Tamim didn't show up the next day.
Not during first period, not at the gate, not even in the corridor where he usually lurked with his fake confidence and crocodile grin.
No one mentioned his name either.
It was as if the entire school had agreed to delete him from existence.
I sat in the back row, half-listening to the teacher drone on about electromagnetic waves while my fingers tapped soundlessly on the desk.
Each tap was a beat in the rhythm of control.
Each second that passed was another confirmation:
The message worked.
But this wasn't celebration.
This was observation.
Because every action… has its echo.
From the corner of my eye, I saw Rami glance at his phone for the third time this period. His fingers were trembling. His lips were dry. Sweat clung to his forehead like guilt that refused to evaporate.
I smirked.
Guilt makes people sloppy.
And Rami was about to break.
---
The break came at lunch.
I wasn't eating. I never did when I was planning something. Hunger sharpens you. Makes your instincts louder. Cleaner.
Rami sat three benches away from me. Normally, he'd be loud, joking, acting like some second-tier villain in a school drama. But today?
He was quiet. Paranoid.
I watched him stare at every phone screen around him like he was scanning for a death sentence.
And then—he moved.
Not toward me.
Toward the girls' table.
Interesting.
I adjusted my hoodie and leaned forward slightly, just enough to hear the name.
"—did you tell anyone?"
It was a whisper, meant to be swallowed by cafeteria noise.
But not by me.
Mira blinked up at him, confused. "Tell who what?"
"You know what I mean," Rami hissed. "About… the video. You weren't supposed to save it."
My eyes sharpened.
Video?
Mira narrowed her eyes, slowly pushing her tray away. "You're the one who recorded it. I only watched it once."
Rami leaned in, panicking now. "Yeah, but I deleted mine. If anyone still has it—it's you."
So that's what you were hiding, Tamim.
A video. Evidence.
A trap waiting to snap on the wrong neck.
This wasn't about one rumor.
This was leverage.
---
Three hours later, the school was a buzzing hive of quiet speculation. The rumors hadn't started—but the silence was worse. Heavy. Ominous.
I liked it better this way.
People fear what they can't see more than what they do.
I was walking toward the library when a girl I didn't know brushed past me. Accidentally.
I looked down. There was a small paper folded in half in my pocket.
No name. No sender.
Just two words written in sharp black pen:
"Meet. Roof."
I stared at it for three seconds.
Then I smiled.
---
The rooftop was quiet. Windy.
Perfect for secrets.
She stood there waiting — a junior, probably. Short, thin. Nervous. But her eyes were sharp, like broken glass pretending to be harmless.
I didn't speak first.
I wanted her to squirm. Wonder if she'd made a mistake.
She finally broke the silence.
"You're the Thought Broker."
I blinked. Slowly. "That's a bold claim."
"I don't care if you admit it. I know it's you."
"And what do you want?"
She stepped closer, voice low. "There's a teacher. He's… not what he pretends to be. I have proof. But if I go public, it's my word against his."
"Blackmail?" I asked.
She shook her head. "Justice."
I watched her.
Her hands weren't shaking.
She wasn't lying.
"I want you to send it," she said. "Through the Broker."
My mind raced. A teacher scandal? Risky. But powerful. If true, it would shake the school's spine.
"I'll need the evidence," I said.
She slid over a pen drive.
I didn't touch it. Not yet.
"Why not do it yourself?"
"Because I don't want my name involved. But I want him gone."
I finally picked it up.
Cool. Heavy.
Full of promise.
"I'll consider it," I said.
---
At home, I played the file.
At first, it looked like a normal meeting. A teacher helping a student with grades.
But the second video — hidden camera — was damning.
Inappropriate touches.
Manipulative words.
A predator hiding in plain sight.
I didn't blink. I didn't flinch.
I just leaned back and thought:
This… changes everything.
---
The next morning, I made the decision.
But not immediately.
I needed to send a message before the message.
Because when you burn someone publicly, you must let the wind spread the smoke.
So, I sent out a short message to thirty random students. One line:
> "A monster hides in Room 204. But he won't hide much longer."
No name. No context.
Just fire.
By noon, the school was whispering again.
By 2 PM, Room 204 was empty.
By 3 PM, the teacher was escorted out by the principal.
And me?
I watched it all from the hallway.
Expressionless.
Silent.
But inside, I smiled.
Power was addicting.
Justice… was a tool.
---
Back at my desk, another note waited.
Same handwriting.
But this time, it said:
"You're not the only Broker."
---