Dawn had barely warmed the air when Indus High began to breathe.
The first rays of light sliced through the iron gates, painting long golden stripes across the courtyard. Dew clung to the manicured grass like scattered glass shards, catching the light and throwing it back with quiet defiance. Somewhere, a basketball hit the ground in rhythmic intervals — thud, thud, whistle — echoing like the heartbeat of the school waking up.
The corridors smelled faintly of chalk dust and varnish, with a layer of sweet warmth from the canteen ovens. Even the silence had a pulse — soft murmurs of teachers preparing lessons, lockers clicking open, shoes squeaking on waxed floors.
Students trickled through the gate, half-awake, half-running late.
Some walked with headphones buried deep, some talked in clusters, voices overlapping like static. Prefects stood near the stairwell, leaning on pillars, trying to look both responsible and relaxed.
The school looked ordinary.
Safe.
Predictable.
That illusion lasted until the five of them arrived.
---
Max was first.
His stride was measured, the type that didn't waste a single motion. Bag slung over one shoulder, his eyes scanned left to right in silent patterns — not out of paranoia, but habit. Every step, every glance, was a quiet assessment.
Tom followed, moving like he had nowhere to be yet always ended up first. His earbuds hung loosely around his neck, a half-grin caught between boredom and amusement.
Ashi walked next, back straight, shoulders loose but balanced — the posture of someone who could snap from calm to combat in a blink. His gaze wandered lazily across the campus, yet nothing escaped him.
Sam came after, hands in his pockets, body relaxed but his eyes — those eyes — kept count of every small movement around them. There was a quiet, watchful intelligence there.
And last, Moco, chewing on toast she'd snuck past the gate stall vendor. She tied her hair back with one hand, her other clutching a carton of cold coffee, her morning armor complete.
"Walk slower," she said between bites, voice half-asleep.
"Or eat faster," Tom muttered without turning his head.
She glared at his back. "Keep talking and you'll find that toast in your shoe later."
Tom smirked. "Worth it."
The five moved on. Five paces, one rhythm.
Wherever they walked, space seemed to fold around them — like the hallway itself recognized their presence.
---
Canteen — Morning Rush
By the time they entered, the canteen was a hive of noise.
Sunlight flooded through glass panels, scattering golden flecks across tables and trays. Conversations overlapped — laughter, gossip, complaints. The sound of metal spoons on plates and the faint hum of fans filled the gaps.
Their table — the one in the far-left corner beside the window — waited empty. No one ever took it. Whether out of respect or fear, no one knew for sure.
Moco dropped her tray with a sigh of relief.
Moco: "Finally. I'd forgotten what real food feels like."
Tom slid into his chair beside her, stretching lazily.
Ashi stayed standing for a moment, scanning the room — exits, corners, eyes watching them. His gaze passed across a few senior tables before he sat down.
Max was already eating — slow, deliberate motions, gaze distant but never unfocused.
Ashi caught the shift in his aura first.
He frowned.
Ashi: "You've been quiet since morning. What's going on in that head of yours?"
Max finished chewing, swallowed, and finally replied.
Max: "Ah—it's nothing."
His voice was calm but detached — the kind that ended conversations, not started them.
Sam leaned back, balancing his chair on two legs.
Sam: "So what's the plan today? We taking down another gang, or—?"
Max turned his eyes toward him — slow, sharp, unamused.
Max: "Shut up and just chill. Don't poke at things you don't understand."
The way he said it wasn't harsh — just absolute. A line drawn.
The humor drained from Sam's grin.
Moco set her spoon down, leaning forward slightly, her expression serious now.
Moco: "And what if they don't let us live peacefully? What if someone decides to make us their target first?"
Max's eyes flickered toward her — not with irritation, but calculation. His voice dropped an octave.
Max: "Then that's a different matter."
It wasn't a threat. It was a promise — spoken softly enough to chill the air.
For a few moments, only the sound of the ceiling fans remained.
Then Tom broke the tension, sitting upright with a half-smile.
Tom: "He's right. We don't start fires. But if they throw sparks, we make sure it burns their way."
Ashi's lips twitched.
Moco chuckled softly.
The rest nodded — quiet agreement shared through glances instead of words.
The moment passed, but something in the air stayed taut — a silent pulse under the noise.
