After waking up in the hospital bed, Lumumba stretched, feeling stronger than ever. His muscles felt loose, his mind alert. There was no pain, no lingering fatigue—nothing to suggest that just days ago, he had been on the edge of chaos in another world. But deep inside, he knew something had changed.
The doctors, equally baffled by his rapid recovery, cleared him for discharge. They eyed him curiously, unable to explain how a boy who had passed out in the principal's office after a bullying incident was now standing in front of them, completely healed.
As Lumumba stepped out of the hospital and into the fresh morning air, he glanced around. Everything looked the same.
The same dull buildings, the same cracked sidewalks, the same cars honking in the distance. Nothing had changed.
A smirk tugged at his lips, amusement mixing with a darker thought.
"Ah, nothing's changed here… comforting, in a way. But when you come back with regeneration powers and the ability to raise hell, that's what makes things interesting."
Back at his apartment, Lumumba moved through the familiar space, everything exactly as he'd left it. The couch was still messy, dust was beginning to gather on the furniture, and a stack of unopened letters sat on the small table by the door.
With a sigh, he grabbed the letters and flopped onto the couch. Most were junk—ads and bills—but one caught his eye. It was from his school. Tearing it open, he found an official letter explaining how the administration had attempted to brush over what had happened to him. They described the incident as a simple "fainting episode" following a period of "stress," minimizing the bullying and abuse he had suffered, particularly from Michael, the ringleader.
Lumumba's jaw tightened. Michael. Just seeing his name stirred a deep, simmering anger. Of course the school tried to bury it, protecting their reputation. But now, everything was different.
"So that's how they want to play it…" he muttered, tossing the letter back on the table. A dark smile crept across his face as thoughts of revenge began to swirl. Michael wouldn't get away with it this time. Not when Lumumba had the power to make him pay.
But for now, he rested. He would deal with everything tomorrow.
The next morning, Lumumba woke up feeling sharper than ever. He got dressed with precision, his clothes immaculate, his look clean and confident. Standing in front of the mirror, he checked his edges, sharp and neat, like he had been carved from stone. He looked anything but the broken boy the school had tried to paint him as.
When he walked out the door, he wasn't just Lumumba anymore. He was someone who had the power to change everything.
As he approached the gates of his high school, memories started flooding back. The faces, the mocking laughter, the endless bullying. But Lumumba walked forward with his head high, his smile almost smug as he soaked in the familiarity of the scene.
"Well, well... the good old high school. Where I learned that people are idiots... but also where I developed my sense of humor. I guess you have to deal with trauma somehow. Equivalent exchange, just like in Fullmetal Alchemist."
As he neared the front of the school, he spotted a familiar figure—Leïla. She stood outside, lost in thought, as if she had been waiting for him.
Without a second thought, Lumumba walked straight toward her, ignoring the whispers that began to rise from the other students. The others stared at him, shocked to see him back. Some looked uneasy, others nervous. But Lumumba didn't care about them.
When he reached Leïla, he wrapped his arms around her in a silent hug. She seemed surprised at first but quickly hugged him back, squeezing him tightly as if to reassure herself that he was really there.
The whispers around them grew louder as the other students wondered what was going on. How could Lumumba, the boy who had been bullied and humiliated, be back so calmly, so confidently? But he didn't care what they thought. He was back, and there were scores to settle.
Before he could enter the classroom, a teacher caught up to him, informing him that the principal wanted to see him immediately. Lumumba couldn't help but chuckle. "Of course he does." He followed the teacher to the office with a slow, steady walk, though the fire burning inside him was growing.
Inside the principal's office, the atmosphere was tense. The principal, a tired-looking man with graying hair, sat behind his desk, already uncomfortable. Lumumba sat down across from him without waiting for an invitation, his sharp gaze never leaving the older man.
"Lumumba, we're… relieved to see you're in good health. What happened to you was… unfortunate, truly. But it's important to understand that certain things must be handled with discretion, for the good of everyone involved."
Lumumba stared at him for a moment, amusement flickering in his eyes. The old Lumumba would've bowed his head, accepted the hollow apologies, and gone along with their version of events. But not anymore.
"Discretion? You mean you tried to bury what happened to protect your school's reputation. And now you're hoping I'll just fall in line and keep quiet."
The principal swallowed, visibly uncomfortable. "That's not exactly what I meant—"
Lumumba crossed his arms, a smirk tugging at his lips. "No, that's exactly what you meant. But don't worry. I'm not here to ruin your little illusion of control. Not yet, at least." He stood up, still smiling. "I'll go to class now. But understand this: the Lumumba you used to know? He's dead and gone. What's left? Well, you'll find out soon enough, and I promise, it's going to be a lot more... interesting."
The principal didn't respond, too stunned to speak as Lumumba casually walked out of the office, carrying with him the aura of someone who knew the game had just changed.
When Lumumba entered the classroom, a heavy silence fell. Every head turned to look at him, curiosity, fear, and uncertainty in their eyes. Michael, sitting at the back, stared at him with narrowed eyes, trying to make sense of what was happening.
Lumumba, calm and composed, walked toward his seat without saying a word, letting the silence do the talking for him. He didn't need to speak. His return, his presence, and what he planned to do next would be more than enough to shake things up.