Kil and his friends were on their way back to class, completely unaware of the storm brewing elsewhere on campus.
Meanwhile, the principal, her heels clicking sharply against the floor, marched toward the cafeteria. Her expression was tight, every step echoing her rising irritation. Rowdy seniors again? Fourth years this time? What now?
"What in the world is going on here?" Her voice cut through the tension the moment she entered.
The scene that greeted her made her stomach twist.
Conrad lay sprawled on the floor, his nose bloodied, lips split, and eyes half-shut in pain. His uniform was smeared with dirt from where he'd been kicked. Aika knelt beside him, gripping his hand tightly, her usually calm face hardened into a glare aimed at the hulking senior who loomed over them.
Emma, trembling with fury, stepped forward. "Ma'am!" she called, pointing at the tall boy. "That man—he insulted Aika! He tried to force her to go with him. When Conrad stopped him, he just… he just punched him! And then his friends jumped in too."
The principal's eyes narrowed. Without a word, she strode straight to the muscular boy, seized his wrist with surprising strength, and yanked him forward. "You. With me. Now."
The boy scowled but didn't resist. His three companions fell in line behind him, sneering at the students who whispered nervously from the corners.
Medics rushed in to tend to Conrad, lifting him carefully onto a stretcher. Aika refused to let go of his hand until the last possible moment, and then she and Emma followed close behind toward the hospital.
Inside the principal's office.
The door shut with a solid thunk.
The principal folded her arms, staring down the muscular student with thinly veiled disdain. "Ken Clinton. Do you have any idea how disgraceful your actions were? You barged into the canteen, insulted Aika Evergarden in front of everyone, and then beat another student bloody. Do you realize what shame you bring to your parents' names?"
Ken slumped into the chair like it belonged to him, his expression indifferent. His three companions smirked, lounging carelessly beside him.
"Who even reported me?" Ken asked, voice dripping with boredom.
The principal slammed her palm against the desk. "That's not the point! I should suspend you for three days, minimum—"
Before she could finish, Ken casually pulled out a thick wad of bills and dropped it on the desk with a dull thud. "Will this be enough?"
The room fell silent. The principal's eyes flickered to the cash. Her jaw clenched, then, with a swift motion, she locked the office door.
"…How much?" she asked, her tone low.
"Seven thousand. U.S. dollars." Ken leaned back, cleaning his ear with his pinky as if this was nothing more than a chore.
She hesitated only a moment before sighing. "Fine. But you'd better keep your arrogance in check. No school will take you if you keep this up. You've only been here a month, and already you've left chaos in your wake."
Ken rose from his chair with a cocky grin. "Yeah, yeah, message received, ma'am." He jerked his chin at his crew. "Let's go."
The four of them strutted out, laughter echoing faintly down the hallway.
Back inside, the principal slumped into her chair, interlacing her fingers in front of her mouth. A shadow crossed her face, and slowly, she smiled.
"Arrogant brat… thinking money can buy him everything. He should be grateful the times are different now. Otherwise, someone would've beaten him into the ground already." Her eyes glimmered with intrigue. "Still… I doubt it'll be long before he collides with that boy. The one his seniors still whisper about. The one they've feared since his very first year."
In the corridor, Ken slammed his fist against the wall, the sound reverberating with his frustration. "Tsk! Who the hell ratted us out?"
One of his friends shrugged nervously. "Dunno, Ken. But… it might've been those guys who passed by earlier. They didn't say a word, just kept walking."
Ken's lips curled into a dangerous grin. "Heh. Then I'll make 'em regret it."
"Tell me," Ken's voice was ice-cold, his glare sharp enough to cut glass. "Which section are they from? What are their names?"
One of his companions shifted uneasily, scratching the back of his neck. "We'll find out soon, Ken. Don't worry."
Meanwhile, Kil and his friends stepped into their classroom, only to find it empty. Their teacher was still away at a seminar.
Miggy threw an arm over Kil's shoulder, his tone half-teasing, half-serious. "Wait, Kil… you're just gonna let Aika be disrespected like that?"
Kil smiled faintly, calm but unreadable. "It's fine. I trust our principal. She's not someone to underestimate."
George leaned back against a desk, smirking. "Hah. Look at you now. You've really changed, Kil. Back in freshman year, everyone feared you. That's why I made friends with you—'cause you were the one who beat down all those seniors. That's how our little gang started."
His grin faded, replaced by a more somber expression.
"…And when we hit sophomore year… when you were just thirteen…" George's eyes darkened. "Your mom was ambushed. Killed. By rich bastards with more money than morals. I never even knew why. But after her funeral, something in you changed. Your connections spread. You became… different. Stronger. I was there when you swore you'd hunt them down."
The memory resurfaced vividly.
"George," Kil had said back then, voice low but steady, "if you get any leads, tell me immediately."
