They fought on his first day in School 2

"They mistook my silence for surrender, but will doesn't need noise to be unbreakable. It only needs purpose—and mine was forged in fire." – Aether

✧ ANGELUS ✧

Everything stopped. The crowd's noise disappeared. The wind held its breath. All I could hear was his voice echoing in my head—

Bad luck runs in your family's blood.

Bad luck runs in your family…

Bad luck…

I shut my eyes—just for a second—but it was long enough. The pain came first, sharp and hot, followed by the fire, spreading through my chest like a lit fuse.

I opened them, slowly to see Mason still there, smirking. Still proud—Still thinking he had won.

And before I could even think—

Before I could stop it—Not that I even wanted to—

My clenched fist found its way toward his face.

BOOM!!!

He hit the ground—mouth bleeding, nose gushing red.

A heavy silence fell over the crowd like a dropped curtain. For a heartbeat, the entire place froze. No one moved. No one spoke. The chaos and laughter from earlier dissolved into stunned quiet. They hadn't expected it—not from me.

They saw me as the quiet one, the boy who kept to himself, the new guy who avoided eye contact and didn't talk unless spoken to. Maybe even the type who would cry and walk away when bullied. They mistook my silence for weakness.

They thought wrong.

Suddenly, movement sparked from the corner of my eye. The rest of Mason's friends—except Joel—lunged at me with blind aggression.

The first two reached me within seconds, throwing wide, clumsy punches. I ducked without thinking, years of repressed instincts rising to the surface. My body moved on its own, and I drove sharp punches into their stomachs. They doubled over instantly, gasping for air.

Two more charged in right after—one from each side. I spun between them, stepping slightly back, and their own momentum made them collide face-first into each other.

Without hesitation, I delivered precise blows to their jaws, and both collapsed, groaning as they joined Mason on the grass, defeated and humiliated.

The first two, fueled by pride and pain, weren't done. They staggered toward me again, swinging wildly. I side-stepped one, landed a solid punch to his face, then dodged the second and slammed a fist into his cheekbone. Both crumpled again, this time slower, blood mixing with the grass below.

They were all down now. All of them—clutching ribs, holding noses, groaning like cornered animals. I stood over them, breathing hard but not exhausted. Just boiling. Still boiling.

I looked down at Mason. Even now, even with his busted lip and the blood soaking his white uniform, he forced that same smug, hateful look—though the flicker of fear in his eyes betrayed him. It wasn't his fists that caused damage—it was his words. The way he looked at people like they were trash. Like I was trash.

That one sentence he spat out earlier still echoed in my mind—ripping its way through my chest like a blade.

Bad luck runs in your family's blood.

I could feel the rage again, climbing up from the pit of my stomach, curling in my fists, choking my throat. I knew I shouldn't. I had already done enough. I had proven my point.

But I couldn't stop it. I didn't want to stop it.

Every part of me screamed for release.

He needed to pay—no, he needed to bleed for what he said.

With no hesitation this time, I surged forward, eyes locked on Mason's face, ready to finish what he started. Ready to disfigure that arrogant smirk once and for all.

But just as I closed the distance, Kelsey threw herself between us, arms outstretched, her face twisted in fury like she was some kind of wall capable of stopping a raging fire.

"Angelus, don't you dare lay—AHH!"

Her sentence cut off abruptly as my hand shot forward, faster than I meant it to, fueled by all the hatred and pain surging through me. My fingers wrapped tightly around her throat, and I shoved her back, pinning her against the nearest tree.

Her eyes widened with pure fear, her breath catching in her throat as she stared directly into my face. Into my eyes—burning red with fury. She froze completely, and for a split second, I saw it: the terror. The real, raw terror.

"How dare you speak about my family to others," I said, my voice low and razor-sharp, the words slicing through the air like broken glass.

I didn't have to shout. I knew she could feel the intensity in every syllable, in every twitch of my fingers pressing against her throat. My hand wasn't squeezing hard—just enough to send the message. Just enough to let her know she crossed a line she never should've touched.

Her mouth moved like she wanted to speak, but nothing came out except shallow gasps.

And that look—God, that terrified look in her eyes—it pulled something inside me loose. Something heavy. Something guilty.

