The cafeteria was alive with noise—clinking trays, bursts of laughter, the hum of voices overlapping into a steady din. I sat at a table near the back, away from the crowded clusters where the unspoken rules of high school hierarchy played out. Aoron and his friends, Jacob and Caleb, chatted animatedly about something mind-numbingly trivial—a teacher's predictable pop quizzes, I think—but their words barely registered.
My attention drifted from my untouched tray to the room, scanning faces like they were pieces on a chessboard. Most of them were insignificant, pawns moving in predictable patterns. But then, I saw him.
The same boy from last night. He strode into the room, flanked by three others, and it was like the air shifted around him. Slim and sharp-featured, he moved with a predatory grace, his dark eyes scanning the room with the detached precision of a hawk sizing up prey. Beside him, his hulking enforcer loomed, all brute force wrapped in the skin of a grizzly. On his other side was a wiry boy with a smug posture that suggested he enjoyed basking in Killian's reflected power. The last one looked forgettable—average in every way—but even his movements had an unsettling deliberateness.
They didn't speak, but their presence silenced conversations as they passed, students parting instinctively to make way. Animals recognize predators.
"Who's that?" I asked, nodding toward them.
Aoron followed my gaze, leaning in slightly. "That's Killian Maddox. Rank 3. First year, like us."
"Rank 3 already?" I asked, keeping my voice neutral, feigning surprise.
Aoron nodded, his expression darkening. "Yeah. Got there quick, too. No one knows exactly how, but... there's a rumor. A kid disappeared at the start of the semester, or rather is dead. Hasn't been seen since. Everyone knows Killian had something to do with it, but there's no proof. He's sharp—uses his head, but he's not afraid to get his hands dirty."
Jacob and Caleb exchanged uneasy looks, their earlier banter evaporating.
I glanced back at Killian, watching him as he left the cafeteria. His posture, the way he carried himself, the silent authority—it all told a story. He was dangerous, but not invincible.
Sharp, huh?
A spark of something cold flickered in me. Not anger, not fear—something far more calculated. The thought of Killian's supposed sharpness amused me. Intelligence and brutality were valuable assets, but they didn't make someone untouchable.
I considered him as I might a puzzle, a problem to solve. He was powerful now, but power creates blind spots. Killian's reputation painted a target on his back, and I was already planning how to hit the bullseye.
He's a rabid dog. And rabid dogs only have one fate.
The thought didn't bring anger or satisfaction—just clarity. If I let him grow unchecked, he'd become a bigger problem later. Removing him wouldn't just be necessary; it would be a test. Could I kill someone in this environment and leave no trace, no suspicion? Could I eliminate a rival and manipulate the aftermath to my advantage?
A shiver of anticipation ran through me, subtle and fleeting. Most would call it nerves, but for me, it felt like alignment—as though the gears of my mind had clicked into place.
By the time I finished my lunch, I'd already decided. Killian Maddox would die. It wasn't personal. Nothing ever was.
Later That Night
The campus was quiet, blanketed in the stillness that only came after curfew. The faint hum of streetlights buzzed in the distance, and the soft crunch of my footsteps on the gravel pathways echoed through the empty air.
I wore a plain black hoodie and dark sweatpants—simple clothes, practical and unremarkable. They suited me. I didn't need flashy outfits or expensive accessories to stand out. My presence—or lack thereof—was enough.
Walking at night had become a routine. It was calming, a rare time to clear my mind in a place where survival depended on staying alert. But tonight was different.
I saw her.
Elise.
She was moving quickly, glancing over her shoulder every few steps. Her usual carefree demeanor was gone, replaced by something… uneasy. Suspicion? Fear?
She turned a corner, and for a moment, I considered letting her go. I wasn't one to involve myself in other people's affairs. Their business was their own. But boredom had a funny way of guiding decisions. With nothing better to do, I followed.
I stayed several paces behind her, my steps light and deliberate. She didn't notice me. When she turned another corner, I pressed my back against the wall, listening.
I caught snippets of her voice, low but firm. "…You owe me. Pay up."
A man's voice, mocking and harsh, responded. I couldn't make out the words, but the tone was clear—dismissive, cruel.
Curiosity piqued, I edged closer.
"You're a fool if you think I'd pay you," the man sneered, his voice dripping with contempt. "Did you really think you were worth anything? Pathetic. But I can't lie you made my night worth it yesterday"
"Just give me what I'm owed," Elise shot back, though her voice quivered slightly.
I peeked around the corner. Elise stood facing none other than Killian Maddox. His dark eyes glinted with malice, and his lips twisted into a smirk as he gripped her wrist tightly.
Killian's sneer widened. "You bitch, after selling your body to me you think you have any right to talk? I'll give you something else instead." He yanked her closer, his free hand moving toward her blouse.
"Let me go!" she protested, struggling against his grip.
I sighed inwardly. So much for calculated patience.
Killian ripped apart her cloth from the chest and was about to assault her. But before he could go any further, I stepped out of the shadows. My hand shot out, gripping his wrist and stopping him cold.
He turned, startled. "Who the fuck are you?"
"Let her go," I said calmly.
Killian's lip curled, and he released Elise, shoving her to the side. "Think you're a tough guy, huh?" He threw a punch.
I sidestepped easily, letting his fist sail harmlessly past me.
"Let's talk this out," I said, my tone even.
Snarling, Killian swung again, this time faster and with more force. I caught his arm mid-swing, twisted it, and used his momentum to send him crashing to the ground.
The technique was simple—a basic jiu-jitsu counter. But judging by the stunned look on Killian's face, he hadn't expected it.
I released him and straightened.
"You… You motherfucker," he spat, struggling to his feet.
I said nothing, watching carefully.
For the first time, I saw a flicker of hesitation in Killian's eyes. A weakness. That's it killian wasn't cut out for physical combat which is why he always moved with his goons.
So this is Rank 3?
I'd already decided to kill Killian Maddox, but this Wasn't a part of the plan.