The crowd parted like the Red Sea as an intimidating figure strode forward. Other students—half his size, half his age—trailed behind him like loyal lapdogs. He moved with the confidence of someone who owned the place because, in a way, he did.
Lardo.
A name the entire school feared. A delinquent who wasn't just taking over—he already ruled this place.
He scowled at his gang, his face twisting in disgust.
"What the hell do I always tell ya smelly folks? Don't fuckin' drag yer asses into my gang if ya can't take a damn bath."
His nose wrinkled. "Yer stench is burning my goddamn nostrils."
The gang members shifted awkwardly, embarrassed, some even stepping away from him a little. But none dared to speak.
Then, he turned his gaze back to Kowa, and when he grinned, his teeth—sharp like a canine's—flashed under the flickering hallway lights.
"Yer always picking on mah boys, messin' mah plans."
"Well, now ya got mah attention!"
Lardo wore his usual gakuran jacket, its buttons undone, and baggy tobi pants swayed slightly as he moved. Every step he took felt like a challenge, like he was daring anyone to defy him.
Kowa stayed still, his body relaxed but alert. His friends, standing behind him, were tense, ready for anything.
Lardo smirked, his voice dripping with arrogance.
"T'was a long time ago, huh? The day ya decided to break the code and defied me and mah gang." He tilted his head, cracking his neck. "I dunno if ya remember it, but I sure as hell do. I whooped yer ass that day.."
Lardo didn't storm in like a madman. No, he walked—slow and easy, like he had all the time in the world to decide just how ugly this was gonna get. He stopped a few feet away from kowa, boots planted wide, hands resting calmly at his sides. When he spoke, his voice was low and rough, like gravel grinding underfoot.
"Ya remember what happened to the mutts who broke the code?" he asked, head tilted, as if he were genuinely curious. "I told ya to end their sorry lives, and like a good hound… you did it. Without a whimper."
His eyes narrowed slightly. Cold. Calculating. He leaned in just a little, just enough to make his presence feel like a noose tightening.
"So what happened then, huh?" he murmured. "Where'd the loyalty rot off to? You spit in the face of the hand that fed you—our hand."
A thin smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth, cruel and quiet.
"We took you in," he said, voice calm as still water. "When this town threw you out like a bloodied bone, we gave you a name. A place. A purpose. And this…" He gestured lazily around the room, like the betrayal still lingered in the air. "This is how you thank us?"
Lardo stepped forward, slow and steady. The floor groaned beneath his boot.
"It's a disgrace," he said, tone dropping into something darker, heavier. "Don'tcha see? A stain I can't scrub off me boys. You humiliate the family… and I'm meant to leave you breathin'?"
Randa stiffened beside Kowa, her voice barely above a whisper. "L-Lardo, please don't do this…"
But before she could finish, Lardo's eyes snapped to her, filled with fury.
"Shut yer mouth, stupid woman!" he barked. "I warned ya not to let me see ya hangin' with these dumbasses again!"
Then, he snapped his fingers. "Get her outta my sight."
His gang moved instantly, but before they could even take a step, Kowa was already in front of her, his arm outstretched in warning.
Still smug. Still grinning.
"Oh, really?" Kowa chuckled. "I have a very clear memory of beating you to a pulp." His eyes glinted with amusement. "You only won 'cause your little gang swarmed me. You, alone? You were nothing."
"You were always a coward tough in your crowd, i simply couldn't find any reason to follow a man like that anymore.."
Lardo's gang twitched with anger.
"You little pussy! How dare you—"
"Shut yer yappin', dumbasses!" Lardo snapped.
One of his men hesitated. "Boss, we only mean to—"
Lardo's glare was instant. "Ya dare think I can't handle this wussy myself?"
Silence. His gang backed off.
Then, he cracked his knuckles, rolling his shoulders. "Now then, Kowa, ya really think yer ass can beat me?"
And then—he moved.
Fast. Too fast.
Even Kowa barely saw it coming. A punch so quick, so brutal, the very air trembled.
The hallway erupted in gasps. Students screamed.
Kowa dodged—barely. But fear crept into his spine.
Lardo didn't let him breathe.
Another punch. Faster. Stronger.
BAM!
Everyone flinched.
Randa's breath hitched.
Kowa's friends froze.
And then—silence.
When Kowa opened his eyes, he expected pain. But instead, he saw something unbelievable.
Lardo's fist was stopped.
A single hand blocked the blow with ease.
Lanjo.
Their teacher.
A tired, lazy man with messy white hair, dark circles under his eyes, and sunglasses he didn't even bother to take off indoors. His uniform was wrinkled, like he hadn't even looked at a mirror before stumbling into school.
But right now? He looked unstoppable.
