Chapter 2: The Stalker's Gambit
The fluorescent lights of the examination hall hummed overhead as Rocky strode away from the registration desk, the ghost of Rika's flustered retreat still warming his smirk. His mountain of gear shifted silently with each step—a testament to the hyperelastic connective tissue that made his movements frictionless.
---
Meanwhile, in the shadows near the east pillar:
Bolas stood rigid, his knuckles white around the hilt of his masterwork sword. His eyes hadn't moved from Rocky since Rika sprinted toward the restroom. The two bullies from earlier flanked him like loyal dogs, their earlier humiliation fresh wounds.
Bolas's jaw tightened until his molars creaked. She was giggling. Rika never giggles. She mocks, she debates, she shoots people with alchemy-enhanced Desert Eagles—but she doesn't giggle.
His gaze raked over Rocky's form: the tactical vest bulging with grenades, the Barrett sniper rifle clamped to the pack, the absurd arsenal of blades. A Porter. Has to be. Look at all that junk. Probably a Merchant-class trying to look dangerous.
The corner of Bolas's mouth twitched upward. Easy. One Master Swordsman versus a pack mule? This'll be therapeutic.
---
Flashback: 14 Years Ago
Sunlight dappled through the leaves of an old acacia tree. In a dusty playground, a four-year-old Bolas swung a plastic toy sword at imaginary dragons, complete with sound effects.
"Hyah! Take that, Frost Dragon! And that—"
"Hey! Sword kid!"
Bolas spun. Three older boys loomed, led by a scowling kid with a crew cut. Behind them lurked a painfully skinny boy rubbing his backside.
Older Bully jabbed a finger. "You! You hit my skinny brother? Don't you have any pity? My brother is super skinny and you spanked him? Are you our dad? No, right? You don't have the right to spank someone! Don't you know my brother has an infection on his butt? So I'm going to avenge my brother. So brace yourself, I'm going to teach you a lesson!"
Bolas lifted his toy sword, stance widening. "You're going to teach me a lesson? Fine, try it. Let's see if you can."
The older bully exploded forward. Bolas swung horizontally—whoosh—but the bully ducked, then unleashed: leg kick, two punches to the head, a liver punch that folded Bolas, an uppercut that lifted him off his feet, then a kick that sent him sprawling into the dust.
Before Bolas could gasp, the bully was on him. Punches rained down while Bolas was down. Then the bully executed a backflip kick—cartoonishly excessive—his heel cracking Bolas across the face. The toy sword was ripped from Bolas's grip.
WHACK.
"One!"
WHACK.
"Two!"
WHACK WHACK WHACK—
"Eight... nine..."
"Hey!"
Everyone froze. A three-year-old girl stood at the edge of the playground, blonde pigtails bouncing, fists planted on her hips. Her pink dress was smudged with dirt, and her eyes blazed with the fury of someone who'd just been interrupted five minutes before her favorite show.
"Stop that! That's child abuse!"
Older Bully sneered, still holding the toy sword. "Child abuse? The term for this is discipline!"
WHACK. "Ten!"
"Ahh! It hurts! Help!" Bolas writhed. "Don't believe him! This isn't discipline! He's beating me up because he wants to avenge his spoiled brat of a brother!"
Older Bully shrugged. "Yes, what he said is true. So, Barbie, are you going to help this kid, or will you leave like nothing happened?"
Rika tossed her pigtails. "I'll leave. He's not my problem. So, bye." She turned.
"Stop, Barbie!"
She paused.
"Did I say you could leave? You want me to beat you up too?"
Rika rotated slowly, one eyebrow arched. "Crazy? Why, is it not allowed to leave? Who are you to forbid me from leaving? And you're even threatening me?" A beat. "Fine. Let's just fight."
The older bully blinked. Then grinned. "You're so arrogant, Barbie. I like you. Fine, go ahead and leave."
"Please, help me!" Bolas whimpered.
"Shut up! Your breath stinks!"
Rika's eye twitched. "Hey. You know what? I'm already mad."
"Why are you mad?"
She ticked off fingers. "One: you're beating up someone weaker than you. Two: you stopped me from leaving. Three—" her gaze raked over him with surgical disdain "—your face is ugly. So I'm going to teach you a lesson. Brace yourself, you child abuser."
"Fine, Tomboy, you want a fight? I'll give it to you. Your wish is my command."
The bully dashed. Rika dropped into a stance. The bully unleashed a thousand-hit combo—fists, elbows, knees—a whirlwind of aggression.
Rika moved like water.