---
Ashi's Flashback
Ashi's fork paused mid-air. He wasn't eating anymore. His mind drifted back to earlier that morning.
They'd been walking through the hallway. Max and Sam were ahead, trading calm words; Tom and Moco followed, teasing each other about something trivial.
Ashi was last, scrolling absently through the school's social feed. His thumb stopped when a flicker in his peripheral caught his eye — someone turning into their classroom.
He looked up.
A tall figure. Clean posture. The faint glint of authority in his steps.
And then he saw it — the gold emblem on the blazer.
Two stripes.
A captain.
Class 11-B.
Ashi's eyes narrowed. "What the hell is a captain doing near our class this early?"
A faint unease crawled up his neck. He brushed it off, muttering under his breath.
"Probably nothing."
But even as he walked away, that image stayed lodged in his mind.
The sharp eyes. The measured walk.
And the faint, heavy feeling — like the air around that captain bent differently.
---
Back to Present — Canteen
The chatter around him blurred again. Ashi blinked, realizing he'd been staring at nothing for a full minute.
He sighed softly. "Maybe I'm just paranoid…"
Then he felt it.
That same prickle on the back of his neck.
That sense of being watched.
He looked up.
Max was already watching him.
Calm. Unreadable. But those eyes — they weren't casual. They were searching.
Ashi's pulse quickened. "What's he seeing that I don't?"
He forced a small smile, ready to brush it off—
until Tom turned too.
Two pairs of eyes on him.
And the air… shifted.
Every instinct screamed.
Without thought, Ashi's muscles moved.
His hand slammed on the table; his body twisted, momentum coiling through his torso.
The kick snapped out like lightning — a perfect tornado arc, air slicing past his leg.
And then—
Clap.
A hand stopped it mid-swing. Effortless.
Ashi's eyes widened. He landed back softly, body low, pulse hammering.
Before him stood the figure he'd glimpsed that morning.
Tall. Sharp. Expression blank, yet heavy enough to make every nearby conversation die mid-sentence.
The Captain of Class 11-B.
He didn't look angry. He didn't need to. His mere presence carried authority that pressed on the lungs.
Ashi clenched his jaw. "He blocked that… like it was nothing."
He caught glances around them — seniors watching, whispers halted. The entire canteen seemed to hold its breath.
Sam pushed his chair back, fire sparking in his eyes.
Sam: "What the hell is your—"
Before he could finish, Moco's foot hit his shin.
Moco (whispering): "Did you forget what Brother Max said?"
Sam's jaw tightened, but he sat back down, fists curling under the table.
Tom leaned forward, calm but alert.
Tom: "Do you need something, senior?"
Ashi straightened, wiping invisible dust from his sleeve, regaining composure. He met the captain's eyes directly — not with defiance, but challenge.
The captain's voice was low, crisp.
Captain (11-B): "I want to have a word… with both of you."
The silence was sharp enough to hear someone's spoon drop three tables away.
Ashi spoke, his tone clipped but steady.
Ashi: "Speak up fast. What do you want, senior?"
A pause. The captain didn't rush. He looked at Ashi, then at Tom.
Captain: "The vice president wants to have a talk with both of you."
The words hung in the air like a trigger being pulled.
A flicker of surprise crossed both their faces — subtle, shared.
Without another word, the captain turned and began walking away.
His steps echoed against the tiled floor — slow, deliberate, the sound of control.
Just as he reached the canteen door, a calm voice sliced through the tension.
Max: "Can we also join the conversation between them?"
The captain stopped.
Turned.
For a few seconds, only the sound of the fans filled the silence.
Then — his eyes met Max's.
Two calm storms colliding without sound.
Captain: "The student council room is open to anyone who wishes to speak to the council."
He turned again and left.
The echo of his shoes faded.
The tension didn't.
Moco exhaled first.
Moco: "…That was something."
Sam muttered, "The vice president, huh…?"
Tom leaned back, arms crossed, eyes narrowing. "Feels like they've been watching for a while."
Max didn't respond. He just stared at the empty doorway where the captain had disappeared, his reflection faint in the glass.
Max (thought): So… they've finally decided to move.
The table stayed silent.
The air around them heavy — charged.
It wasn't just an invitation.
It was a summons.
And everyone at that table knew — when they entered that room next, the real game would begin.
---