The rage began to melt, just a little, like ice cracking under pressure. My heartbeat, wild a moment ago, started slowing as the weight of what I was doing settled in. What I had almost done.

And then I heard a soft, pleading voice behind me.

"Angelus, please!"

Sophia's voice reached through the haze like a hand pulling me back from the edge. She had run up beside me, grasping my wrist with both hands, her face lined with panic, not for herself—but for Kelsey… and maybe even for me.

"Please… don't…" she whispered.

That was all it took.

I blinked—once, twice—and then slowly, with trembling fingers, I let go.

Kelsey collapsed to the grass, coughing violently, her hands flying to her throat as she struggled to breathe. Her whole body shook as she tried to pull air into her lungs, and she finally sat up against the tree, pale and speechless.

And I just stood there… silent.

✧✧✧✧✧✧

Principal's Office.

The air was thick with tension, the kind that pressed against your chest like a loaded weight. Everyone in the room had either a bruised ego or a bruised face—or both. Mason and his friends were back from the nurse's office with their swollen noses neatly bandaged, looking more like clowns than the self-declared kings of the school.

Mr. Lowell, the Principal had just finished a long, angry rant about responsibility, school image, and "how disappointed he was in all of us." I stopped paying full attention halfway through. His voice had taken on that standard adult tone of blah blah blah that made it hard to care.

"Now I want you all to apologize to each other. Right now. Or it's two weeks' detention," he said firmly, clearly at the end of his patience.

Mason looked like he'd just been asked to kiss a toilet seat. The idea of apologizing to me was making him physically squirm. His pride was too thick for it. His ego too fragile.

"Dad, I can't get detention! I have football practice!" he snapped, his voice rising with panic, as if that would save him.

Oh yeah—the piece that tied it all together—Apparently, Mason's dad was the Principal.

No wonder he walked around like he owned the school. He thought he did.

Mr. Lowell gave him a deadpan look, then slammed his palm hard against the desk. The sound echoed through the office like a gunshot, silencing everyone. Mason flinched.

"You should've thought of that before starting a fight," Mr. Lowell growled.

"I didn't start the fight, Dad! He punched me first!" Mason barked, glaring at me like a cornered dog.

That was the wrong thing to say.

The Principal's face turned a dangerous shade of red as he stood from his chair with fire in his eyes. "Will you just shut up and think about how completely irresponsible you're being? Who started the fight? Ask yourself that again!" He pointed sharply at Mason, then to the rest of us. "We all watched the video. Everyone! Not just from the school cameras—students were recording it too. I saw the whole thing."

Mason's mouth snapped shut.

"You taunted him. Over and over again. He walked away. You tripped him. He still walked away. Then you mocked his family—do you even know who his family is?" Mr. Lowell's voice dropped low, laced with disappointment and something else—respect, maybe? Not for Mason. For me.

The room fell completely silent, the tension crackling like static in the air. Even Mason's friends were avoiding eye contact with the Principal. Their bravado had evaporated, leaving only awkward silence and nervous shifting in their seats.

But Mason? He didn't move. He just kept throwing daggered glances at me like I was the villain in his story. I stared back, unflinching. I didn't need to flinch. I had nothing to be scared of. Not today.

Mr. Lowell sat back down and ran a hand over his face before speaking again. His voice was calmer now, but no less stern. "Look… regardless of who threw the first punch, you were all involved in a fight. That's not acceptable in my school. So here's what's going to happen. You either apologize to one another right now—all of you—or it's two weeks' detention. And your parents will be notified."

I wasn't fazed. I didn't plan on apologizing. Not to them. Not after what they said. What they did. That apology would never be real, and I sure as hell wouldn't fake mine either.

Let them all apologize. I'll gladly take detention over dishonoring my pain. I've been through worse than two weeks in a classroom after hours.

So, I leaned back in my chair, arms folded, watching Mason squirm under his father's glare. It was… strangely satisfying. Like watching his carefully curated "reputation" slowly shatter, piece by piece, in front of the very person he probably feared disappointing the most.

This… was a good show.

"I'm sorry, Angelus, for fighting you."

"Sorry I had a fight with you."

"Sorry for fighting you."

"Sorry, Angelus, for fighting you."

One after the other, his friends spoke up—quiet, embarrassed, their words dull and rehearsed. They weren't sorry. Not really. But they were smart enough to read the room. Smart enough to know Mr. Lowell wasn't playing.