Every punch missed by millimeters. Every kick she sidestepped. And with each dodge, she countered—a palm strike here, a kick to the knee there. The bully retreated, confusion flickering across his face.
*Damn, he thought, *she's strong! It's like she's Goku with Ultra Instinct combined with counter-attacks. I can't win here, huh? *
Rika tilted her head. "Oh? What's wrong? Why are you retreating? Giving up already?"
"You're so arrogant, Tomboy x Barbie." He puffed his chest. "And if you think I'm giving up, you're wrong. Because I can do this all day, baby."
Rika's expression curdled. "Eww, that's rude! You called me baby! Are you into kids? I'm still a kid—I'm three years old!"
"Shut up, baby. Age doesn't matter, okay?"
"Damn it, you're so corny, you child abuser! You're making me really angry!"
"Me too, you're making me angry, baby."
The older bully threw his head back. "Aaaaaahhhhh! Brace yourself! I'm releasing one hundred percent of my power!"
Rika stared flatly. "Crazy. You look like an idiot. That's copyrighted. You want to get banned? 'Age doesn't matter man'?"
He charged. "Tomboy, dodge this!"
Rika's hand dipped into her pocket. When it emerged, she held a toy Desert Eagle—pink plastic, clearly from some playset. But her lips moved: "Touch of Imaginary Alchemy."
The plastic shimmered. Grew heavy. Became steel.
BANG. BANG.
The older bully's legs buckled. His forward momentum carried him crashing down, face skidding to a stop at Rika's feet. She placed one small sandal on his head, blew smoke from the barrel, and said flatly:
"No smoking."
*Bolas, still face-down in the dirt, gaped. *What the... she's so cheap, hahaha! She has a gun? Crazy! *
He scrambled up. "Oh my goodness, it's like I just watched a cinematic movie!"
Rika glanced at him. "Rate it. What score?"
"Ten out of ten, cheating tomboy!"
"Very good, side character. You can be a judge at 'Judgment-mental Inc.' now."
*Damn, Bolas thought, *her words... bad girl x tomboy... ah shit. I think I have a crush on her. *
The older bully squirmed under her foot. "Ahhhh, shit, it hurts! You're so arrogant, baby, and a cheater! You have a gun!"
"Tsk." Rika pressed down. "Reason? When you lose, just accept it. Don't make excuses. That's just how life is. Sometimes you win, sometimes you lose. If you always won, you'd never learn."
"Ahh, I can't accept this! Damn you, Tomboy!"
"Ugh, you're so corny, your insults are just repetitive." She leaned down. "And for your information, my name isn't Tomboy. It's Rika. The future Mamacita, okay?"
*Ah, Bolas thought, *so her name is Rika. Oh yeah. I'll search for her on Facebook later. Auto-like, auto-follow, auto-stalk. Let's go! *
Rika straightened, sighing dramatically. "Sigh. What a waste of my time. Damn you, child molester man! You're a villain! Do you know I was about to watch a movie on TV? The title was Sophia the First. And now, because I'm late, I won't be able to watch it! Damn you! I'm telling Mama on you!"
She burst into tears and ran, pigtails bouncing, pink dress disappearing around a corner.
The older bully groaned. "Ahhh, shit, it hurts! I can't accept this! She's going to tell her mom? I'm in trouble! Damn!"
Bolas picked up his toy sword and approached. "Hey, 'age doesn't matter man.' I have something to tell you."
"What? You're going to beat me up because I can't move properly? Or maybe you're going to thank me, because because of me you saw your crush?"
"No. You're wrong." Bolas hefted the toy sword. "I'm not going to beat you up because you can't move. And honestly? I only spank gyats because I'm angry at gyats like your spoiled brat brother, who's skinny but has a big butt. That's why I spanked your brother a lot—because his butt is super gyat." He paused. "And I know what you said is true. Because of you, I saw my crush."
"Who?"
"Your butt."
WHACK. WHACK. WHACK.
Bolas spanked the older bully's butt with the toy sword repeatedly until noon. "Damn. I'm satisfied. So, bye!"
He left the bully groaning in the dirt.
Then—BOOM. A soft golden light enveloped the older bully. His bruises faded. His cuts sealed. He sat up, bewildered. "What? My whole body healed! Ah, it's Tomboy's skill! GG!"
He scrambled to his feet and fled, muttering, "I'm not seeking revenge anymore. Nope. Done."
---
Back to the Present
Bolas's knuckles were still white. His jaw still tight. But now his eyes burned with something else—the memory of pink pigtails and a smoking gun and a three-year-old girl who'd stepped on a bully's head like it was Tuesday.
