“Huh?” he blinked, shaking off his thoughts. “I think our class is frying my brain cells,” he said with a sheepish grin.

“Well, don’t scare me like that,” she said, her tone light but laced with concern. “Don’t worry,” she replied with a reassuring smile. “I’ll help you with the classwork. You’ve got this.”

Mirai managed a small smile, but the weight of the message lingered in his chest. As they walked together down the sunlit corridor, the patterns of light on the walls danced and rippled, but the ominous words echoed in his mind.

As they approached the glossy red wall of Class 4-3, Mirai’s attention was drawn to a familiar figure walking farther up the hallway. A classmate, hunched and stiff, was accompanied by an unfamiliar boy who had his arm draped over him in a way that looked friendly but felt anything but.

Something about the scene didn’t sit right. The classmate’s averted gaze and tense posture were clear signs of discomfort. Though too far to hear their conversation, Mirai slowed his steps, watching the exchange with growing unease.

“So, where are you heading, friend?” the bully said, his voice laced with mockery.

“Just leave me alone,” the classmate muttered, his voice barely audible as he stared at the floor. “It’s not that big of a deal.”

“Just leave you alone?” the bully laughed sharply. “Man, it’s tough to go at it alone in this cold, dark world! But lucky for you, I’m feeling generous. As your new best friend, I say we take a little detour. Come on, it’ll be fun—I promise.”

The bully’s grip tightened on the classmate’s shoulder as he steered him toward a section of the biotech hallway. A seamless panel of the wall slid open with a soft mechanical hiss, revealing a narrower corridor bathed in diffused sunlight.

Mirai stopped mid-step, his jaw tightening. His instincts screamed at him—this wasn’t just an innocent detour. He watched as the two vanished into the secluded corridor, the door sliding shut behind them.

Without hesitation, he approached the ‘now-closed’ panel. A prompt flickered to life on the surface, requesting a hand scan for access.

“Guess this isn’t an on the class tour,” Mirai said to himself, his tone low. He pressed his hand against the glowing outline, and the door hissed open, granting him entry.

Inside, the atmosphere shifted—colder, heavier. The secluded corridor stretched ahead, the light dimmer here, casting long shadows across the walls.

Inside the secluded corridor, the classmate finally speaks, his voice shaky. “I just want to study—”

Before he can finish, the bully smacks him hard across the face, echoing like a whip in the confined space faintly. Grabbing his collar the bully continues to drag him down the corridor.

“Shut up!” the bully snarled, his grip tightening on the boy’s collar. “You think you can lose a money match and not pay up? Thought you could pull a fast one on me and my team? Time to settle this, friend.”

“I didn’t think I’d lose,” the boy mumbled, his voice trembling. “I only played because… I needed to see if I could keep up. If I couldn’t—what’s the point of even trying?”

“Oh, so we’re your test dummy now?” the bully sneered, his voice laced with venom. “We may not be one of the best teams out there, but you think you can just waltz in, drop my team’s name for practice, and not take it seriously? Do you even know how much work goes into this?”

“I know!” the boy’s voice cracked, his hands shaking. He paused, letting his words sink in. “I know… I’m not good enough. I thought if I played with decent players like you, I could push myself. The pros—they make it look so easy. The money, the fame… I thought maybe, just maybe, if I pushed myself—”

“Pushed yourself?” the bully interrupted, his voice cutting like a knife. He let out a sharp, mocking laugh. “Be serious.” He leaned in closer, his voice dropping to a low, menacing growl. “I’m closer to Zephia than you’ll ever be to me. My team spent years building our name. You throw a match, refuse to pay up, and make us look like clowns? Think I’ll let that slide?”

The boy looked away, his shoulders slumping in defeat, but his trembling hands betrayed his fear

“I-I was going to pay…” His words faltered. “I just… I didn’t have enough. I thought if I won, I could use the prize money to cover it and—”

“And you made us lose—multiple times.” the bully cut in, his voice rising with indignation. “I refuse to take the blame. You lied about your skill level, joined my team under false pretenses, and cost us a match that could’ve bumped our rank!”

“I didn’t mean to—” the boy tried, but the bully yanked him closer by the collar, his glare murderous.”

“Didn’t mean to? Our sponsors bailed, my teammates are pissed—some leaving, and now you think I’m just gonna let it go—?”

“Hey,” a calm voice interrupted from behind, slicing through the bully’s tirade.