Still holding Lardo's fist in place, Lanjo let out a long yawn, pulling a cigarette from his pocket and lighting it with agonizing slowness.
"What the hell are you punks doin' in the hallway?" he muttered, voice drowsy. "Got reports of a fight, but honestly, I shoulda known it'd be you two."
Lardo scowled. "What da ya want, ol' man?! Tis ain't got nothin' to do with ya! Scram! This is an unfinished fight between men!"
Lanjo took a slow drag from his cigarette, exhaling lazily. "The hell you talkin' about, punk? As your teacher, I gotta make sure you little shits stay in your place."
He waved a hand. "Now go back to class."
So calm. So uncaring. Like he wasn't even acknowledging the threat in front of him.
Lardo growled. "Yer bossy attitude ain't gonna stop me, teach. I came here to teach these meddlin' fools their lesso—"
He turned to face Lanjo again—
And froze.
The cigarette glowed in the dim hallway, but Lanjo's eyes… they burned brighter.
A piercing, furious gaze—one so terrifying that, for a split second, even Lardo forgot how to breathe.
A reminder.
Lanjo wasn't just a teacher.
He was the second-most feared teacher in this entire school.
Lardo's fingers twitched. His mouth opened—but no words came out.
Then, he clicked his tongue, frustrated.
"Tch. Whatever."
He turned away, shoving his hands in his pockets.
But before he left, he pointed at Kowa, his glare returning. "My business with ya ain't over. I will crush you."
And just like that, he disappeared into his gang, his followers leaving with him.
The crowd of students started to scatter, whispering amongst themselves.
Kowa and the rest turned to look at Lanjo.
And in perfect unison—
They bolted for their classes.
Lanjo sighed, taking another long drag.
"Goddamn brats."
As the chaos settled and the students scattered, Lanjo's gaze shifted. Amid the retreating crowd, his tired eyes locked onto someone who wasn't running, fighting, or even paying attention—just walking casually like none of this concerned him.
Cydal.
Lanjo exhaled a cloud of smoke, then, without warning, grabbed the boy's shoulder. His grip was firm but not aggressive—just enough to make it clear there was no getting out of this.
"You're coming with me, brat."
Cydal blinked, glancing at him with mild disinterest.
Lanjo sighed, rubbing his temple like he was the last thing he wanted to deal with today. "New students gotta register in the principal's office before they can start classes."
And with that, he casually started dragging Cydal toward the office, too lazy to argue but too stubborn to let him walk away.
Later in the classrooms:
The classroom was always cramped, the air thick with the quiet weight of too many bodies in too little space. Yet, it was immaculate—desks aligned with military precision, windows polished to a dull gleam, reflecting the dim, flickering lights. The walls were dressed in student work—assignments, sketches, fading bursts of color trying to breathe life into the suffocating stillness.
The classroom buzzed with low chatter and aimless energy. Among the chaos sat Kowa and Randa, crammed together at a shared desk. Kowa, as always, was in full bragging mode—his voice animated, hands slicing through the air as he recounted yet another epic tale from some faraway place that probably didn't exist.
Randa stared blankly ahead, chin in hand, trying to look bored, she was supposed to be mad at him for picking fights—but every now and then, her lips would twitch at the corners, betraying her.
Mid-sentence, Kowa suddenly paused, reaching into his bag with dramatic flair.
"Oh yeah, one minute, i brought you something," he declared, pulling out a neatly wrapped cloth bundle like it held a royal artifact. With exaggerated care, he unfolded the fabric to reveal a stash of golden-brown, fish-shaped cookies. Their sweet, toasty aroma immediately cut through the room's chalk-and-paper scent. These are cookies randa loved munching on everytime kowa Brought her some.
In a place where most went to bed with empty stomachs, a sweet, fish-shaped cookie was a treasure rarer than gold. You couldn't find them in the village—only in faraway cities whispered about in bedtime tales—places no ordinary villager ever dared to visit as it was against their beliefs. Except for a rebellious few like Kowa, his madam, and the girls. It was part of their profession, and every time they returned, they brought back something special for the whole town.
Of course, it was another thing entirely if the town even wanted gifts from people like them. Even if you ignored the fact that Kowa and his madam broke every village rule by stepping into the forbidden cities, there was still the fact that his madam was an entertainer from the red-light district. Most people didn't see kindness in her, only sin. They whispered behind closed doors, turned their faces away… yet still accepted the warmth of her gifts when winter got too cruel.
He slid one cookie toward Randa wordlessly, his smirk softening.
She blinked at it once before grabbing it like she hadn't eaten in days, shoving it into her mouth with reckless joy. One bite turned into five. Her cheeks puffed out like a squirrel storing nuts, and crumbs rained down her shirt. She didn't even pretend to be graceful—she just kept going, eyes closing as a crumb-dusted smile spread across her face. It was delicious! To the point she'd cry while eating it.
