The next day. Same classroom. But the tension felt different—heavier, suffocating, as if the air itself carried a warning. The fluorescent lights hummed too loudly, casting a harsh, unforgiving glare across the room. Whispers drifted between desks, shaky and uncertain, each one circling toward the center. Six boys sat there. *The Iron Wolves.* Oakridge High's strongest. Rumors clung to them like smoke—hallways bowed to them, fights ended because they decided they did, and no one crossed their leader. *Zane Lockhart.*
Aarvin sat in the back row, shoulders tight, eyes pinned to the clock. Every second dragged like a countdown. He kept his head low, praying the world would forget he existed. It didn't.
As he reached for his book, his elbow brushed against a bottle resting at the edge of the next desk. Liam's bottle. It rolled. Slow. Unavoidable. Water spread across the floor until it touched Zane's shoe. The room went silent.
Liam rose from his seat. "You blind or what?" he muttered, voice low and cutting. Aarvin's pulse spiked. "S‑sorry…"
"Clean it." A cruel smile carved itself onto Liam's face. "Pick it up. Properly."
Aarvin dropped to his knees instantly, hands trembling as he tried to gather the mess. Papers slipped. His breath shook. He could feel every pair of eyes burning into him. The bottle slid away again—kicked this time. It clattered across the floor.
"Aise nahi," Liam said quietly. "Face up." Something inside Aarvin cracked. A hot, choking wave of shame surged through him. The class watched, unmoving, waiting.
*Bas. Bohot ho gaya.*
Liam leaned closer. "Kya bola?" Fear blurred the edges of Aarvin's vision. He shoved Liam back. Not courage. Instinct. Panic. Gasps sliced through the room. Liam stumbled, shock flashing across his face before anger swallowed it whole. He lunged. Aarvin moved. Pure reflex. The punch missed him. Liam's hand caught Aarvin's collar, fingers digging in. Aarvin swung—once, then again. The second punch cracked against Liam's jaw. Liam hit the floor.
The classroom erupted—chairs scraping back, voices rising, bodies shifting away. Even Zane stood, a flicker of surprise cutting through the calm mask he wore—there and gone in a heartbeat.
Aarvin staggered backward, breath ragged, knuckles burning. He hadn't won because he was strong. He won because fear had taken over. And it terrified him.
No one said Riyan's name. No one dared. Everyone knew the truth: If Riyan Hale found out someone laid a hand on his brother, Oakridge High wouldn't survive the fallout.
The bell rang—sharp, violent. Students poured out in a storm of whispers. Aarvin stayed frozen, staring at his bruised hands. They didn't feel like they belonged to him.
Elena appeared beside him. "Aarvin…" Her voice was gentle, threaded with worry. "Are you okay?"
He looked up. For a brief second, the noise faded around her. "Yeah," he breathed. "I'm fine." Another lie.
He rose from his seat, legs unsteady. He understood something new—something that scared him more than losing ever had. He _could_ fight.
The hallway emptied. Aarvin inhaled, stepping forward. The classroom door swung shut behind him with a hollow click. A warning. A challenge. A promise.
*His fear had met fire. And neither was backing down.*
_To be continued…_