The ride from our new place to Crestwood High had become a regular routine, but today, an undercurrent of tension ran through our group. We'd finally settled into the house—a place big enough for the five of us, where we could look out for each other. But the comfort of our new living situation didn't extend beyond those walls.
As we approached the school gates, the usual morning chatter was overshadowed by a more somber tone. The recent attacks on Crestwood students, targeted by some bikers, had everyone on edge. Even upperclassmen, third and second years, were being beaten or harassed. It was clear that the problem had escalated, and I couldn't shake the feeling that it might be connected to us.
When we reached the main entrance, I spotted Jake. He was standing off to the side, his eyes scanning the crowd. I knew what that look meant—he was hunting for answers. Beside him was one of his friends, a tall guy from the basketball team, and a girl who looked like she hadn't slept in days. Her puffy eyes and tense posture told me she was a recent victim of these attacks.
As Jake's gaze locked onto ours, a wave of unease crept over me. Ethan, usually the one who kept the group's energy steady, stayed silent. We both knew Jake had been watching from the start of the year — not always obvious, but always there. Things had quieted down. Until now.
"You think he knows?" Ethan asked quietly as we walked.
"Probably," I muttered. "But I don't think it's about before. Maybe it's because of what's going on now."
Jake made his way toward us, his steps deliberate. When he finally stopped in front of us, there was a moment of tense silence. The rest of our group—Zach, Owen, and Adrian—watched carefully.
"Daniel, Ethan," Jake began, his voice steady, "I need a word."
I exchanged a quick glance with Ethan before nodding. "Sure, what's up?"
Jake looked around, ensuring we had some privacy, before continuing. "You've heard what's been going on, right? Crestwood students getting jumped, beaten up, mostly at night. These guys on bikes—they're targeting us."
"We've heard," I said, keeping my tone neutral. "But why come to us?"
Jake's expression hardened. "Let's not act like I don't know who you are, Daniel. Or what you and your crew did earlier this year. The fights, the chaos—it might have died down, but I haven't forgotten. And now, this mess... It feels like it's connected."
I stayed silent, letting him continue. He might have known this for a long time then.
"One of those bastards came after someone I care about," Jake said, his voice tightening. The girl next to him lowered her head, visibly upset. "And I need to know if you've heard anything, seen anything. We've got to find these guys and shut them down."
For a moment, I didn't say anything. My mind raced back to the fight we had with that tall guy and his crew. We'd thought it was over, but clearly, it wasn't. The realization that we might have to face them again—and this time with the stakes even higher—settled heavily on my shoulders.
"We haven't seen much," I said finally. "But if we do... we'll let you know. I guess we're in this together now."
Jake nodded, his gaze lingering on me for a moment longer before he turned away. His friends followed him, leaving us standing there with the weight of his words hanging in the air.
As Jake walked away, leaving us standing there with a mix of relief and worry, I could feel the tension between us. The five of us—Ethan, Zach, Owen, Adrian, and I—exchanged uneasy glances. We knew we had to do something. If this mess with the bikers was a result of the fight we had with that tall guy and his crew, it was on us to fix it.
"Where's Ryan, Logan, and Julian?" Ethan asked, scanning the area.
Just then, Ryan jogged up, followed closely by Logan and Julian. "Hey, a lot of students were jumped yesterday—and they even took down some third-years who were planning to take them on," Ryan said, breathless but focused. "What's going on?"
I quickly filled them in. "We need to figure out who these bikers are and where they're coming from. We can't let this keep happening."
Ethan nodded, his expression as serious as I felt. "We'll start tonight. We should split up and cover different areas around Crestwood and that old warehouse near 7th and Broad. That place has always been sketchy."
With that, we went to our respective classes, deciding to meet later in the evening.
When evening came, Logan, ever the strategist, chimed in, "We should stick to the shadows, keep our distance. We don't want them catching wind of us snooping around."
Julian added, "And we should make sure to stay in contact. If we see anything suspicious, we let each other know right away."
Ryan tried to lighten the mood, though his grin was half-hearted. "A little recon mission? Sounds like fun."
