The campus woke up pretending nothing had happened.
Birds still chirped along the iron railings. Bells rang on schedule. Shoes scuffed tiled corridors in neat, obedient lines. Morning assembly echoed with the same practiced discipline Oakridge prided itself on.
Yet something was wrong.
The air felt tight.
Like the entire campus was holding its breath.
### Morning After
Aarvin stood at the edge of the training field, fingers locked around a steel railing so cold it burned his palms. His eyes stared ahead, unfocused, watching shadows stretch and shrink as the sun climbed.
Sleep hadn't come.
Every time his eyelids lowered, the same moment replayed itself.
John's hesitation.
That half‑second of doubt—barely a blink.
And then the punch.
The sound it made when it landed.
The way everything after that fell apart.
Behind him, whispers drifted like smoke, thin but impossible to ignore.
"…Storm Boy snapped…"
"…security showed up late…"
"…someone got hurt bad…"
No names. No clarity. Just fear dressed as gossip.
Riyan approached from the track, a fresh stitch cutting through his eyebrow, hoodie pulled low despite the warming air. He stopped beside Aarvin, gaze fixed on the field.
"They're already twisting it," he muttered.
Aarvin didn't turn. "Of course they are."
Adrien joined them moments later, movements unhurried, expression calm in the way that meant he'd already calculated ten outcomes. His phone rested loosely in his hand.
"No footage from the practice ground," Adrien said. "Only gaps. Blind spots. Convenient ones."
Aarvin exhaled slowly.
"So officially," he said, voice steady, "nothing happened."
Adrien's eyes sharpened. "Officially," he corrected, "*you* happened."
The words settled heavy between them.
### Administration
The disciplinary room was too clean.
White walls. Frosted windows. A long table polished to the point of reflection. Silence pressed in from every direction, broken only by the low hum of an air conditioner.
The Disciplinary Committee sat in a straight line, hands folded, faces neutral in the way of people who'd already decided where blame would land.
Principal Hawthorne sat at the center. Her fingers laced together, posture composed.
"We've received multiple anonymous reports," she began.
Aarvin stood straight. Riyan beside him, jaw tight. Adrien leaned slightly back, eyes scanning every reaction.
"Reports of violence," Hawthorne continued. "Intimidation. Unauthorized presence on campus grounds after curfew."
Aarvin spoke evenly. "We were attacked."
A committee member tilted his head. "By whom?"
Silence.
No proof.
No names.
No witnesses willing to step forward.
Principal Hawthorne sighed softly. "Without evidence, we can't proceed formally."
Relief flickered—brief and fragile.
"However," she added, "your involvement in repeated conflicts is… concerning."
There it was.
"Aarvin," she said, meeting his gaze, "you are being placed on probation."
The word hit harder than any punch.
"One more incident," she continued, voice measured, "and you will be suspended. Possibly expelled."
James.
Michel.
Henry.
Their names never surfaced.
The meeting adjourned.
The system remained undefeated.
### Coach Ramirez
The gym smelled like iron and sweat.
Coach Ramirez didn't raise his voice. Didn't demand explanations. He just stood there, arms crossed, studying Aarvin like he was reading something written beneath the skin.
"You didn't lose control," Coach said at last.
Aarvin's jaw tightened. "No."
"That's good," Ramirez nodded. "Because next time, they'll try harder."
He paused, then stepped closer.
"But hear me clearly," he said. "You don't fight the system head‑on. It doesn't crack. It doesn't bend."
Aarvin swallowed.
"It buries," Coach finished.
Silence stretched between them.
"You want to survive here?" Ramirez asked. "Learn when *not* to be the storm."
For the first time in a long while, Aarvin had no answer.
### Storm Pack
They gathered that evening.
Not all of them.
Some sent excuses. Some didn't respond at all. A few avoided eye contact when Aarvin entered the room.
The space felt larger than before.
Colder.
A junior finally spoke, voice hesitant. "Maybe… maybe we should lay low for a while."
Another nodded quickly. "We're all targets now."
Riyan slammed his fist into the table. "So what? We just bow?"
No one answered.
The silence said enough.
Aarvin stood.
"If anyone wants out," he said calmly, "now's the time."
No accusation. No challenge.
Just honesty.
Two people stood.
They left without looking back.
Adrien watched the door close. "The pack didn't break," he said quietly. "It shed weight."
That didn't make it hurt less.
### Nairi
They met near the library steps under soft, yellow lights. Night had settled gently, but the distance between them hadn't.
"I heard," Nairi said.
Aarvin nodded. "You shouldn't have."
She studied him—really studied him.
"You're changing," she whispered.
He didn't deny it.
"They used me as bait," she continued, voice trembling. "And you walked straight into it."
"I'd do it again," Aarvin said.
The honesty frightened her more than any bruise or rumor.
"I don't want to be the reason you lose yourself," she said softly.
She stepped back.
Not leaving.
But not staying either.
That hurt the most.
### Elsewhere
Henry stood in the shadowed corridor outside the student council chambers. A junior representative shifted nervously beside him.
"Are you sure this is allowed?" the junior asked.
Henry smiled faintly. "We're just concerned students."
He leaned closer. "Rules matter. Reputation matters."
The junior nodded.
Henry turned away, voice barely audible. "No more fists. Let him destroy himself."
### End
Night fell again.
Aarvin stood alone on the rooftop, wind tugging at his hoodie, city lights flickering beyond the campus walls.
He wasn't angry.
He wasn't shaking.
He was thinking.
Storms didn't always announce themselves with thunder.
Sometimes, they waited.
Sometimes, they learned.
Aarvin looked out over Oakridge.
"Next time," he whispered, "I won't react."
Lightning flashed far away.
The storm wasn't gone.
It was evolving.