The campus awoke as if nothing had happened. Birds sang along the iron railings, the bell rang on schedule, and students shuffled through the tiled corridors in orderly lines. Yet an unmistakable tension hung in the air, as if the entire school were holding its breath.
*Morning After*
Aarvin stood at the edge of the training field, his fingers wrapped around a cold steel railing. His eyes stared blankly at the shadows lengthening in the morning sun. Sleep had eluded him; every time his eyelids drooped, the memory of John's hesitation and the subsequent punch replayed in his mind.
Behind him, whispers drifted like smoke—fragmented rumors about "Storm Boy" and an undisclosed injury. No names were spoken, only fear cloaked in gossip.
Riyan arrived from the track, a fresh stitch cutting across his eyebrow. He stopped beside Aarvin, his gaze fixed on the field.
"They're already twisting it," he muttered.
Aarvin did not turn. "Of course they are."
Adrien joined them moments later, his movements deliberate, his expression already calculating several outcomes. He held his phone loosely.
"There's no footage from the practice ground—only convenient blind spots," he said.
Aarvin exhaled slowly. "So officially, nothing happened."
Adrien's eyes sharpened. "Officially, _you_ happened."
*The Disciplinary Hearing*
The disciplinary room was immaculate—white walls, frosted windows, and a polished table that reflected the sterile atmosphere. The Disciplinary Committee sat in a straight line, hands folded, faces neutral. Principal Hawthorne presided, her fingers laced together.
"We've received multiple anonymous reports," she began. "Reports of violence, intimidation, and unauthorized presence on campus after curfew."
Aarvin stood straight, Riyan beside him, jaw tight, while Adrien leaned back, eyes scanning the room.
"We were attacked," Aarvin said evenly.
A committee member tilted his head. "By whom?"
Silence followed; there was no proof, no witnesses willing to come forward.
Principal Hawthorne sighed. "Without evidence, we cannot proceed formally. However, your involvement in repeated conflicts is concerning."
She met Aarvin's gaze. "You are being placed on probation. One more incident and you will be suspended—possibly expelled."
James, Michel, and Henry were never mentioned. The hearing adjourned, and the system remained unchanged.
*Coach Ramirez*
In the gym, the scent of iron and sweat hung heavy. Coach Ramirez did not raise his voice; he simply observed Aarvin with a measured stare.
"You didn't lose control," he said finally.
Aarvin's jaw tightened. "No."
"That's good," Ramirez nodded. "Because next time they'll try harder."
He stepped closer. "You don't fight the system head‑on. It doesn't crack; it doesn't bend."
Aarvin swallowed. "It buries."
"Learn when _not_ to be the storm," Ramirez added.
Aarvin had no answer.
*Storm Pack*
That evening, only a few members gathered. Some sent excuses; others avoided eye contact. The room felt larger, colder. A junior spoke hesitantly, "Maybe we should lay low for a while."
Another nodded. "We're all targets now."
Riyan slammed his fist on the table. "So what? We just bow?"
Silence answered.
Aarvin stood. "If anyone wants out, now's the time."
Two people rose and left without looking back.
Adrien watched the door close. "The pack didn't break; it shed weight."
The words offered little comfort.
*Nairi*
They met near the library steps under soft yellow lights. Night had settled, but the distance between them remained.
"I heard," Nairi said.
Aarvin nodded. "You shouldn't have."
She studied him. "You're changing."
He did not deny it. "They used me as bait," she continued, "and you walked straight into it."
"I'd do it again," Aarvin replied.
The honesty frightened her more than any bruise. "I don't want to be the reason you lose yourself," she whispered, stepping back—neither leaving nor staying.
*Elsewhere*
Henry stood in a 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, his 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 as city lights flickered beyond the campus walls. He felt no anger, no trembling—only a clear resolve.
Storms do not always announce themselves with thunder; sometimes they wait, sometimes they learn.
Aarvin looked out over Oakridge. "Next time," he whispered, "I won't react."
A flash of lightning illuminated the horizon. The storm was not gone; it was evolving.
* To be continued…