It hadn't taken long. Just a few days later, George had returned with grim news. "The day after tomorrow… the ones who killed your mom—they'll all be gathering."
That night burned itself into George's memory.
The house was enormous, laughter and music spilling out from its open windows. Inside, the men who had orchestrated the ambush were celebrating without a care in the world.
Kil stood outside the gate, his eyes lifeless, a gun hidden behind his back. The weight of it didn't seem to faze him—it was as if he had been born with vengeance carved into his hands.
George swallowed hard, but Kil's voice cut through his unease. "Wait here for me." His tone was cold, almost inhuman.
Before George could respond, Kil leapt onto the wall, vaulted over it with practiced ease, and disappeared inside.
The house was alive with noise, but Kil's steps were soundless. He moved like a shadow, slipping deeper into the mansion.
A guard appeared at the end of the hallway, a gun tucked carelessly into his waistband. Kil didn't hesitate. With a swift, precise motion, he raised his silenced pistol. Pfft! The man crumpled soundlessly.
Kil dragged the body into a nearby storeroom, but as he turned, another guard spotted him.
"Hey! What the hell are you—"
Before the guard could finish, a flower vase smashed into his face. Kil dashed forward, kicking the man upward, then slamming his fist into his jaw. The guard reeled, dazed, but Kil's gun was already pressed to his chest. Another muffled shot. Another body down.
Kil's breaths were steady—too steady for a boy of thirteen.
Without wasting time, he slipped to the basement, cutting the power. The house was swallowed by darkness.
"What's going on?!" someone shouted upstairs, panic rippling through the party.
Screams followed. Confusion. Chaos. In the shadows, Kil was merciless. One by one, the men fell, silenced before they could even beg for their lives.
When the lights flickered back on, the grand hall was littered with bodies. Only three remained—the last of his mother's killers.
Kil stepped forward, his pistol gleaming under the chandelier's light, his eyes devoid of mercy.
The night of reckoning had only just begun.
Kil stepped out of the shadows, his small frame dripping with blood, but his eyes sharp and unyielding. The three men froze, stunned at the sight of a boy who looked far too young to carry such a presence. At thirteen, Kil should have looked fragile—but in that moment, he looked more like death itself.
"It's time to settle scores," he said flatly, raising the gun without hesitation.
One of the men sneered, trying to mask his fear. "Kid, drop it. Guns aren't toys."
Kil tilted his head, his voice colder than steel. "Do I look like I'm playing?"
Before the man could draw, a muffled bang filled the room. The sneer froze on his lips as he crumpled lifelessly to the floor, a neat hole in his head.
The remaining two men stumbled back, horror written across their faces. One of them tried to speak but his words dissolved into stammers. "What… what kind of monster are you?"
Kil didn't answer. He simply stepped forward, his shoes leaving dark prints on the marble floor. He pulled the trigger again—another man fell, clutching his chest as the light left his eyes.
The last one, trembling so hard his knees gave out, collapsed against the wall. His voice cracked like dry wood. "Stop… stop this. You're just a kid! Why? Why do you kill? Don't you feel even a shred of remorse?"
Kil paused. The silence stretched, suffocating. His shadow fell over the man as he lowered his gaze, and for the first time, his voice trembled—not with doubt, but with pain.
"Remorse?" Kil's grip tightened on the gun. "Did you feel any when you killed my mother?"
The man's lips quivered, but no words came. There was only the sharp click of Kil's gun, and then the final echo of a shot that silenced everything.
Moments later, George appeared, carrying cans of gasoline. He didn't say much—he didn't need to. He simply began dousing the house while Kil stood still, staring at the bodies.
When George finished, he turned to him. "End this, Kil."
Kil pulled out a lighter, the flame flickering in his dark eyes. With a deep breath, he tossed it into the pool of gasoline. Flames roared to life, consuming the house along with the sins it held.
The two walked in silence until they reached his mother's grave. Kil finally fell to his knees, his shoulders shaking as tears slid down his cheeks. He wasn't the merciless avenger anymore. He was just a boy grieving his mother.
"George," Kil whispered, his voice breaking. "Tomorrow… I'll go back to school. I'll live as an ordinary student."
Through the tears, he smiled—a fragile, almost childish smile. George's lips curved faintly in return. "Yeah."
Kil stood, brushing his face with the back of his hand before resting it firmly on George's shoulder. "Gather everyone. There's something I need to say."
Not long after, the gang assembled in the quiet of the cemetery. Kil sat at the center, George at his side. Miggy and Napoleon arrived last, curiosity painted on their faces.
Napoleon's tone was careful. "What happened, Kil?"
Miggy smirked faintly, though his eyes were sharp. "By the look of you… it's done, isn't it?"
Kil sighed, running a hand through his hair before rising. George gestured for everyone to settle down, the murmurs fading.
Kil looked at the faces surrounding him—friends, brothers-in-arms, people who had bled for each other. Memories of fights, victories, and laughter flickered in his mind.