The bully turned sharply, his sneer momentarily faltering as he spotted someone leaning casually against the wall. The snowy-haired boy’s posture was relaxed, his hands stuffed in his pockets, but there was an edge to his smirk.

“Mirai?” the bully peered, his voice laced with irritation.

Mirai’s gaze swept the scene, his eyes lingering briefly on the trembling boy before meeting the bully’s glare. “Yo,” he said casually, his tone almost lazy. “You’re really doing this right now?”

The bully’s grip on the boy tightened. “What’s your problem? This doesn’t concern you.”

Mirai shrugged, his smirk widening. “Oh, I don’t know. ‘A decision I made didn’t go my way and now I’m upset.’ This tantrum is top-tier entertainment.”

The bully bristled, stepping closer. “You think this is funny? He lied. He wasted my time, trashed my team’s reputation, and cost us sponsors. You know how much work goes into building a team like mine?”

This story has been stolen from Royal Road. If you read it on Amazon, please report it

“Mirai shrugged nonchalantly, his eyes flicking briefly to the trembling boy before returning to the bully. “I don’t know, man. Sounds like you gave him a shot, and it didn’t work. Happens. Bit of an ego issue, don’t you think?”

The bully stepped forward, trying to reassert control. “You don’t know anything about me or my team!” he snarled, his voice rising.

“Maybe not,” Mirai replied with a faint grin, his tone still infuriatingly calm. “But from what I’m seeing you guys aren’t even worth the effort.”

The bully was visibly bothered by the comment; it cut straight to the heart of everything he’d worked for. But he knew he couldn’t back down.

Just as the bully’s frustration seemed to reach its boiling point, Mirai spoke again, his tone calm yet undeniably sharp. “Tell you what,” he began, a smirk tugging at his lips, “I’m going to give you the opportunity of a lifetime. If you really want to save your team, how about you play us? Beat us, and wow—imagine the fame and the glory. And hey, I stay out of this little mess. But if you lose…”

Mirai leaned in slightly, his voice dropping just enough to add weight to his words. “Better start searching for a new game to play.”

The bully hesitated, visibly thrown off by the challenge. His jaw tightened as he swallowed hard, his mind racing. Before he could respond, Takara appeared in the hallway, her breathing quickened from running.

Her eyes scanned the tense scene, locking onto the bully before moving to Mirai. She stepped forward, her expression unreadable but ready to intervene if necessary.

“They just beat Zephia and Cosmic at the recent major tournament,” the bully thought bitterly, his confidence faltering. “If I lost again in another embarrassing fashion, especially on the biggest stage, my career is just over. They’re too strong. Wait, how about this...” the bully thought.

After some time, Mirai’s voice broke through his spiraling thoughts. “Well?” he asked, his tone still maddeningly casual. “Take all the time you need. Hell, if your team’s this slow during matches we’ll even tell you our next moves mid-match, just to keep things fair.” His smirk widened, the playful jab cutting deeper than any raised voice could.

The bully’s face flushed with anger and humiliation, his bravado quickly unraveling. “I’ll tell you what,” he sneered, his voice straining to sound confident. “How about Sephoric gives my guild a shoutout instead? You do that, this kid doesn’t exist, and we all pretend like this didn’t happen. Deal?

Takara’s eyes narrowed, her expression sharpening from cold to razor-edged fury. Her voice was like ice, laced with venom when she spoke. “How about you shout out your household troubles instead?” she spat, her words slicing through the air like a blade. “Like hell we’d give someone as vain as you a shoutout.”

The bully froze, visibly taken aback. Takara’s words hit harder than anything Mirai had said. Mirai could see it clearly now—the way her anger wasn’t just about this moment. It was something deeper, something personal. It had been simmering beneath the surface for years, and now it erupted with a force that left him momentarily stunned. He blinked, caught off guard by this unfamiliar side of her.

Before anyone could process what had just happened, a commanding voice sliced through the tension like a whip.

“Miss Koizumi,” the voice said, low and chilling. “If this is how your parents raised you, then I truly fear for the future leadership of their company—and for the island of Freya.”

All eyes turned toward the source of the voice. Heavy footsteps echoed in the hallway, each step deliberate and measured. A figure cutting through the interplay of sunlight and shadow, his silhouette cutting sharply against the glowing walls.

His hands were casually tucked into his pockets, but there was nothing casual about his presence. His piercing gaze swept over the group, cold and unrelenting, carrying an air of authority that silenced the tension in an instant.