Then… silence.

All eyes fell on Mason.

The last act of the show.

He sat still. Defiant. Arms crossed, face stiff with forced pride. The tension crept back in like a rising tide. You could almost hear people holding their breath, waiting. His friends whispered to him, trying to talk sense into his thick skull. But he shot them a look so sharp it could slice steel. Then he turned his head, slowly, to look at me.

His eyes narrowed. His jaw clenched.

And then… I could swear I saw a little smirk hidden at the corner of his mouth.

"I'll only apologize after he apologizes," he said, voice laced with contempt.

Something in the room shifted—like the air had thinned.

I didn't hesitate. Didn't blink. I simply stood up as if someone had just told me the final scene had ended.

"See you in detention then," I said, calm and sharp as steel, turning my back to all of them.

That shut the room down.

Everyone went silent. Even Mr. Lowell, who'd spent the last twenty minutes yelling, didn't know what to say. His mouth opened slightly like he was about to speak, but no words came out.

I didn't wait for them to find their breath. I walked to the door, opened it, and stepped out like I hadn't just turned the tables in front of the Principal and his golden boy.

Later that day, detention came like expected.

Three names on the list: Mason. Kelsey. Me.

I sat at the back of the room, arms folded, staring out the window as if they didn't exist.

Mason sat across from me, silently boiling.

Kelsey sat two seats ahead, tapping her pen on the desk, occasionally glancing back at me—but quickly looking away every time our eyes met.

They didn't say a word.

Neither did I.

But I knew this wasn't over.

Not by a long shot.

Not up to ten minutes in, the door creaked open and in came the coach, nearly stumbling over himself in desperation. "Mr. Lark," he started, "I'm here on behalf of Mason. He needs to be excused from detention—he's essential to the team. We've got a major game against Hillridge this weekend. We can't afford to lose him, sir."

Mason's face lit up instantly—smug like a dog parading a stolen steak. He stood up slowly, deliberately, like a king answering a royal summons. Then, to add insult to injury, he turned to Kelsey, held out his hand like she was some trophy he just claimed, and gave me the most irritating look I've ever seen—one of those "I won, you lost" grins that only insecure people wear.

But I didn't react.

Didn't blink.

Didn't smirk.

Didn't frown.

I just stared blankly through him like he didn't exist, and somehow that crushed him more than a punch to the face. His grin faltered ever so slightly, and his fingers twitched by his side.

Kelsey didn't even glance in my direction. Maybe she was still angry… maybe scared. Maybe both.

"Kelsey is not going anywhere, Mason," Mr. Lark said calmly, like he'd been waiting for the moment. His voice carried a weight that dropped heavily in the room. "You're the one needed at practice. Not her. And just so we're clear—you only skip detention on practice days. The rest, you'll be right back here."

Mason's smile collapsed like wet paper.

His hand dropped.

He didn't say a word.

I could almost laugh at the scene—his pride, now fractured, trying to keep face. Kelsey sat stiff, eyes fixed on the desk, expression unreadable but definitely not pleased. Mason turned to leave, clearly fuming, but just before he could take a full step toward the door—

Michael walked in.

Behind him, the Principal.

Everyone turned.

"Angelus, Kelsey," Michael said. Calm, firm. "Let's go."

I grabbed my backpack in silence, slinging it over my shoulder without so much as glancing at him. Not out of spite. Just out of habit. I walked past Mason without a word, but I could feel his fury behind me like a wildfire choking for air.

And that was how it happened.

That was how the first day ended.

No winners.

Just cracks forming in old walls, and new ones being built around me.

✧✧✧✧✧✧ ✧

"You know what, Michael? Just take me home. I don't wanna go anywhere with him." Kelsey's voice cut through the silence in the car like a blade. Cold. Distant. Final.

Michael sighed, rubbing his forehead. "Kelsey…"

"Don't Kelsey me! Just take me back home."

There was a pause. He didn't argue further—just nodded quietly and pulled out his phone.

"OK. I'll call Salvador to come get you. We'll talk when we get back."

She didn't reply. Didn't nod.

Just stared out the window.

Then slowly, she took out her earpiece, shoved it into her ears, and leaned back against the seat—disconnected from everything. Including me.