They exchanged silent glances before turning back to face the strange boy. A moment of silence passed, both thick and deliberate. One student—the one seated directly in front of him—leaned back in his chair.

  “What kind of loser shit is that?” He chuckled.

  Laughter soon rippled through the classroom like a chained spark. It started with giggling, before erupting into full-throated mockery. His social death warrant had now been signed and sealed. Each burst of laughter washed over Akuma like a wave he'd both anticipated and prepared for. This, after all, was his grand plan.

  And why wouldn't they laugh? This new kid had just proclaimed he'd be God someday.

  Akuma's shoulders hunched slightly under the weight of their derision. His eyes, however, remained steady, watching their reactions with quiet intensity. He glanced around, taking note of things some might find mundane. Who a group would turn to after each wave of laughter. Who’d try interjected with another joke. And even the fact that Mr. Allen joined in.

  By the second day, rumors of his bizarre introduction had made its way into every ear. By the time he’d heard about it, the story had been morphed, each retelling more exaggerated than the last. Some students even approached him directly, hurling insults personally.

  “Hey, 'God'!” A lanky boy called out down the hallway. “I got a date planned later today. Got any miracles for me?”

  The crowd around him snickered, their laughter bouncing off the metal lockers.

  Fortunately, Akuma had rehearsed for this moment. First, a slight quiver of his lower lip. Second, the downcast of his eyes—that particular detail was crucial. Then the barely perceptible tremor in his hands. He'd perfected the art of manufactured vulnerability.

  With classes just beginning and little schoolwork to distract them, the student body had found their entertainment. Their target. Their unwitting victim. Akuma Tiryns.

  On the third day, the hallway clock read 11:30.

  Students flooded the corridor in waves, their voices forming a symphony of overlapping conversations. Lockers slammed in metallic percussion. The sharp tang of industrial cleaners barely masked the sweeter undertones of perfume and the warm aroma of lunch being prepared in the cafeteria.

  And then there was Akuma, currently breaking away from his usual routine.

  “Hey, Aniya. Do you have a second?”

  His voice carried just enough to reach the girl surrounded by her goons—lackeys if you will.

  Even among her other fashionable friends, Aniya commanded attention. Her caramel dyed hair falling in perfect waves, her uniform customized in ways that skirted the edge of school regulations. The self-proclaimed queen gyaru of their homeroom—and as it happened, someone who shared every class with Akuma.

  Aniya froze mid-sentence. Her mascara-framed eyes widened slightly, not with fear but something closer to surprise. Her friends immediately closed in, forming a protective barrier of designer accessories and disdain.

  “Did the freak just talk to you?” One whispered. Though I hesitate to say “whisper” seeing as Akuma heard it loud as day.

  “Don't even look at him. You’ll catch his creepy.” Another warned.

  Hearing their concerns, something crossed Aniya's face at that moment. Hesitation perhaps. But when she took in Akuma's gentle smile, the violent tug at her heart temporarily won against social preservation. Still, she couldn’t exactly throw away her reputation.

  “What do you want, creep?”

  The words held the expected dismissal but lacked any real disdain like her friends had supplied.

  The ambient hallway noise diminished as if someone had slowly turned down the volume. Conversations died mid-sentence, locker doors closed more softly. An audience was forming, exactly as Akuma had calculated.

  He stepped forward with measured confidence, reaching for her hand. His fingertips were unexpectedly warm as they enveloped hers, the contact creating exactly the effect he'd anticipated.

  “I need you.” He said, his voice dropping to a near-whisper that forced everyone to lean in.

  Aniya's sharp intake of breath cut through the hushed corridor. Her friends gasped in unison, their synchronized shock almost comical.

  A flush bloomed from Aniya's neck to her cheeks.

  “W-what do you need?” She stammered, nervously coiling her hair around her finger, the stack of bracelets on her wrist chiming softly with the motion.

  Akuma maintained eye contact, his gaze unwavering.

  “It's... private. We have the same class next period, right? How about I tell you on the way.”

  An invitation issued with such casual certainty that Aniya found herself nodding before conscious thought had the chance to intervene.

  Their hands remained linked as they walked. The weight of curious stares followed them, along with the low murmur of social recalibration. In particular, Akuma found himself lost in the scent of Aniya's strawberry shampoo as they rounded the corner—directly where Akuma had been planning for.

  “So, this is the ‘God’ I’ve heard so much about, huh? You really are just some dork. Though I didn’t expect you to have a girlfriend.”

  The upperclassman's voice sliced through the hallway's whispers like a blade. His muscular frame blocked their path, creating a wall of pure teenage immaturity and expensive cologne. His name is Maliky and he’s been something of the “top-dog” for the three years running. He’s the kind of guy that gets away with whatever he wants by using brute force. You know the types.

  Maliky's gaze drifted over Aniya with lustful intentions.