No, he thought. I don't want Rika to fall for someone else. It should only be me, because I am the perfect being for Rika!
"Boys." His voice came out low, controlled. "Do you see what I see?"
Boy 2 nodded vigorously. "Yes, boss. That's your crush, feeling kilig because of the pick-up lines from that cosplay boy."
Boy 1's face twisted with recognition. "Boss, that's him! That's the guy who humiliated us earlier!"
Bolas's eyebrow arched. "Ah. So that's the guy who humiliated you earlier? An ugly face hiding behind makeup?"
"Yes, boss! That's him!" Boy 1 jabbed a finger toward Rocky, who was now leaning against a pillar, scrolling through his phone as if he hadn't just mentally undressed a receptionist with words. "He's the one who humiliated us earlier, right, bro?"
Boy 2 confirmed: "Yes, boss! What he said is correct. And that guy was so arrogant. This is what he said to us earlier—"
Bolas held up a hand. "Earlier? What did he say? Tell me. Do you remember?"
"Yes, boss! I still remember because my memory hasn't faded yet!"
Boy 1 patted his pockets excitedly. "Me too, I still remember! Wait—" He produced a small notebook and pen. "I'll write it down because I have a notebook and pen in my pocket. My class is Crafter class."
Bolas allowed himself a thin smile. "Good. Fine. Write down everything he said to you earlier. I want all of it—nothing more, nothing less. Okay?"
Boy 1 snapped a salute. "Sir, yes, Boss Lot Bolas!"
Bolas turned to Boy 2. "Very good! You too. What do you say when I say 'okay'?"
Boy 2 mirrored the salute. "Sir, yes, Boss Lot Bolas!"
Something shifted in Bolas's posture. His shoulders loosened. A rhythm entered his spine. He dropped into a crouch, then exploded into movement—spinning, kicking, waving his arms in what he clearly believed was a breakdance.
"Oh yeah! Lot lot Bolas breakdance!"
Nearby, a cluster of female examinees watched with expressions ranging from confusion to secondhand embarrassment.
Girl 00 squinted. "Hey. Stop that. Don't show off. Breakdance? That's not breakdance. It looks like you didn't eat breakfast."
Girl 0 tilted her head. "Sis, was that a joke? Breakdance and breakfast? Sounds like a pun."
Girl 00 waved dismissively. "Sis, don't overthink it. Honestly, I don't know."
"Okay, sis, but—"
"Stop, besh!" Girl 00 cut her off. "It wasn't a joke. You clearly saw him trying to breakdance. And what I said, 'it looks like you didn't eat breakfast'—I said that because his moves were so slow, like he had no energy. You get it?"
Girl 0's face lit with understanding. "Ah, I get it now, sis! I thought it was a joke, hahaha! Okay, I won't overthink anymore."
"Good. Very good, sis."
Bolas finished his dance with a flourish—arms spread, chest heaving. The boys clapped enthusiastically.
Boy 1: "Boss, your breakdance was intense! It was like you didn't eat breakfast, your moves were so slow!"
Boy 2: "Yes, boss, legit! Your dance wasn't fast; it was like you hadn't eaten breakfast!"
Bolas nodded, unbothered. "Yes, it's true. I didn't eat breakfast. I'm on a diet now to live a healthy life and not die early."
Boy 2 blinked. "Boss, what's your Body Mass Index?"
Bolas straightened, adopting a lecturing pose. "Okay, thank you for that wonderful question. My BMI is: Height equals one point seven five meters. Weight equals eighty-three kilograms. BMI equals eighty-three divided by one point seven five squared—" he paused for effect "—eighty-three divided by three point zero six two five, which equals approximately twenty-seven point one. Result: BMI is approximately twenty-seven point one, which falls into the 'Overweight' category—twenty-five to twenty-nine point nine. But—" he raised a finger "—since this is pure muscle mass, I'm actually fit, and BMI isn't fully accurate for athletes. Because I am an athlete."
Boy 2's eyes widened. "Wow, so you have an athlete body type, boss? I thought you were just overweight."
Boy 1 smacked his companion's arm. "Idiot, he's in the overweight category because of excess muscle mass, not fat!"
Boy 2 rubbed his arm. "Ah, okay dokie."
Bolas's gaze slid back to the notebook in Boy 1's hand. "So, my pets. Is the script done, or not yet?"
Boy 1 held it up proudly. "It's done! Let's go, boss! Let's act so we can erase the humiliation we felt earlier."
Bolas took the paper, scanning the lines. His brow furrowed. "Is this real?"
