Sitting through class felt torturous.
Perhaps it was because Vincent's mind was elsewhere—racing with anticipation over what he was about to do.
His gaze drifted toward the window, where the clear blue sky stretched endlessly. Below, the streets buzzed with movement as middle schoolers walked home, their chatter carried by the afternoon breeze.
It was common knowledge that some delinquents found ways to sneak out before closing time.
'Seriously, someone needs to fix these kids…'
For a fleeting moment, Vincent entertained the idea of becoming some self-proclaimed hero, but he quickly dismissed it.
Now wasn't the time for distractions.
All that mattered was his dream—once a distant fantasy, now suddenly within reach.
Thanks to Blu, everything was different.
What once felt impossible was now a reality just waiting to be seized.
Vincent exhaled, pulling himself back to the present as the P.E. teacher droned on.
The man was bald, single, and had way too much time on his hands.
But what truly annoyed Vincent wasn't his endless talking—it was the way he hovered around their homeroom teacher like a viral disease.
It was infuriating to watch.
'I should consider beating him up…'
The thought made him smirk.
Bad idea.
"What's so funny, punk?!"
The entire class turned to stare.
Vincent blinked, his smirk vanishing instantly.
Lowering his head, he quickly apologized:
"I'm sorry, sir… I was daydreaming."
Sometimes, it was best to play the fool.
He hadn't been at Mereung for long, but he was learning fast—understanding the school's hierarchy and social cues at an alarming speed.
What else was expected from a prospective lawyer?
The teacher huffed before continuing.
He was rambling about the new sports program introduced to the school.
Mereung had never been a sports-oriented school—it prided itself on academic excellence.
But that changed with the arrival of the new principal.
From what Vincent gathered, the man was a former sports director from a prestigious university.
Taking a job as a high school principal felt like a downgrade—which only fueled Vincent's suspicion.
'What kind of sports director decides to become a high school principal? Relaxation? A side hustle? What's his game?'
Regardless, the changes weren't all bad.
The rich kids were eating it up.
Today, each sports club would elect a captain, and the P.E. teacher was explaining the process.
Vincent barely paid attention—until he heard one word:
"Basketball."
His eyes snapped toward the teacher.
Their gazes met.
Vincent looked away immediately.
'Basketball or no basketball—I don't care. Not interested in sports.'
But he had a bad feeling about it.
Ever since his sudden growth spurt, people were paying attention.
He suspected refusing wouldn't be easy.
—
The bell finally rang—the last bell of the day.
Vincent turned toward Levi's seat, ready to remind him—
Empty.
'When did he leave?'
Shrugging off the thought, he stood, blending into the flow of students pouring out of the classroom.
Nobody waited for the P.E. teacher to dismiss them.
Mereung students did whatever they wanted.
'I have to pick up my uniform before meeting them.'
He took the staff staircase down to the faculty floor, where the hallways bustled with movement.
Most students were still lingering, likely because of the club captain selections.
'Tomorrow, they'll probably start recruiting.'
Vincent walked into the homeroom teacher's office.
As usual, she was buried under a mountain of paperwork.
The moment she saw him, she smiled softly.
Vincent's heart shot for the skies.
Ba-dump.
A heartbeat too fast.
Her flawless porcelain skin shimmered, even in the dim office light.
She spared him little direct attention, yet his chest fluttered regardless.
"Vinny. Please, I'm very busy. Take your uniform—it's on the table."
Her tone was quick, her eyes locked onto the documents in front of her, scanning with razor-sharp focus.
Vincent bowed respectfully, grabbing the neatly packaged uniform.
He stole one last glance at her before murmuring:
"Goodnight, ma'am."
"Mm. Take care."
She waved absently, not looking up.
Vincent's heart squirmed painfully.
'My crushhhhh…'
He mourned internally as he exited.
Descending the stairs, he stuffed the uniform into his cross bag and made his way to the back corner of the building.
Just as Levi had promised, a group of students stood huddled together, shifting uneasily.
They looked small—defeated, their eyes fixed on the ground, bodies trembling.
Vincent pitied them.
'To think I was like this once…'
Levi approached, whispering into his ear:
"They're all here, as you ordered. They still think the bullies summoned them."
That explained why they shook like worms in the dirt.
Levi added:
"I couldn't bring some of them. They refused to come."
Vincent nodded.
'That's fine. The fewer, the better.'
'Seven students.'
Enough.
His gaze swept over them before he cleared his throat.
"I assume you all know who I am?"
One boy with glasses lifted his head.
Another with a buzz cut glanced up.
Slowly, the others followed, recognition dawning in their hollow expressions.
"Yes, I'm Vincent. A bullied kid just like you…" He paused, smiling. "...Well, until yesterday."
Curiosity flickered across their faces.
Even Levi looked intrigued.
Without waiting for questions, Vincent continued:
"I almost killed myself, actually."
Silence.
Some shifted uncomfortably.
"I'm sure most of you have been down that road before."
He took a slow breath.
"I was this close—" he held up his thumb and index finger, barely apart, "to ending it all."
A heavy stillness settled over them.
"But then I realized—I was a fool. I was afraid to face my bullies, but I had the courage to face death. Tell me, which is deadlier? Some lame-ass high schoolers or actual death?"
"Death," one boy muttered. "I can't even imagine dying."
The tension softened.
They were listening now.
"Exactly. Yet I faced it. But at the last moment, I asked myself—if I have the guts to stare death in the face, why can't I find the courage to stand up for myself?"
Their eyes locked onto him, unblinking.
"So, I made a choice. I wasn't going to die. Not that day. Instead, I would fight."
He smirked.
"The next day, Roger came with his lackeys. They were about to hit me when suddenly—WHAM!"
He threw a punch into the air, making some flinch.
"What happened?!" One gasped.
"I hit him first. One punch—and I realized, if I could land one, I could land more."
They leaned forward, entranced.
"And so I did. Over and over—until Roger was flat on the ground."
Gasps filled the air.
"The rumors are true… you beat Roger?"
Vincent grinned villainously.
"Not just Roger. I put Ferdinand in his place too."
A sudden voice from behind him cut through the moment.
"I see. So Ferdinand really did get beaten by a lowerclassmen."
The air stilled.
Vincent slowly turned around.
A red-haired boy stood there, average height, exuding quiet confidence.
One brow arched slightly.
"Who are you?" Vincent asked.