The Calculation of Power

7:45 AM – The Morning Before the Storm

The school hallways were already alive with noise, but it wasn't the usual chaos of students laughing, rushing to their lockers, or scrambling to finish last night's homework before the first bell. No.

Today, the energy was different.

There was a buzz. A tension in the air, like static before a thunderstorm.

Elias walked through the halls, his black coat flowing behind him as his polished dress shoes tapped against the tile floor in a steady rhythm. His coffee, still steaming, sat comfortably in his right hand, the only warm thing in this entire miserable school.

He could hear the murmurs as he passed by.

"That's him."

"Yo, did you hear what he did?"

"No way, man. Devon? The biggest guy in school? No one takes him down in one hit."

"You think Tyrell's gonna let that slide?"

"Of course not. This ain't over."

Elias ignored it all. It didn't concern him.

His only concern was math.

He entered his classroom, set his coffee down, and took a deep breath.

Just as he was about to start writing today's lesson plan on the board, there was a knock at the door.

He turned his head.

Principal Owens.

The man looked tired. Older than he should. With a receding hairline and a slightly hunched posture, he was a man who had long since given up fighting.

Elias didn't bother greeting him.

Owens stepped inside, closing the door behind him. "Mr. Clarke."

Elias took a sip of coffee. "Principal Owens."

The older man exhaled sharply. "I assume you know why I'm here."

Elias set down his cup. "You assume correctly. However, I have no interest in apologizing."

Owens rubbed his temples. "You assaulted a student—"

"I defended myself against a violent aggressor," Elias interrupted, his voice cold. "There's a difference."

Owens stared at him. "Do you know what you've done?"

Elias tilted his head slightly.

"I eliminated a variable."

The principal gritted his teeth. "You've made yourself a target."

Elias sighed, rolling up his sleeves slightly. "Principal Owens, let me ask you something. How long have these so-called 'gangs' been running this school?"

Owens hesitated.

"Ten years," he admitted. "Maybe longer."

Elias nodded. "And in that time, how many teachers have tried to change anything?"

The principal didn't answer.

Because the answer was zero.

Elias picked up a piece of chalk and turned back to the board.

"Your silence is answer enough."

Owens clenched his fists. "You think you're some kind of hero, Clarke? That you're going to 'fix' this school?"

Elias smirked slightly as he began writing the day's equation.

"I'm not here to fix anything."

He turned back, his piercing blue eyes locking onto the principal's.

"I'm just here to teach."

Owens stared at him for a long moment before shaking his head.

"You're either the dumbest or the most dangerous teacher I've ever had."

Elias simply picked up his coffee.

"I'll take that as a compliment."

Owens sighed heavily and walked out, leaving Elias alone in the room once again.

He took another sip, exhaled, and muttered to himself.

"This is going to be an exhausting semester."

---

10:15 AM – A Challenge Delivered

The morning classes passed as they always did. Some students paid attention, some didn't.

But today, there was one big difference.

The eyes.

Even the students who usually slacked off, the ones who usually had their heads down or whispered among themselves, were watching him.

They weren't sure what to make of him yet.

A teacher who didn't fear them.

A teacher who fought back.

It was a shift in the school's unspoken rules.

And that made people uneasy.

The real proof of that came between second and third period.

Elias was walking down the hall when he heard the first voice.

"Yo, Teach."

He didn't stop walking.

But he heard the footsteps behind him. Three sets.

Another voice, this one deeper.

"You deaf or something?"

Elias sighed. It was too early for this.

He turned around slowly.

Three students.

One of them he recognized immediately.

Dre.

Tyrell's right-hand man. Athletic build, sharp jawline, a smirk that screamed arrogance.

Behind him, two other guys. He didn't recognize them, which meant they weren't important.

Dre stepped forward, rolling his shoulders.

"Tyrell told me to send you a message."

Elias took a sip of coffee. "A written one would have sufficed."

Dre smirked. "Nah. We prefer more… hands-on communication."

Elias sighed, setting his coffee down on a nearby windowsill.

"If I fail to educate you in math, perhaps physics will do."

Dre threw the first punch.

It was fast.

But not fast enough.

Elias ducked, grabbed Dre's wrist, and twisted it just enough to make him lose balance.

The second guy charged in—Elias sidestepped effortlessly.

The third?

Elias caught him mid-swing, using his own momentum to slam him into the lockers.

CLANG.

Dre cursed, regaining his footing, but Elias simply adjusted his tie.

"I expected more from Tyrell's top dog."

Dre's face twisted in rage. "You think you're funny, huh?"

Elias exhaled sharply. "No. I think I'm better at physics than you are."

Dre roared, swinging again—

Elias caught his fist.

And before Dre could react—

A sharp, precise elbow strike to the gut.

Dre collapsed.

The other two?

They scrambled up and ran.

Elias straightened his coat. Picked up his coffee.

Took a sip.

Then, with a bored expression, looked down at Dre.

"…What's the square root of your dignity?"

Dre wheezed.

Elias smirked.

"That's right. It doesn't exist."

And with that, he stepped over him, continuing down the hall as if nothing had happened.

But as he walked—

He heard the whispers behind him.

"He took them all out."

"One dude? Against three?"

"This ain't just some teacher, man."

Elias didn't care.

He had a lesson to finish.

And the school had just learned something new.

Elias Clarke was not to be interrupted.