Kowa watched in silence, his usual teasing gone for a moment. A blush tugged at his cheeks admiring her silently, as Randa wiped her mouth with the back of her hand, She missed a spot. Kowa reached over, brushing a crumb from her cheek with a single finger. She blinked up at him, suddenly shy, her smile twitching again—but this time, it was warm.
Not far from them, Lal lounged lazily across her side of the desk, arms folded beneath her head as she glanced sideways at Isaac. He was fast asleep, utterly exhausted from the morning's fieldwork, his pencil still loosely clutched in one hand. Lal just watched him with half-lidded eyes, not saying a word, as if daring anyone to disturb him.
Meanwhile, across the room, Shari and the rest of the Conspiracy Theory Club were… definitely doing something they shouldn't be. A circle of salt surrounded their desk, and Shari held what looked suspiciously like a chicken bone as she chanted something under her breath. A suspicious red glow flickered briefly under the desk before fading. Or was it just their fantasy?
And then there was Giselle.
Sitting primly with her arms crossed, flanked by her goons like a queen at war, she scanned the classroom with undisguised misery. Her lip curled every time someone laughed too loudly or moved too much. But her gaze always returned to Randa—specifically, to the way Kowa looked at her. Like she was the only right girl in the world.
Giselle clenched her jaw. The crumbs on Randa's cheeks, the way Kowa leaned closer, even that stupid, fish-shaped cookie—it was all too much. Disgust twisted in her gut, but beneath it, jealousy simmered.
She was used to being the center of attention.
But somehow, in this chaotic circus of a class, it was the quiet girl with the crumbs and puffed-up cheeks who had Kowa's full, undivided gaze.
And that stung.
Lanjo stood by the blackboard, eyes vacant, mouth barely moving as he called names. His voice dragged, like speaking itself was a chore.
"Ron."
A voice rose from the crowd. "Present."
"Mira."
"Present, teach."
"Isaac."
A pause. There was no answer.
Lal leaned over and gently poked Isaac's arm, worry flickering in her eyes. He stirred with a groggy grunt, still somewhere between dreaming and waking—until his eyes landed on Lanjo.
Panic snapped him fully awake.
He jolted up from his seat, spine straightening like a lightning rod. "P-present, sir!" he barked, voice cracking with urgency, before bowing low at the waist like a soldier saluting his war-hardened captain.
Laughter erupted from the desks behind him, echoing off the walls like cannon fire.
Lanjo's head tilted slightly, eyes locking onto the boy like a vulture eyeing something already half-dead.
"So, what's this, brat?" His voice was a drawl, laced with something cruel. "A whole damn week of absence. Didn't think I'd notice?"
Isaac stiffened, sweat already forming at his temples. "I-I'm sorry, Lanjo sir. My father—he works alone on the farm. He needed me."
A slow blink. Then, an exhale sharp enough to cut.
"Isaac, remind me again—was that patch of dirt behind your house supposed to be a farm? Cause not a single grain's come out of it, and the village is still waiting to eat."
Laughter rippled through the room—low, sharp, and merciless. Isaac flinched but said nothing.
"I might have to talk to your father, Isaac. You should really reconsider where your focus lies… bring him to school tomorrow."
"Yes, sir…" said isaac barely making his voice heard.
He began to lower himself back into his seat, hoping the moment had passed.
Lanjo without looking up: "Stay standing for a bit."
Isaac froze mid-sit, then awkwardly straightened up again, swallowing hard as the class snickered behind their hands.
Lanjo moved to next name. "Lal."
The girl barely lifted her head. "Yeah?"
"A whole week missing, too. What, did you two plan this? One stays out, the other follows?"
Snickers swelled around them.
Lal exhaled through her nose, voice dry, uninterested. "Oh please. This school is a joke. The only reason to come is Isaac. And you, sir, don't even like being here either, so what's the big deal?"
Lanjo leaned against the desk, unimpressed. "Just take your education more seriously, you're needed here as students not bonnie and Clyde."
A fresh wave of laughter swept through the classroom. Lal smirked, meeting Isaac's eyes with a glint of amusement, like she was ready to battle lanjo and protect him while at it, if need be.
But their war wasn't with just lanjo.
Behind them, Giselle was already plotting too. Her voice slithered low to the guy sitting behind Isaac. "Take this," she murmured, slipping a water bottle into his hands. "And do exactly what I say, stinkass. I hate randa, she disgusts me but I hate Lal's guts more, and I'm going to make her wish she never showed up today."
Her goons exchanged glances, their grins sharp and knowing. The bottle cap twisted open with a soft click. Then, with precise, practiced movements, they poured. The water soaked through the wooden seat that belonged to isaac, seeping into the desk, darkening it.
