'm sorry. Let me make it up to you by gettin—"
I never finished that sentence.
Because Paul disappeared.
No—moved.
So fast he left an afterimage burned into my vision.
By the time my brain caught up—
His fist was already in my stomach.
The world folded.
Air exploded out of my lungs as my body lifted off the ground like I weighed nothing.
Pain didn't come first.
Shock did.
Then came everything else.
"You must've forgotten," Paul's voice cut through the ringing in my ears, "we're Flow users."
Flow.
My mind scrambled, trying to catch up.
Everyone at Shalu Academy knew about it.
Power.
Blessings.
People who could bend reality just enough to make normal fights look like child's play.
And then—
"There's levels to this," another voice said.
I was grabbed mid-air.
Chris.
He slammed me into the ground so hard the impact bounced through my bones.
"Third blessing," he finished.
The pavement cracked beneath me.
Or maybe that was just my ribs.
I couldn't tell.
I tried to breathe.
Failed.
Tried again.
Nothing.
My vision blurred.
My body wouldn't listen.
Get up.
It didn't move.
Get up.
Still nothing.
A shadow fell over me.
Heavy.
Final.
I forced my eyes open.
Marcel stood above me.
His fist… glowing.
Purple energy coiled around it like it was alive—like it was hungry.
The air warped.
Loose papers and dust lifted off the ground, swirling toward him like he was the center of a storm.
And his face—
There was no hesitation.
No doubt.
No restraint.
Just anger.
Pure, focused, killing intent.
And for the first time since this started—
I understood.
They weren't trying to scare me.
They weren't trying to "teach me a lesson."
They were going to end this.
End me.
His arm pulled back.
Energy screamed.
The world narrowed to that single, glowing fist.
And as it came crashing down—
A single thought echoed through my mind.
Clear.
Loud.
Terrifying.
"Am… I… GOING TO DIE OVER A DAMN JOKE?"