The tension didn't fade, but at least we were united in purpose.
"Let's meet back here after a couple of hours," I suggested. "We'll share what we find."
With our plan set, we all went our separate ways as the sun began to set. The night was ours, and we were determined to get some answers.
The hours dragged on, the tension growing with every step we took. By the time we regrouped, we had what we needed. We met up in a quiet alley near Crestwood, all of us on edge.
"We found it," I said, keeping my voice low. "That warehouse near 7th and Broad. It's where they're staying."
Adrian, who'd been on the lookout at the warehouse, spoke up next. "There's at least a dozen of them, probably more. These guys aren't just random troublemakers—they're organized."
The weight of what we'd discovered settled in. This wasn't just about a few bullies; it was something bigger, something we couldn't ignore.
"We need to tell Jake," Ethan suggested. "This is way bigger than just us."
I nodded, knowing he was right. We couldn't handle this alone.
The next day, we met up with Jake again, this time in a secluded spot behind the school. Jake had brought along some second and third years, guys who looked just as serious and ready as we were.
"We found their hangout," I started, laying out everything we'd seen. "It's a warehouse near 7th and Broad. They're not just some random gang—they've got a setup."
Jake listened, taking it all in. Then he nodded. "We can't wait. If we don't stop them now, things are only going to get worse."
We spent the next hour hammering out a plan. First, we had to make sure no one was walking home alone at night, especially in their Crestwood uniforms. That was just asking for trouble.
"We'll meet again tomorrow night," Jake said, his voice carrying the weight of the situation. "And this time, we'll be ready."
The sun dipped below the horizon the next day, and the air was thick with anticipation. Ethan, Zach, Owen, Adrian, Ryan, Logan, Julian, and I met up, each of us ready in our own way. Whether it was a bit of makeshift gear, something to defend ourselves with, or just a grim determination, we were all set.
Other students gathered too—second and third years who, just a few days ago, wouldn't have given us the time of day. But now, we were united by a common cause. All those stupid rivalries and high school drama were forgotten. This was about something bigger.
"Ready?" I asked, looking at each of my friends.
"Let's do this," Ethan replied, and the others nodded, their resolve mirroring my own.
Together, we stepped into the night, ready to confront the bikers and put an end to the attacks on our school.
We moved in loosely separated groups, careful not to draw attention. There were at least twenty of us, including second and third years, all determined to settle this once and for all. The night air was thick with tension as we made our way towards the warehouse. The streets were quieter than usual, the kind of quiet that makes you feel like something is about to happen.
As we turned down the alley leading to the warehouse, Ryan, who was grouped with Owen, Adrian, and Logan, suddenly called out to us. We quickly converged around him, our footsteps echoing softly in the narrow space.
"Something's off," Ryan muttered, his eyes narrowing as he pointed ahead. "They're leaving—without their motorcycles."
Sure enough, a group of guys, the same ones we'd pegged as part of the biker gang, were walking away from the warehouse on foot. Jake, who had been unusually quiet, spoke up. "We should follow them. It could be a trap, but it's also our best shot at settling this."
We didn't hesitate. Splitting up into smaller groups, we followed the bikers down different alleyways, keeping our distance but close enough not to lose them. The further we went, the more it felt like we were walking into something bigger than we'd imagined. Along the way, we spotted more guys—some older, some our age—all heading in the same direction. It felt like every shadow held a secret, and the darkened night only added to the sense of foreboding.
The alleyways finally led us to a sprawling, dimly lit area that seemed to stretch on forever. The faint hum of distant voices reached our ears as we approached a massive, worn-down godown surrounded by high fences. The old, weathered building loomed ahead, its rusty walls barely holding together under the weight of time. Bright lights spilled out from its large windows, cutting through the darkness and illuminating the path before us.
We all paused, taking in the sight. The bikers we had been following disappeared into the crowd that had gathered outside the godown. There were far more people here than we had anticipated—hundreds of guys grouped together, some with matching outfits that marked them as part of different crews. The tension in the air was palpable, the low murmur of voices punctuated by the occasional shout or laugh.