Boy 1 nodded fervently. "Yes, boss, it's real! One hundred percent honesty is the best policy!"
"Okie dokie." Bolas handed it back.
Boy 2 leaned in, eyes gleaming. "But boss, I have a plan."
"Oh?"
"Boss, let's act it out—but let's change the script a little to humiliate that Porter boy even more!"
Boy 1's face split into a grin. "Yeah, you're right! You're a genius, Brain Rot Man!"
Bolas pumped a fist. "Oh yeah, ballerina kapochena, let's go!"
Boy 2 struck a pose. "And I'm a skibidi bap bap, yes yes!"
Bolas pointed at him. "Hey, Pet Simulator, write down the new script so we can prepare."
Boy 2 snapped a salute. "Sure! Your wish is my command!"
Boy 1 snorted. "LOL."
Nearby, another pair of girls watched the exchange.
Girl 99 shook her head slowly. "Damn. These 'Brain Rot' and 'Skibidi Bap Bap' guys... crazy. Are they Roblox gamers?"
Girl 98's eyes lit up. "Sis, how do you know? Are you a Roblox gamer too?"
"Yes, sis!"
"Really, sis? What's your favorite Roblox game?"
"Blox Fruits, sis!"
"Wow, what fruit do you have?"
"Dough V2."
Girl 98 gasped. "GG! I have Gas."
Girl 99 grabbed her arm. "Wow, you play Blox Fruits too, sis?"
"Of course! It's me, after all!"
"Crazy! Let's one-vs-one later, sis!"
"Okay, I'm game! But maybe later, around seven thirty PM. I'll go online and then we can one-vs-one."
"Okay, seven thirty it is, sis!"
"Yes, mommy!"
---
Bolas and the boys huddled, memorizing the revised script. Minutes later, they broke apart and positioned themselves.
Boy 2 cupped his hands around his mouth and projected loudly enough for the entire hall to hear:
"Guys, watch Bolas's show! This act is for the person standing right there—an ugly guy hiding behind makeup, the 'playboy cosplay boy'!" He thrust a finger toward Rocky.
Rocky looked up from his phone, one eyebrow climbing.
The act began.
Boy 1 stepped forward, puffing his chest. "Hey, guys, I think I know this guy. Looks like I saw this face heading to a plastic surgery company. Hahaha!"
Boy 2 joined in. "Yeah! He's probably plastic!"
A few examinees chuckled. Others watched, curious.
Rocky remained motionless against the pillar.
Bolas entered the scene, walking directly into their path. He stopped. Smiled calmly.
"Hahaha. Your imagination is wild. Just curious—how did you know my face is from plastic surgery? You must have evidence. Did you watch the teaser?"
Boy 1 crossed his arms triumphantly. "Evidence? Of course I have evidence! I watched it, and it wasn't a teaser, it was the full movie, crazy!"
Bolas's expression shifted—suddenly serious, almost judicial. "Objection, Your Honor. Actually, what he said is correct—all facts, no opinions."
Murmurs rippled through the watching crowd. Phones emerged.
Boy 2 stepped in, sneering. "Damn, you're so arrogant when you speak. Be thankful you're a scammer so you have money for plastic surgery on that face!"
Bolas relaxed back into calm. "It's not arrogance. Just clarification. The court asks for evidence, not guesses."
Boy 1 pointed dramatically. "Yeah, he admitted it and he's even proud! So arrogant!"
Bolas spread his hands. "Yes, I admit I'm arrogant. I'm proud of my face. So your stories are true? Because up until now—" he touched his cheek "—I still use makeup to hide my very ugly face."
More phones. More murmurs.
Boy 2 leaned close to Boy 1, hissing: "Bro... I think we're the bad guys here."
Boy 1's bravado crumbled. He fell silent, face reddening.
Bolas smiled, warm and final. He addressed the invisible audience: "Ladies and gentlemen of the court—the motive is correct, telling the truth is the argument, and there is evidence. Case dismissed."
A beat of silence.
Then—
Clap. Clap. Clap.
Rocky pushed off from the pillar, applauding slowly as he walked toward them. His mountain of gear shifted silently. The 360-degree camera attached to his tactical backpack blinked red.
"Cut, guys!" Rocky's voice rang out, cheerful and cutting. "Your acting was terrible! You already have ugly faces, and you even got the script wrong!"
He stopped before them, still applauding.
"Here's the correct one."
Rocky reached up and tapped the small device on his backpack—a sleek, high-tech sphere with multiple lenses. It swiveled, focusing on the three frozen boys.
CCTV Camera: Recording The Temporary Bullies...