Silas's breath came in shallow bursts, his fists trembling—not from fear, but from restraint. His instincts screamed for violence. That sneer on the blond guy's face, the smug laughter of the crowd—he'd seen all of it before. Different world, same predators.
"Princess gonna cry?" the blond mocked, stepping closer, clearly used to being the alpha.
Silas didn't answer. Instead, he shifted his stance just slightly—feet shoulder-width apart, left foot half a step forward. The tiny detail lit a warning bell deep in the recesses of his muscle memory. He remembered this. No—he felt it. Combat wasn't something you forget, not when it's burned into your bones.
Blondie reached out, aiming to grab his blazer by the collar. Bad move.
Silas slapped the hand away—quick, precise. The boy didn't even register the motion before Silas twisted his wrist, spun into his space, and drove a sharp elbow into his gut. The classroom gasped as Blondie folded like a cheap chair, choking on the pain.
"What the—!"
Another lackey lunged, but Silas ducked under the wild punch and rammed his shoulder into the guy's chest, sending him stumbling back into a desk with a crash. The third one hesitated, unsure, but still made a move—too slow. Silas caught his arm, swept his legs, and dropped him flat on the tile.
Three down. Silence.
Silas straightened, chest rising and falling, heart pounding. Not from effort—it was too easy—but from adrenaline. Every part of him felt off, like he was wearing someone else's skin. But the skills? They were still his. Just... muted. Slower, lighter. His body wasn't built for this kind of movement anymore. He had to rely on technique, not strength.
Blondie groaned on the ground, holding his stomach, glaring up with a mix of pain and disbelief.
"What the hell are you?" he hissed.
Silas walked over and crouched, grabbing the front of his uniform.
"You wanna go again?" he said softly, almost kindly. "I got all day, princess."
The room was dead quiet. No one laughed now.
He released the blond with a shove and turned to the rest of the class. Faces stared back, pale and confused, some with genuine fear.
"Anyone else want to test me?" Silas said. "No? Cool."
He grabbed his schoolbag—not even sure if it was his—and walked out the door without another word, shoulders tense, thoughts spinning.
He needed answers. Where he was, what happened, and—most of all—why the hell he was in the body of some pretty schoolboy with hands too soft for war. But one thing was clear:
If this was his second shot at life, he wasn't going down easy.