"In these past two years, we've crushed countless gangs," Kil began, his voice steady but soft. "We may not be famous, but what we had… it was stronger than any name. We weren't just a gang. We became a family. A shield for the oppressed. A place for people who had no one else."
A small, bittersweet smile tugged at his lips. "But… it's time to end this."
Gasps rose, but Kil pressed on, bowing his head to them. "Our gang is disbanded. From now on, I want to be nothing more than a normal student. Thank you—for fighting beside me."
For a heartbeat, silence hung heavy. Then, cheers erupted, raw and heartfelt. They weren't cries of loss, but of pride—for Kil's choice, for the boy who had carried them this far.
And in the middle of it all, Kil smiled, a weight finally lifting from his young shoulders.
[Back to the Present Time]
George leaned back against his chair, thoughts swirling. Who would've thought? A thirteen-year-old, killing like it was nothing… then living as if none of it ever happened. He let out a faint grin, more out of disbelief than amusement.
"Oi, George! What are you smiling about, huh?" Kil's voice cut in, followed by a hard punch to George's arm.
"The heck was that for?!" George snapped, rubbing his arm. "Why can't I smile without getting smacked, huh?! Kil?!" He swung back, landing his own playful hit.
"Ouch! Tch, that actually hurt." Kil laughed, and in no time the four of them were shoving and throwing light punches at each other like rowdy kids. It was just their usual way of joking around, their own brand of friendship.
By the afternoon, though, Kil had already passed out on his desk, snoring softly while George sat nearby.
"Oi, wake up, you lazy bum. Always sleeping like a grandpa," George muttered, shaking him.
"Mhm? What time is it? Are we going home already?" Kil mumbled, eyes barely open.
George scowled and gave him a shove. "It's afternoon, you idiot! Get up!"
Kil yawned, grabbed his bag, and the two of them finally headed home.
The next day, Kil slipped back into his routine—just another ordinary student. When he entered the classroom hallway, George and Miggy were already there, leaning against the wall, whispering and laughing while sneaking glances at passing girls.
"Oh, look who finally showed up," Miggy greeted with a grin.
Kil walked over, joining them just as Aika came into view, walking toward their classroom.
"There she is. Aika." George elbowed Kil. "Well? You gonna do anything?"
Kil scratched the back of his head, pretending to look uninterested.
"Don't tell me you're still chickening out. Man, I bet you didn't even make a move the last time George gave you the chance," Miggy teased, smirking.
But none of them realized someone was listening. Just a few steps away, Emma had been waiting near the adviser's desk to return a signed note. Her ears picked up every word.
"I keep telling you, Kil," George pressed on, "you should start courting Aika before someone else does. Conrad from her class saved her yesterday, y'know? Guy even got beat up by that musclehead, but still—he might just win her over."
Kil let out a small laugh, calm as always. "It's fine. There's a right time for everything. I'll confess when I'm ready. No need to rush it."
George clicked his tongue and shook his head. "Tch, you're hopeless. If someone beats you to it, don't come crying to us again." He burst out laughing, Miggy joining in.
Kil only smiled faintly, though his chest tightened at George's words.
Emma, however, had already heard enough. She finished her errand quickly, masking her expression as she left the room. The boys never noticed.
"Alright, enough chit-chat. Inside, now," their adviser called, breaking up their laughter.
Classes passed like a blur for Kil, who ended up sleeping through most of it as usual. By noon, though, Aika and Emma had gone off-campus together, deciding to grab lunch at a small restaurant nearby.
As they ate, Emma put her glass down and looked at Aika seriously. "Hey, do you remember that guy from Class 2? The one who found your book?"
Aika blinked, halfway through her food. "Huh? You mean Kil Whitlock? What about him?"
Emma hesitated for a moment, then said it straight. "I didn't mean to, but I overheard his conversation with his friends earlier… Kil likes you."
Aika froze, choking on her food. She quickly grabbed her water and gulped it down, coughing. "W-What?! No way. You must've misheard. That's… impossible, right?" Her cheeks were red, though whether from choking or embarrassment, even she wasn't sure.
Emma shook her head. "No mistake, Aika. He said it himself—that he likes you, but now isn't the right time for him to confess. What if he actually does? What would you say?"
Aika lowered her gaze, her fork pausing mid-air. "You know the type of guy I like. Someone who can stand up for me, someone strong enough to protect me from creeps or jerks who don't know their place." She let out a quiet sigh. "Kil… he's nice, sure. But I don't like how he pretends to be tougher than he is. He's always been afraid of fighting back. Everyone knows he gets bullied—and it's always his friends who save him."
Emma stayed quiet, watching her closely.
"So, if he ever confesses to me…" Aika forced a small smile, though her tone carried no warmth. "I'll reject him."
The two of them finished their meal in silence after that, then returned to school—Aika pretending nothing had changed, while Emma carried the weight of what she now knew.