“You know the rules,” he continued, his tone dripping with disdain. “Fighting—verbal or physical is a strict no-tolerance policy. And it could lead to your expulsion.”

Takara’s heart skipped a beat as her defiance faltered for a brief moment. “Mr. 00…” she muttered, her voice quieter now but still tinged with frustration. Her hands clenched into fists at her sides as she fought to hold her ground.

They hadn’t even heard him approach, but it was clear he was not happy.

“I humbly apologize, sir,” Takara said, she bows, her voice steady but laced with urgency. “Please understand, I did not act without a reason.”

Her mind raced back to the classroom incident—the moment he had called the boy out for disturbing class. At the time, she hadn’t given it much thought, as she was too focused on the lesson. But now, the pieces clicked together.

“Sir,” she continued, her voice firmer now as she straightened and pointed at the boy. “Do you remember when that book fell onto the floor and disrupted class? It was not an accident, he threw it at him.” Her finger shifted to the bully, who stiffened, his face paling as beads of sweat formed on his forehead.

Mr. 00 remained unmoving, his posture as composed as ever. His hands were still in his pockets, his piercing eyes locked onto Takara with an intensity that could shatter glass. When he finally spoke, his voice was calm yet cutting.

“The gentleman here,” he said, gesturing vaguely toward the boy, “is independent enough to notify someone if he has an issue with a particular student. If he cannot manage to solve that problem himself, then I’m afraid it cannot be helped.”

His words were deliberate, his tone unyielding. “I am not here to babysit. I am here to create talent. If he cannot rise to the challenge, then perhaps he doesn’t belong here at all.”

Takara’s frustration boiled over as she took a deep breath, her tone sharpening with urgency. “But, sir, you cannot create talent if an environment like this destroys someone’s mental state. Look at him.” She gestured to the boy, his shoulders hunched, face downcast. “Does he look happy to you? He looks like he is barely holding on.”

Mr. 00’s expression remained cold, his gaze unyielding. “If he cannot advocate for himself, then that is his burden to bear. Life offers no guarantees of peace or fairness, Miss Koizumi. It cannot be helped.”

Takara’s jaw tightened, her nails digging into her palms as she tried to stay composed. The weight of the moment pressed down on her—this wasn’t just about a classroom conflict anymore; it was a clash of ideals. But then his words triggered something buried deep within her—a memory she couldn’t suppress.

Flashes of the past seared through her mind: the harsh screech of tires, a blaring truck horn, the sensation of helplessness as she lay injured in the middle of a road. It was a moment that defined her, a moment when she had been powerless. The echoes of that day merged with the present, her fury growing as she stared at the unflinching figure of Mr. 00.

The anger she had been holding back finally reached its breaking point. Her expression darkened, her voice trembling with suppressed rage. “Is this how you ‘create talent’?” she sneered, stepping forward, her words cutting like a blade. “By crushing anyone who doesn’t fit into your perfect little mold? Maybe someone should push you into an oncoming truck. Then you’d know what real humanity looks like.”

The air grew heavy with tension. Mr. 00’s stoic demeanor didn’t shift, but there was a flicker in his eyes—a mix of surprise and displeasure. Silence filled the hallway, the weight of her words lingering like an unspoken challenge.

Mr. 00’s gaze remained as unyielding as ever. “Miss Koizumi,” he said, his voice cold and firm, cutting through the tense silence. “Go home. I’ll let you off with a warning this time, but be grateful I am not notifying your parents about this behavior. Perhaps they should take a closer look at how you’re conducting yourself.” His piercing eyes swept over the group. “Return to class, all of you, or I’ll have security escort you out.”

Takara’s heart pounded in her chest. She had never been so confrontational, especially with a figure of authority, and the feeling was strange—alien even. But as she stood there, her own words echoing in her mind, she didn’t regret them. Every word felt justified, even if the weight of the moment threatened to overwhelm her.

Anger burned behind her eyes, a fire she couldn’t extinguish, but now it mixed with a stinging pain she hadn’t expected. Her vision blurred, the world around her shimmering as tears welled up and began to fall.

With a defiant turn, she ran, her footsteps echoing down the hallway. The tears streamed down her face, catching the light like falling stars, each one a reflection of the storm raging inside her.

Behind her, the hallway grew silent once more, save for the faint, fading sound of her retreating steps.