Lal and Lanjo's argument fizzled out. The teacher pinched the bridge of his nose, already done with them. "Fine. Go sit. I've got bigger headaches than the two of you."
Lal smirked again, celebrating their tiny victory. But the moment they turned to sit—
SPLASH.
The sound wasn't loud, but the reaction was immediate.
Isaac froze. The cold bit through his pants, through his skin, sinking into his bones. His bottom was all wet, water dripping from the desk hitting the ground.
Then came the laughter.
At first, a chuckle. Then a wave. Then an explosion of shrieking, gasping hysteria. Giselle and her goons nearly fell over, pounding the desks, their howls bouncing off the walls.
"Bwahaha! Lal's boyfriend just pissed himself! What a coward—Lanjo barely nagged him, and he peed his pants!"
Mocking voices echoed, sharp and merciless. Giselle stared into lal's eyes, "Damn, Lal, what do you even see in him?"
Isaac sat there, still, trembling. His hands curled into fists against his lap, nails digging into his palm. His face burned, his head dipped, his breath shallow.
He said nothing.
Lanjo sat at his desk, his face devoid of any enthusiasm, radiating pure apathy. If there was an award for the world's most disinterested teacher, he'd be the undisputed champion. With a tired sigh, he glanced at the ruckus in front of him.
"Lal, Isaac—sit down. And the rest of you, just keep it quiet. I've got a class to start, and honestly, Principal Kashi doesn't pay me enough for this."
Lal, however, was beyond sitting. She slammed her desk with enough force to make the students around her jump. "What?? This has to be a joke, right? They're always picking on Isaac and others, and you don't care?!"
"I would ask you to stop being so damn bored and do your job properly!"
Lanjo barely lifted an eyebrow. "Calm down, Lal."
"Calm!?" She barked. "Your students are bullied and humiliated every day in front of you, and if they can't stand up for themselves, it's your job to make sure they feel safe! Isn't that why you're here? A teacher doesn't just vomit out lessons; they're supposed to create a safe environment!"
Lanjo sighed, pulling out a cigarette from his pocket. He rolled it between his fingers, too disinterested to even light it. "Geez. Relax. You're not even the one getting bullied."
Lal's entire being radiated unfiltered rage. "NO, I WON'T! If you don't stop being a lazy, useless lump and take your job seriously, I swear to hell I'll make sure your seat is given to someone who actually cares about responsibility!"
Lanjo blinked. He sighed again, this time deeper, and with something resembling effort, he pulled the cigarette from his mouth. "Fine. Guess I'll do my job today. And not because you can fire me, you aren't the principal here, princess." He turned to Isaac. "So, Isaac, is it true you're getting bullied?"
Isaac hesitated. Across the room, Giselle, Dong, Ron, and Ban threw him a look that practically screamed, "If you snitch, you're dead."
But then he turned to Lal.
Her look was worse.
"I just fought a whole teacher for you. If you chicken out now, not only will I kill you, but we are breaking up."
And Isaac feared the breakup more than death itself.
Swallowing hard, he forced out a cough, summoning every ounce of courage he had left. "Yes, I am getting bullie—"
Before he could even finish, Lanjo's voice cut through the air like a thunderclap.
"GISELLE, DONG, RON, BAN—OUT. NOW."
The class fell silent. This wasn't the usual half-dead Lanjo. This was Lanjo with authority.
The bullies gawked. "But sir—"
Lanjo didn't let them finish. "Didn't you hear me? OUT. Go wait on the grounds until I get there."
Giselle and her gang stood there, baffled. Grumbling under their breath, they dragged their feet toward the door, throwing daggers at Isaac and Lal on their way out.
Before they left, Lanjo turned back to Isaac. "Teachers are here to help, but you have to trust us. More importantly, grow a damn backbone. I was waiting to see how long it would take you to stand up for yourself. But gee—your girlfriend is sharper and stronger than you." He sighed in disappointment.
Then, just as Giselle was about to step out, he delivered the final blow.
"And you, little girl. You're about to find out that being a girl doesn't get you special treatment. Your punishment is the same as the boys—and my punishment is the worst."
Giselle, for the first time in her life, looked terrified. She gulped, her confidence faltering, and silently exited the class.
The air was thick with tension as the students sat in stunned silence. Lal folded her arms and smirked. Lanjo, looking more exhausted than ever, shoved the cigarette back into his pocket and muttered, "Geez, what a hassle."
Then not soon after a little peace, the class falls into disarray as all eyes turn to the new student suddenly entering the school. Whispers ripple through the room. They are shocked. They are confused.
It's Cydal.
But why is he here?
To be continued