  “I won’t lie, she's pretty damn cute. I can’t imagine why she’d spend time with a dork like you. So why not give her to me instead, eh?”

  Three days of observation had prepared Akuma for this very encounter. He'd studied Maliky's patterns, from when he prowled the halls, to which students he targeted, to how he positioned his body before strikes. Now Akuma needed to become the perfect victim, but not just any victim.

  With a fluid motion that carried more theatricality than necessity, Akuma jumped between Aniya and Maliky, his arms spread wide, creating a human shield. The movement drew attention from passing students, who slowed their pace and began to gather.

  “Stay back, Aniya!” He called out, infusing his voice with just enough trembling courage. “I'll protect you.”

  Several onlookers drew audible breaths. A few girls even felt their hearts thud inside their chest. For a moment, confusion registered on their faces as they reconciled “that weird kid who thinks he's God” with this new image of chivalrous defender.

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  “What’s this? Think you’re some damn hero?”

  Maliky's left eyebrow twitched. Then his hands curled into fists.

  “I think I'm a little insulted–!”

  With calculated precision, Akuma’s fist struck his solar plexus, interrupting his speech. Though for everyone else, it appeared as a blur of motion that was easily dismissed. The sound of the impact was muffled, a soft thud rather than a crack as Akuma made sure to pull back his fist just in time to prevent too much damage.

  Maliky doubled over, his face contorting as oxygen evacuated his lungs. The hallway fell silent except for his desperate, wheezing attempts to breathe. Sweat beaded on his forehead, intensifying the scent of his expensive cologne. Slowly, he raised his head, his face flushed with a dangerous cocktail of humiliation and fury.

  Seeing Akuma's composed expression, something primal ignited in his eyes. With a guttural sound that was more animal than human, he lunged forward, his arm cocked back.

  For the watching students, it happened in an instant. For Akuma, time seemed to stretch like taffy. He tracked the trajectory of Maliky's fist, waiting patiently for the connection. As his knuckles approached his cheek, he executed the most critical element of his plan—allowing the fist to make contact while shifting his weight backward just enough to minimize impact while maximizing appearance.

  Akuma's body went limp at precisely the right moment. He staggered backward with carefully choreographed momentum, directly into Aniya. His elbow caught her shoulder as he fell against her, using his body to guide her fall toward the hard floor. The back of her head connected with the tile, producing a sickening crack that silenced even the breathing of the onlookers.

  Aniya's eyelids fluttered once before closing. A thin crimson line emerged from beneath her head, spreading outward like a halo around her caramel hair.

  In that suspended moment, Akuma witnessed exactly what he'd orchestrated. Every horrified gaze fixed not on him but on the unconscious girl. Maliky's face drained of color as understanding dawned—not of Akuma's manipulation, but of his own looming consequences.

  Akuma didn't even need to feign rage or sadness—though he'd practiced for it—seeing as a group of teachers pushed through the stunned crowd, their commands barely registering in the terrible silence. Strong hands seized Maliky's shoulders, pulling him backward as other faculty members knelt beside Aniya's still form. Calls for the nurse competed with teachers herding students away and demands for explanations.

  As they dragged Maliky toward the principal's office, Akuma allowed himself to appear stunned. But for the briefest instant, when no one was looking directly at him, the corner of his mouth twitched upward. The first domino had fallen precisely where he had placed it.

  It is now the fourth day. Morning light filtered through classroom windows casting long rectangles across the tiled floors.

  Jacob stood before the classroom door, his fingers trembling against the cool metal handle. Akuma's promise echoed in his mind.

  (Three days. It's been three days, Akuma... So why haven't you said anything?)

  He'd written his number onto a sheet of paper and slid it inside his pocket, but his phone had remained annoyingly silent. Then again, it’s not like Akuma had a phone in the first place. Though I guess he’d have no way of knowing that.

  The door felt impossibly heavy as he pushed it open. He entered with downcast eyes, muscle memory from years of avoiding attention. When he finally gathered courage to look up, he found dozens of eyes focused on him. Instantly, a familiar tightness gripped his chest, memories from middle school threatening to drown him. Then…

  “Yo... Is that Jacob? Akuma really wasn't lying, he does go here.”

  The voice belonged to a boy who crossed the room with surprising eagerness. Several others followed, surrounding Jacob with an unfamiliar, non–hostility.

  “Long time no see, Jacob.” One said, his smile appearing strangely genuine. “You been good?”

  “Yeah, man. It's been like forever.” Another chimed in.

  “What you been up to?” Asked a third, leaning against a nearby desk with casual interest.

  Jacob pressed his back against the wall, confusion rendering him momentarily mute.

  “W-what's going on?” He finally managed to squeeze out.

  The first boy exchanged glances with his friends before answering.

  “Akuma told us you'd be coming back. You wouldn’t believe how much he talks about you. Especially about how you helped his family when they were struggling.”

