For Zain, the fight, if one could even call it that, between him and the inmates that just happened a week ago was nothing more than a small nuisance. For the others, however, it was an absolutely hellish experience that they could never get used to. And so, when the prisoners caught a glimpse of Zain’s figure in the cafeteria, the immediate reaction that popped up in their brains was to get away as far as they can.

The scene was something one certainly wouldn’t see every day: at the centermost table was a single youth slowly enjoying his glass of warm milk while reading a slip of paper, while gathering around the edges of the room were a pack of convicts whispering their guesses on why the hell their natural predator would suddenly appear unnoticed.

“… is it that time of the year already?”

“… must be. Look at what he’s reading…”

“… I see. But why does he keep doing it every year?”

“I don’t know man, maybe he’s a m…”

Before the unfortunate soul could utter another world, a deathly glare coming from the young man from afar had already made him swallow whatever syllables left down his throat. But luckily for him, as well as for everyone else involved, Zain’s gaze only lasted a brief second before finally letting go of them and turning the canteen into a library once more.

However, the quiet atmosphere didn’t last for long as a booming shout echoed through the room:

“Move it, maggots!”

A figure of a giant man in a blue officer’s outfit, with hair forming two spikes on his sides like a pair of shining black horns, tore off the crowd and made his way straight to the center of the cafeteria, facing the roughneck teen without a lick of respect.

“Don’t they teach you manners, boy?” The man tried to sound peaceful, but his provoking tone proved anything but.

Zain, meanwhile, didn’t even bother to take a single look at the warden in front of him.

“Speak, Bruce. Fast.” Eyes still glued to the piece of paper in his hand, the young man casually took a sip in his mug without a care in the world.

The inspector, now Bruce, was already nearly nearing his limits. Of all people, he knew better than anyone how difficult of an inmate this particular case was, but in front of a superior, he had no choice but to oblige. And now, seeing that the same brat he threw into this cell years ago slowly breaking every order in the facility, Bruce was seeing red all over.

“You little…”

Grabbing onto Zain’s collar, Bruce lifted the arrogant jailbird up with all of his might, making the latter drop both his paper and his mug to the ground.

“Listen to me, br-Eep!”

A shrieking squeal came from the burly man in such a surprising manner that half of the witnesses didn’t have a clue of what had just happened. The remaining half standing in the front row was (un)fortunate enough to see the sequence of events, and could only shake their heads in sympathy for the poor injury on the warden’s lower half.

In just a second, the situation had reversed itself. The proud Bruce was kneeling on the ground, sweating buckets from the nerve-shattering pain he had just received, while the adolescent prisoner was now grabbing him by the collar and giving him an insulting pat on the cheek.

“You know, there’s a saying that goes: the weaker you are, the louder you bark. I know you’re weak, but do try not to bark in front of me again.”

Dropping Bruce down on the ground, Zain casually picked up his paper and now empty mug as if nothing had happened, and continued with a sarcastic grin on his face while going towards the cafeteria stall for a refill:

“Don’t waste my time now.”

Before Bruce could answer, however, another silhouette had also broken through the curious crowd and interrupted the conversation:

“Now, now, Zain boy. Must you always pick on us like this?”

Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

Standing in Bruce’s place was another tall man. Even if his muscles were quite lacking compared to the giant, his sharp gaze and kingly aura made facing him much more suffocating, enough for Zain to immediately retract his smile.

“What is a Colonel doing here in this dump, Jack?”

“Just here to spread the news, after all. You know what I mean.”

“About the Red-Black Course? I already have the pamphlet right here,” Zain raised his eyebrows in doubt. “Why bother?”

“There are a few extra rules this year. And I was thinking of doing you a favor too with an early announcement of the first game.”

“And what do I have to gain this honor?” Zain answered with a condescending smile. Never before had the rules to the games been announced this early, and so his gut instinct was immediately directed to some kind of scheme made by the upper echelon.

“Nothing, really. It’s just that, ah… you are our only contestant, after all. We just can’t bear the thought of losing you to an… unfortunate accident.”

“Keep dreaming, blondie,” now it was Zain’s turn to pop a vein, but even he knew that Jack wasn’t easily bullied around like Bruce. And so, the smart choice would be to continue this war of words:

“You’ll lose your only contestant alright. Because this guy is a free man after the games.” With a confident grin on his face, Zain pointed his thumb at himself as if to throw a challenge to the man in front of him.

