Dylan's gray Ferrari 812 rolled to a stop at the gates of Clayton High, the low growl of its engine slicing through the morning air.Perched on the balcony railing, Katherine turned, shielding her eyes from the sun. The sound had pulled her from her thoughts, but it wasn't the car that held her attention—it was him.Before Dylan even stepped out, their gazes collided. A flicker of something unspoken passed between them. Her auburn hair, caught in the breeze, shimmered under the light. She looked effortless—like summer itself.Then, just as quickly, she looked away.So did he.But the moment lingered, burned into them both.As Dylan jumped out of his car, he looked around and noticed the attention he was drawing. Some guys muttered among themselves, envious of his sleek car. "Damn, someone's flexing hard today," one commented. While they admired and envied him, no one dared to say anything to his face—except for one.A boy approached him with a grin. "Whoa, that's a beast. What's it like to drive something like that?"Dylan ignored him, grabbed his bag from the car, and slung it over his shoulder.The boy persisted. "Hey, my name's James. What's yours?"Dylan looked at his freckled face and curly blonde hair. The boy seemed friendly, but Dylan wasn't looking for a friend—especially not one like him. He replied coldly, "None of your business."James blinked, caught off guard by the coldness, and his smile faltered. He hesitated for a moment, then quietly said, "I—I've seen you before. You're the guy who won the Redcliffe Open ATP. I was there with my dad, cheering for you..."Dylan sighed, his patience thinning. "Thanks for the support, but stop embarrassing yourself and quit following me."James's smile flickered—just for a second—before he dropped his gaze.Dylan walked away.As Dylan walked toward the campus, the crowd's attention shifted entirely to him. His black leather jacket and jeans made him stand out, while his chiseled face and perfectly styled hair left many girls swooning. Some threw casual greetings his way, hoping for acknowledgment, but he passed by without a glance.While the girls admired him, the boys grew jealous. A few, standing near the entrance, exchanged smirks. Just as Dylan was about to step inside, one of them placed a hand on his shoulder."Not so fast, pretty boy. We haven't been introduced yet," the boy sneered.More boys joined in, circling Dylan as he stood silently, fully aware of what was coming. Someone from behind poured water over his head, and the group burst into laughter. Some girls in the crowd protested, "That's not funny! It's mean!"The ringleader, Terrace, smirked. "Relax. It's just a Clayton High welcome. He won't mind, right?" Turning to Dylan, he added mockingly, "What's your name, pretty boy?"James stood behind, shaking but relieved it wasn't him.Dylan wiped the water from his face, fixing his hair, and said calmly, "Is that all you've got? Because I can promise you, you won't forget what happens next"Terrace laughed. "Damn, he's funny!"The laughter turned sharp—hostile.A jerk at his bag. Before Dylan could react, hands clamped onto his arms, pinning him in place.Then—the hit.A fist drove into his face, snapping his head sideways. Pain flashed. The world tilted.But he didn't fall.He blinked, steadied himself—then struck back.A sharp, brutal kick.Terrace collapsed, clutching himself, a strangled groan escaping his lips.The crowd exploded—laughter, gasps, disbelief. Even the ones holding Dylan faltered, their grips loosening just enough.He seized the moment.A headbutt—sharp, decisive. The first captor stumbled back, dazed.Dylan's left arm broke free.He twisted, his fist driving into a jaw—bone meeting bone. The second boy crashed to the ground.And then, Dylan stood.Breath steady. Shoulders squared. Eyes burning.Ready for more.But his freedom was short-lived.A sudden weight crashed into him from behind, arms locking around his torso. He staggered, fighting to stay upright—but then another set of hands yanked him down.And then, they were on him.Fists. Boots. Sharp blows.Pain exploded in his ribs, his back, his stomach. His breath came ragged, every strike forcing the air from his lungs.Above him, the crowd roared.From his office window, Principal John Williams caught the movement—a writhing mass of bodies, the unmistakable rhythm of violence. His gut twisted.Not again.He was already moving, pushing through the halls, his voice sharp as he burst onto the scene."Enough!"The words cracked through the chaos. Students scattered—a ripple of guilt, fear, and excitement. But some remained.Terrace lay groaning on the ground.Three boys—Troy, Zack, and Murphy—stood over Dylan, their breathing heavy, their fists still clenched.And James.Frozen.Principal Williams' gaze hardened. "Troy. Zack. Murphy. My office. Now."He crouched beside Dylan, taking in the bloody nose, the bruises forming. His voice, though firm, softened."Can you stand?"Dylan nodded once."Suzy," Williams called to his assistant, who had rushed over. "Take Mr. Dylan to the nurse."Suzy hesitated. "Should I call his father?"Williams' jaw tightened. His voice was low."Not yet."James followed Suzy to the medical room, his steps uncertain, heavy.Inside, Nurse Mary worked silently, efficiently. She dabbed antiseptic onto Dylan's wounds, her hands