The punch landed squarely on the girl's face. She could not stay on her feet. She dropped to her knees with a sharp cry of "Ahhhh," covering her face with both hands and bowing her head.
When Advait realized the girl had taken the hit meant for him, guilt flooded through him. Because of his carelessness, she had gotten hurt.
He looked closer and saw blood streaming from her nose.
Anger surged in him. He shouted at the chubby boy and shoved him hard. "How can you do that?! Look—her nose is bleeding!"
He knelt down beside the girl and offered his handkerchief. "Here, wipe the blood with this."
The girl took it with trembling hands and began wiping her nose. She kept her head down, tears mixing with the blood.
Advait stayed on high alert, determined not to let the same mistake happen again. He spun around toward the chubby boy, bracing for another shout or attack.
But no shout came. Only silence stretched out, broken by a strange, choked whimper that sent chills down his spine.
He looked closer, and his stomach twisted. The chubby boy had stumbled backward from the push. His heel caught on the rusted, jagged spike of a broken playground fence post half-buried in the dirt.
The force drove him down—the sharp point pierced straight through his pants and into his crotch with a sickening wet crunch. Blood soaked the fabric instantly, spreading dark and fast as he collapsed sideways, hands clawing desperately at the wound.
The boy's face twisted in pure agony, pale as death. He let out a raw, high-pitched scream—"It hurts! It hurts!"—tears and snot streaming down while thick red pools formed on the ground beneath him.
Before Advait could react or say anything, heavy footsteps thundered closer. Gorak burst into view, his eyes widening at the sight of his son writhing in the dirt. Rage exploded across his face in an instant. "What the hell?!" he bellowed, dropping to his knees beside the boy.
He scooped his son up carefully, ignoring the blood that stained his own shirt.
Gorak's gaze flicked coldly to Advait and the girl—pure murder burning in his eyes, no words spoken for now, only a silent promise of pain to come.
He carried his son toward the gate without another glance, already dialing for an ambulance on his phone. The threat hung in the air like thick smoke.
Seconds later, the principal and several teachers rushed into the garden, their faces pale. "What happened here?" the principal demanded, his voice sharp with urgency.
Advait's throat tightened. "I pushed him. He was hurting her and even punched her face. I just pushed him to stop her from getting hurt more. But he fell back and… landed on that broken fence spike. It went right into him."
The girl nodded quickly, tears still in her eyes.
The teachers stared at the blood-soaked ground, the jagged post, the girl's bleeding nose, and her trembling lip. No one doubted their story. The principal let out a heavy breath. "I'll speak to Gorak myself. I'll make sure he doesn't blame you. For now, both of you go back to your classrooms and rest."
Advait and the girl nodded and walked away. The rest of Advait's day passed without any further surprises beyond the accident.
The next day, the classroom felt strange. The girl did not come to school. Advait looked for her everywhere, wanting to talk about yesterday accident, but she was absent. The chubby boy was also missing, which made sense after his injury. Only Gorak arrived, his face calm and professional as always. He taught the class without a single mention of yesterday—no glares, no threats, nothing out of the ordinary.
Advait sat tense through every minute. Even though it had been an accident, guilt still gnawed at him. When the final bell rang, Gorak's voice cut through the chatter. "Advait. My office. Now."
Advait's heart pounded hard. He stood slowly and walked down the empty hallway, his mind racing. I should apologize. Explain it was an accident. Find out what the teacher really think. Will he forgive me for yesterday's accident?
He knocked once, pushed the door open, and stepped inside. Gorak sat behind the desk, fingers laced together, expression unreadable. The door clicked shut behind him.
Advait did not look back—he thought it was just the wind closing the door. He did not realize that two men now stood behind him, one of them having quietly shut it.
Advait faced forward and spoke first, his voice small. "Teacher, please forgive me for yesterday's mistake. It was purely an accident. I didn't realize it would end like that."
He looked up at Gorak's face. But he saw nothing—no expression, no words. Only Gorak's eyes remained fixed on him, cold and steady.