"What's going on here?" Owen whispered, his eyes scanning the crowd.
Jake, his jaw clenched tight, didn't answer immediately. Instead, he motioned for us to stick together and find a spot where we could observe without being noticed. "Let's move," he said quietly. "We need to figure out what this is before we do anything."
We weaved through the throng of people, trying to blend in while keeping an eye out for anything suspicious. The inside of the godown was just as packed as the outside, with more people crammed into the space than I could count. The flickering lights overhead cast long, distorted shadows on the walls, adding to the eerie atmosphere.
Ryan, who was usually the first to crack a joke, was unusually quiet, his expression mirroring the rest of ours—tense and focused. As we moved deeper into the building, the crowd seemed to part for a group of older guys, all in their early twenties. They exuded an air of authority, and the way the crowd reacted to them made it clear these were the ones in charge.
"They're the ones running the show," Zach muttered under his breath, his gaze locked on the newcomers.
Jake nodded, his eyes narrowing as he observed the group. "Stay sharp," he whispered. "We don't know who we're dealing with yet."
Suddenly, Adrian nudged me and pointed to a corner of the room. "There they are," he said, his voice barely audible.
I followed his gaze and saw the tall guy from the earlier fight, surrounded by about thirty others dressed in black and red striped outfits. They stood together, radiating a confidence that made it clear they were not just some random gang. These were the ones who had been causing us trouble, but now, it seemed, they were part of something much larger.
"Are these the guys who've been attacking us?" Jake asked, his voice low and dangerous.
"We're not sure," I replied, keeping my voice steady despite the knot forming in my stomach. "But they didn't have those outfits before. Maybe they're connected to the bikers, or maybe they're just a part of this whole thing."
Jake stared at them for a long moment, his expression unreadable. "Whatever it is, this is bigger than we thought. We need to be careful. No sudden moves, and keep your heads down."
The night had taken a turn we hadn't expected, and as we stood there, surrounded by strangers and potential enemies, the reality of our situation began to sink in. We weren't just dealing with a simple rivalry anymore. This was something else—something dangerous and much larger than us.
As we waited in the shadows, watching and listening, I couldn't shake the feeling that we were in over our heads. But there was no turning back now. We were committed, and whatever was coming, we would face it together.
The flickering lights above us dimmed slightly, casting the room in an even more ominous glow. The sound of footsteps echoed through the space, and the crowd hushed as if waiting for something to happen. All we could do was wait and see what unfolded, hoping that we had the strength and numbers to get through whatever was about to come our way.
The tension in the room was palpable as we stood there, trying to blend in, but it was clear that our presence hadn't gone unnoticed.
Ryan and Julian exchanged nervous glances, and I could see the unease spreading through our group. Ryan's voice, usually so steady, was barely above a whisper as he leaned in close.
"Guys, this is something we can't put our heads in… it's James Donovan."
The name hit like a punch to the gut. Some of the third years, Logan and even Jake, went rigid, their eyes widening in recognition. I could feel the shift in the atmosphere—whatever we had walked into was far bigger than we'd realized. I caught the nervous glances being exchanged, but it was clear that some of us had no clue who this guy was.
Zach, confused like the rest of us, asked, "Who is it?"
Ryan swallowed hard before answering. "James Donovan… He's the guy who united this city by taking down every other crew with his own—'Shadow Legion.' He's their leader. He used to take down bad guys in the area, so this might not be what we think it is, or… maybe it's worse."
Before anyone could react, a voice cut through our murmuring, demanding attention. A guy with an athletic build and an air of authority stepped forward. His neatly styled dark hair complemented a sharp jawline, and his intense brown eyes scanned the room with a mix of determination and mischief. His presence was commanding, and it was clear that this was James Donovan himself.
"Is there a new group here? Because it seems our numbers are increasing," he said, his voice casual yet filled with an underlying power that silenced the entire room.