steady as she checked for fractures. None—but the bruises were already forming.James stood at a distance, watching.He thought Dylan as untouchable—the kind of guy others admired or feared. Someone whose shadow he could slip into, unnoticed.But now, beneath the blood and bruises, James saw something else.Fragility.Not weakness, but a quiet, exhausted kind of strength. Dylan had fought back, even when it was pointless. Even when the outcome had been decided before the first punch was thrown.James had done nothing.Nothing.Every time James had been shoved into lockers, tripped in the hallways, laughed at behind his back—he had waited. Waited for someone to step in. Someone stronger. Someone fearless.But today, when the moment came, he had stood there like a coward.The realization made his stomach churn. His fists clenched at his sides, fingers digging into his palms.The words almost caught in his throat, but he forced them out. "I want to apologize."Dylan glanced at him, but James kept going. "For just standing there. For watching while those guys hurt you."The room was quiet.Dylan studied him. He wasn't the type to let people in—James could see that now. But something in the hesitation behind his gaze softened.A sigh."You don't have to apologize," Dylan said, his voice quiet. "I wasn't expecting anyone to help me."James swallowed. His fingers unclenched.Dylan looked away for a second, then, almost reluctantly, muttered, "I... I'm sorry for earlier, too. I wasn't good to you."James blinked. He hadn't expected that.Just then, the door creaked open.Terrace.He walked in stiffly, his jaw clenched, his face still pale from earlier. The fight might have been over, but the way he avoided Dylan's gaze said otherwise.With gritted teeth and a tone that sounded anything but genuine, he muttered, "Sorry."It was forced.Principal Williams had made him do it. That much was obvious.Then, without waiting for a response, Terrace added, "Principal Williams wants to see you."Dylan gave a slow nod, acknowledging the words but nothing more. His eyes, however, said everything.This isn't over.Pain throbbed in Dylan's ribs with every step, but he barely noticed it. He was used to pain.This? This was nothing.Not compared to what his father would do if he so much as missed a shot on the court.He passed through the garden, the hall, each step measured, controlled. By the time he reached the Principal's Office, the door was already slightly ajar.Principal Williams, seeing Dylan's slow, deliberate movements, stood from his chair. He crossed the room in a few strides and opened the door fully."Sit."Dylan did.Williams studied him for a moment, then said, "I hope it's nothing serious."Dylan's lips curled slightly. "I've had worse, but thanks for asking."Williams exhaled, leaning back in his chair. "You're a tough one, Mr. Dylan." His voice took on a firm edge. "I've made it clear to those kids that they are not to bother you again. We do not tolerate this kind of behavior on our campus."Then, a pause.A shift in tone."However, I must insist that you avoid engaging in any violent activities next time. If there's an issue, you come directly to me. Do you understand?"Dylan said nothing.Didn't nod. Didn't blink. Just watched him.Williams cleared his throat. "I've also informed your father about the incident, as it was my duty."Silence.Then, another shift—this time, uneasy."Now, I already knew what kind of character your father was before I made the call, but I did it anyway."Dylan's expression didn't change, but something in his jaw tightened."He shouted at me," Williams admitted. "Insisted that he wants to hear from you directly. He told me to have you call him and explain the situation."Another pause."Your father is one of our key trustees, after all. He made it very clear that he won't tolerate anything happening to you. In fact, he threatened to sue the school if even a scratch came to you."Williams leaned forward slightly, his hands folded on the desk. His smile was thin, careful."I can personally apologize now, but I need you to assure your father that everything is fine. Can you do that for me?"Dylan's eyes remained unreadable. Then, in a voice void of interest, he asked, "Is there anything else?"Williams hesitated. A trustee's kid getting beaten up could threaten his job.His forced coy smile returned. "If you'd like to rest or go somewhere to unwind, I can make arrangements."Dylan didn't answer.Didn't nod.Didn't acknowledge it at all.He just stood up and walked out.Williams exhaled. But as Dylan reached the doorway, his voice followed him—"Don't forget to call your father!"Dylan didn't stop.Didn't look back.His body ached, but his steps were steady as he walked through the halls.The Ferrari was waiting where he left it, sunlight glinting off its smooth, gray surface.Dylan slid into the driver's seat, lit a cigarette, and leaned back. The engine idled beneath him, a soft, steady purr.He took a slow drag, the smoke curling in the air.Then—movement.His gaze drifted toward the school building.Through a classroom window, a flicker of red.His eyes lifted.Katherine.She was watching him.For a moment, neither of them moved.Then—she was gone.Dylan exhaled.The smoke curled around him as he flicked the cigarette away.The engine roared to life.And then—he was gone, too.