  “Or how you paid for his sick mother's medication.” Another added, nodding with apparent respect.

  Jacob's mind raced to make sense of these statements.

  (Medication? Sick mother? What are they talking about? Did Akuma... lie to make me sound good?)

  Jacob swallowed hard.

  “Akuma, you said... What exactly did he do?”

  The group once again exchanged puzzled glances.

  “Huh? You didn't hear? First, I thought that guy was a total weirdo, but then he protected Aniya from Maliky and took a hit for her. That was seriously intense.”

  “Yeah, and that same day, he stepped in when I was getting pressed by an upperclassman.” Another added.

  “And he's soooo dreamy…” A girl interjected from nearby. “I wish I were Aniya.”

  Silence descended as everyone turned to stare at her. She shrugged, unrepentant about the statement.

  Jacob's thoughts crystallized into a single urgent question.

  “Where is he now? Akuma, I mean.”

  “Taking the day off.” Someone answered. “Yesterday he mentioned something about catching a cold.”

  (A cold? Akuma? That can't be right… Did they do something to him?)

  “Tell me the truth…” Jacob said, his voice laced with skepticism.

  Confusion rippled through the group.

  “About what?”

  “Is this some kind of setup? To make me the butt of another joke?”

  Jacob's hands clenched at his sides.

  “Just be honest.”

  The students exchanged glances once more. Finally, the first boy took a deep breath.

  “Is this about middle school?”

  Jacob's eyes widened, his fingernails digging into his palms.

  Noting the reaction, the boy continued.

  “Look, I know we did things... unforgivable things. I can't imagine how much we hurt you. If it's followed you to high school, then it couldn't have been minor.”

  He paused, struggling for words.

  “W-What I'm trying to say is that we were immature back then. I'd like to think we've grown. So... I'm sorry.”

  “Yeah.” Another voice joined, sharing the subdued tone. “I'm sorry too, Jacob.”

  “I regret everything we did.” Added a third.

  One by one, they offered apologies—not identical platitudes, but halting, awkward attempts at genuine remorse. Even the girls joined in, hugging him tightly as they all apologized. Jacob felt something warm and unexpected slide down his cheek.

  “Are you actually crying?” Someone asked.

  Jacob immediately wiped his face.

  “No. You’re going crazy, dude.”

  A tentative chuckle rippled through the group. As it did, Jacob found himself questioning if this was what some might call “friendship”. If so, then surely there could be no better feeling in the world.

  Jacob glanced toward the ceiling.

  (You really are the best hero.)

  Autumn sunlight warmed the sidewalk as Akuma strolled away from Burger Queen, the paper bag in his hands radiating heat and the scent of fried potatoes. Satisfaction settled in his chest with each swallow of a fry.

  “They should be apologizing to him right about now.” He thought aloud, imagining Jacob's expression as the long-awaited moment unfolded. “As much as I want to see it for myself, I better stay away today. Wouldn't want Jacob spending the day with me instead of his new friends.”

  He extracted a small, folded paper from his pocket. Ten digits scrawled in hasty handwriting. Jacob had slipped it into his pocket after that grand, ridiculous speech about being a hero.

  “What am I even supposed to do with this?” He wondered aloud, squinting at the numbers.

  A shadow fell across him without warning. A presence he should have sensed long before it had the chance to appear before him. A figure in an expensive red jacket stood, blocking his path, their hood pulled low over their face.

  “Is there something you need?” Akuma asked, unsettled by his own failure to detect their approach.

  “I want you to come with me.”

  (That voice... I know it. But from where?)

  Akuma hesitated, then made his decision. If they wanted to attack, surely they would’ve already.

  “Lead the way then.” He said, extending the piece of paper in his hand. “And by the way, do you know what this means?”

  The hooded figure took the slip, glanced at it briefly, then smiled. A slow, knowing smile that sent an unfamiliar sensation down Akuma's spine. Ignoring him, they pulled out a phone and dialed the number.

  “Hello? Who is this?” Jacob's voice emerged from the speaker, shaky but unmistakable.

  “I've got your friend here. He’s bleeding on the ground.” The figure said, his voice suddenly cold and precise. “If you want to see him alive, come to the alley beside Burger Queen. You know the one.”

  Click!

  For a heartbeat, Akuma stood frozen in confusion.

  “What just–”

  A pure-white fist materializing from the air, connecting with his face before he registered any movement. The impact sent him sprawling backward, concrete scraping his palms as he caught himself. The metallic taste of copper flooded his mouth. He touched his nose realizing his lip had been covered with a deep crimson.

  (Blood? That’s impossible. No one has ever...)

  The realization sent ice through his veins.

  (He actually hurt me. Only my dad and brother can do that…)

  Akuma looked up, his eyes narrowing with newfound wariness.

  The hooded figure had already turned away, strolling unhurriedly down a nearby alley.

  “As I said… Follow me.”