The description Ryan had given suddenly felt all too real. This wasn't just some rumor or exaggerated story; James Donovan was a force to be reckoned with, and we were in way over our heads. Jake's earlier warnings echoed in my mind—we needed to avoid doing anything dumb, but now it seemed we were trapped in a situation that had already spiraled out of control.
The atmosphere in the room shifted—heavy, expectant. Conversations quieted, and all eyes subtly turned toward James. It was then I noticed the pattern, the unspoken rhythm unfolding before us. One by one, crew leaders stepped forward, each carrying a sealed envelope or a bundle of cash. They didn't toss it his way or hand it off casually—no, they offered it directly, with a nod or lowered gaze. This wasn't just about money.
It was a ritual of power. A silent transaction that screamed loyalty, fear, and control. James wasn't just collecting dues—he was reminding everyone exactly who held the reins in this room. And judging by the expressions around us, the money being passed was tied to something far more calculated—and far more dangerous—than we'd imagined.
One of James's guys, a lean but muscular figure with an intense gaze, stood beside him, checking off names on a list as each leader approached. As the line thinned out, the whispers started. People were beginning to notice that our group hadn't made a move to step forward.
"Who are they?" someone muttered, their voice carrying just enough for James's guy to hear.
"you guys?" he asked, his tone carrying an edge of suspicion.
All eyes turned toward us, and I could feel the weight of the room's attention bearing down on us. Even James had stopped what he was doing to look our way, his expression unreadable.
Then the tall guy gave a quick glance our way, a controlled grin tugging at his lips as he gestured toward us. "Ah… these are the ones from Crestwood High. They're the ones who clashed with my crew back in Springdale."
James's curiosity seemed piqued as he motioned for the crowd to part, creating a path directly to us. The sea of people moved aside, and we found ourselves standing in a cleared space with James and his group focused solely on us.
"Crestwood High?" James said, his voice laced with amusement. "I thought I should avoid you guys since you were nerds, and collecting money from students whose parents are in high positions would make things complicated for me. But it seems there are some thugs among you who beat up people."
My heart pounded in my chest, but I forced myself to take a step forward, standing in front of our group. I knew I had to diffuse this situation before it escalated. Keeping my voice calm and measured, I said, "No, we only found out who you were when we got here. We just wanted to find out who was causing us trouble at school. We followed them and ended up here. We're no thugs; we just wanted to sort things out before it got worse."
Jake, who had been quiet up until now, pinched my arm in frustration, clearly unhappy with my attempt at diplomacy. The tension between us was palpable, but before I could react, Ethan stepped up beside me, offering silent support.
James studied us for a moment, his eyes sharp and calculating. "So, who were the guys causing you trouble? It's been a while since I've seen a real fight. Let's settle it here."
His words hit like a bombshell. This was not what I had expected, and from the look on Jake's face, he had seen this coming. Zach, trying to maintain some semblance of control, stepped forward and said, "It was some guys who settled in the warehouse near 7th and Broad. But we just want to talk things out, not fight."
But it was too late. The glances exchanged across the room spoke volumes, and soon, the biker gang we had followed here came forward. One of them, a guy with a leather jacket and a smug expression, spoke up, "Ashen told us to do it," he said, turning to James and pointing toward the tall guy.
The realization hit me like a ton of bricks. We had walked straight into a trap, and it was clear now that our school had been dragged into something far bigger than we had ever imagined. The weight of the situation pressed down on me, and I turned to Jake and the other upperclassmen, ready to apologize for dragging them into this mess. But they didn't falter, and they didn't even look at me. They knew, just like I did, that this was bigger than us—and maybe, just maybe, they had known all along that we were stepping into something we couldn't control.
The tall guy, Ashen, stood at ease, hands clasped behind his back, his gaze fixed on James, awaiting orders. James, however, took his time, glancing around the room as if savoring the tension that thickened the air. His eyes finally settled on me, and a smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth.
"Why don't you guys settle this here?" he suggested, his voice carrying a challenge that couldn't be ignored. "Ashen and his crew can fight for revenge, and you Crestwood kids… well, you'll fight for survival. If you lose, you'll be the ones collecting money from your classmates and handing it to me personally."