Jack, seeing the provocation, decided to play along with the act. Scratching his head feigning worry, the colonel let out a big sigh. “Oh, goodness me! This is horrible news! ...”

But the charade stopped there, as his face contorted into a wry smile at the young inmate. “Oh, wait, silly me! You say this every year! What was it that you said to Bruce just now? The weaker they are, the louder they bark? ...”

Jack didn’t get to finish his sentence any further, for Zain had had enough. He was nice enough to pull back once, but pulling back twice wasn’t what he would do. Like a swift wind, Zain lowered his body and threw a blistering-paced punch at Jack’s stomach, sending the warden flying through the crowd in a blink of an eye.

Before Jack could pick himself up, Zain had already closed the gap between them and lifted him up by the neck once again. However, unlike his playful attitude with Bruce, Zain’s face showed a clear bloodlust and anger.

“Listen well, pretty boy. I don’t bark. I roar.”

It wasn’t enough to faze Jack though, as the man, even with his neck suffocated and the corner of his mouth oozing out a red trickle, still had the guts to form a smile.

A jab to Zain’s underside caused the young man to flinch for just a second, enough for his grip to loosen. And in that brief moment, Jack had successfully freed himself from Zain’s grasp, elegantly wiping off the blood on his face as a finale for a show well done.

“Anyway, Zain boy, this year’s course allows you to participate as a team. You can still choose to enter solo, of course, but if you change your mind, there’s a form you can fill in.”

“Yeah, I’m not blind. What’s the game this time?”

“… Motorcycle football,” Jack let out a conniving smile as he announced the news.

“… What are you bastards scheming?” Zain froze for a moment before he could speak again, and with each word, one could practically hear his teeth grinding in anger.

“What do you mean? I’m just a Colonel. I don’t have a word in the games they choose.”

“Don’t play dumb on me, Jack. This has always been the last game, for you shitheads to guarantee a loss for us. Why is it the first game this year?”

“Like I said, I haven’t a clue. Beat me up all you want; I can’t tell you what I don’t know. It’s simple as that.”

“… Tch,” Zain couldn’t help but click his tongue in annoyance. “Fine. Have it your way. But remember: I will wipe that smile off your face in the game, blondie.”

“Looking forward to it, chum,” Jack’s smile turned into genuine laughter, for he knew he had successfully poked the lion’s maw. With a satisfied look on his face, the warden arrogantly left the premise.

Zain, meanwhile, was fuming. His own turf was bothered while he couldn’t do anything about it, and now the one event he had been banking on for the entire year was already rigged right from the start.

Would the results be the same if it was like every year, having the rigged game at the end? Possibly. But in this aspect, Zain was still the same as any other sixteen-year-old. He still held on to the unmoving, almost blind, even, belief that as long as he worked himself beyond his limits, he could somehow achieve the impossible.

To do that, however, he needed all the time he could get. And his time was just cut short. It was natural that he would be angry; so angry, in fact, that he just wanted to break something to let out all this bottled-up steam within him.

The door to the cafeteria opened once more, and in came, not policemen this time, but a pair of unlikely inmates. The big one wore an iron mask covering his face, while the small one gave out the air of easy prey. Zain might not remember who the big guy was, but the small kid was a face that he would never forget. This time, however, Zain wasn’t thinking about any of that. He had just found a punching bag to vent his anger.

“Hey, look, Mitch, it’s him!” The boy, meanwhile, still showed no worries in the world and elatedly pointed at the standing Zain.

“Wait, Rex, don’t…” Mitch stretched out his arm in an attempt to stop the innocent boy, but his new friend's sudden movement was faster than he expected. In just an instant, Rex had already stood in front of Zain with a smile on his face as if the entire incident between them hadn’t existed.

“Zain, right?” Unaware of his opposition, the boy let out a warm and friendly smile. “Wanna join…”

Rex’s words were cut short, as Zain’s hand had already gripped tightly onto his neck. The latter, meanwhile, let out a sinister smile as he slowly squeezed the life out of his prey:

“I don’t have time for your rambling, kid. But I do have time for a good pummeling.”