The tension in the classroom lingered long after Lumumba took his seat. Eyes followed him wherever he moved, whispers buzzing behind his back as the other students tried to make sense of his sudden return. But Lumumba paid them no mind, casually flipping through a notebook, waiting for the inevitable.
When the bell rang for the break, Lumumba strolled out of the classroom, his steps measured and deliberate. He knew what was coming next. Some things never changed.
As soon as he reached the courtyard, the familiar faces appeared. Michael, flanked by his usual lackeys, walked up with that same smug expression Lumumba had come to loathe. Wilhem, once Lumumba's so-called friend, stood slightly to the side, avoiding eye contact, shifting uneasily.
Michael's voice cut through the noise of the other students. "Well, look who decided to crawl back from the dead. What's up, jungle boy? You back to dance for us, or you just missed the smell of fried chicken?"
The group snickered, elbows nudging each other, waiting for Lumumba to react.
"Yo, Michael, careful," one of the others chimed in. "You might scare him back to his hut. Or do we need to put a spear in his hand first?"
Another one added, "Yeah, better not run. Don't wanna get shot like one of your cousins, right?"
They erupted in laughter, each one piling on with the same tired, racist lines they'd been using for years. Nothing had changed for them. Same insults, same games.
Lumumba paused, looking at the group with cold detachment. Then, with a casual smirk, he let out a sigh.
"Wow, you guys are still at it? Still recycling the same tired-ass jokes?" Lumumba crossed his arms, looking genuinely unimpressed. "Honestly, it's sad. I leave for a bit, and y'all don't even come up with new material."
Michael's grin faltered just a little, not expecting the lack of reaction. "What's the matter? Too scared to run your mouth now, Lumumba? Thought coming back here would make you tougher?"
Lumumba chuckled darkly. He could feel his heart rate slow, his senses sharpen, the rage he had buried bubbling up just beneath the surface.
"Ok, so this would be the part where you all realize that I'm not the same guy you used to pick on. But, as usual, I'm gonna have to show you... with a little more boom."
Before Michael could even react, Lumumba's fist flew with the precision of someone who had learned more than just survival in another world. His knuckles connected with Michael's nose, a sickening crack echoing through the courtyard. Michael stumbled back, hands flying to his face, blood trickling down between his fingers.
The crowd gasped, but Lumumba didn't stop. He grabbed Michael by the collar, lifting him with ease, throwing him into the nearest wall. Michael slid down, a mix of pain and shock etched on his face, his eyes welling up with tears.
"Keep that same energy you had before, Michael," Lumumba said, his voice cold and deliberate as he leaned down over him. "I don't want an apology. Keep. That. Same. Energy."
Michael whimpered, trying to shield his face as Lumumba loomed over him. "P-Please, man—"
Lumumba cut him off, his voice rising. "Where was this begging when I was crying, telling you to stop? Where was this when I was pleading with you, and you, and all your little followers, kept coming at me? You didn't give a damn about my tears then, so I don't want to hear them now."
Michael's tears started to flow freely, but Lumumba was relentless. His words were like sharp daggers, each one cutting deeper than the punch ever could.
"Remember, Michael?" Lumumba's voice was deadly calm. "That day in the hallway when I fought back—tears in my eyes, fists clenched—and you all were laughing? Laughing while you were beating me down, because you outnumbered me. I remember it. Every hit, every laugh. Where's that energy now?"
He turned his head slightly, his gaze landing on Wilhem, who had paled visibly, his body frozen in place. Wilhem, who had been his "friend" before he turned on him. Before he had helped Michael in the worst betrayal of all.
Lumumba's voice dripped with venom as he continued, "And you, Wilhem. You remember, don't you? You and Michael, walking into my parents' shop... and setting it on fire. You remember that? You were supposed to be my friend."
Wilhem's face was a mask of guilt, his mouth moving but no words coming out. He took a small step back, but Lumumba was already moving toward him.
"Oh, don't look so uncomfortable, Wilhem," Lumumba said, his tone mocking. "I get it. It's never easy running into a ghost. Especially when that ghost comes back stronger... and wants revenge."
Wilhem tried to speak, his voice trembling. "Lumumba, I—"
"Save it," Lumumba snapped, cutting him off. "You had your chance to be my friend. Now, you're just like Michael. And don't worry, you'll get what's coming to you too."
By now, a crowd had gathered around, murmuring in shock. No one had ever seen Lumumba like this. The kid who used to walk through the halls with his head down, who barely spoke back to his tormentors, was now standing tall, commanding the attention of everyone around him. Even the teachers stood frozen, unsure of how to intervene.
Michael, still on the ground, tried to crawl away, but Lumumba planted his foot in front of him, stopping him in his tracks.
"You were real tough when I was alone, right? When it was just me against all of you?" Lumumba leaned down, his voice a low growl. "But guess what? It's different now. You don't get to walk away from this without paying for what you did."
Michael sobbed, unable to meet Lumumba's gaze.
"Oh, what's that? No more jokes? No more racist insults? That's what I thought. Keep quiet, keep your head down... just like I had to. And don't think for a second this is over."
With one last disgusted look, Lumumba stood up and turned away, his expression cold and unbothered. He had made his point.
As he walked back toward the building, the whispers followed him, but no one dared to approach. Everyone who had laughed at him, mocked him, or even just watched without doing anything, now watched in stunned silence.
Lumumba didn't care about the stares or the gossip. Michael and Wilhem had gotten just a taste of what was coming. He wasn't done yet.
Not even close.