His words hit like a sledgehammer. Collecting money from our classmates? The shock was clear on everyone's faces. Ryan, leaned in and whispered urgently, "We shouldn't resist. If we fight them for real, it's going to be a bigger problem. They won't let us go easily, and if we go up against them—against tall guy's crew and the biker gang—we're talking about nearly forty people. Confronting them is like digging our own graves."
A knot tightened in my stomach, but I knew I had to be the one to end this. I couldn't let our schoolmates suffer because of us. I took a deep breath, forcing the nerves down, and spoke with determination, "We're just students who stood up for our school. We didn't want this, but if the alternative is making our classmates suffer, then we'll fight. And we'll fight to win."
I turned to Ryan, lowering my voice, "Numbers were never our strength, Ryan. It's what we stand for that matters."
Everyone nodded in agreement, the fear still present but overshadowed by resolve.
Facing James, I continued, "Even though I don't care about the numbers, I don't want a fight that turns into chaos with this many people. Let's make this a decent fight. I propose a one-on-one—two of their top fighters against us. The last one standing wins."
James chuckled, clearly enjoying the situation. "Wow, this is getting interesting," he said, his eyes glinting with amusement. "Let me guess. You don't want your friends getting beaten, so you plan to fight each of them and stand as the only one left, right? Impossible. Your mind may be willing, but your body won't fulfill that resolve."
My friends protested immediately. No one wanted me to fight alone, and Jake even stepped forward, insisting he'd fight. I looked at them with a reassuring smile. "Have I ever looked like I'd fall before thrashing them all down?" I asked, keeping my voice calm and confident.
Turning back to James, I added, "I'll fight. But if I win, you have to make sure they stop."
James leaned forward, clearly entertained. "I'll ensure they won't bother you again—if you win."
With that, I stepped forward, the crowd parting to form a makeshift ring. The first to face me was the leather jacket guy from the biker gang, his face twisted into a smirk as if he already considered the fight won. The atmosphere shifted—cheers erupted from the crowd, and James leaned back in his chair, settling in to watch the spectacle.
I glanced back at my friends. Their expressions were tense, eyes filled with concern. Zack, trying to break the tension, gave me a thumbs up with a cheeky grin. I returned a small smile, but quickly steeled my expression. I didn't want them to expect too much, but I also didn't want them to worry.
The biker stepped forward, throwing a quick jab aimed at my face. I dodged instinctively, my body moving on its own. Without missing a beat, I countered with a hook punch, but he blocked it with ease. We traded blows for a few moments, each of us testing the other's strength and reflexes.
Then I saw an opening—a slight hesitation in his stance. I pivoted on my heel and delivered a powerful spinning kick to his side, hitting him square in the ribs. He grunted in pain, staggering back, but I didn't give him a chance to recover. I followed up with a push kick to his chest, knocking him off balance, and then drove my fist into his jaw with all the force I could muster. He hit the ground hard, out cold.
The crowd fell silent for a moment, shocked that their "best fighter" had been taken down so quickly. I turned back to my friends, a grin spreading across my face. Ethan smirked back, and Jake's eyes widened in surprise. I could feel the adrenaline coursing through my veins. I had started this, and it was my responsibility to see it through.
Ashen stepped forward next. Calm. Unshaken. He looked like he'd expected all this, and somehow, that quiet confidence made my heart pound even harder.
I launched a powerful kick to his chest—same move as before—but he didn't dodge it. Didn't even try to block. He just took it full force and doubled over slightly.
"Ouch," he said with a wince. "Didn't expect you to use the same kick again."
I didn't answer. I didn't know what kind of guy he was or what tricks he was hiding. But he kept smiling—like he was waiting for something, like he wanted me to speak.
Instead, I threw a punch. He dodged it easily, but I followed up immediately with my other fist—this one landed. His body jerked back. He was spitting like there was blood in his mouth.
I'd never seen him fight—not even back in Springdale. I didn't know his style, his strengths... nothing. He barely moved much, just paced around like he was playing a different game. And even when I tried to end it, he always had a way out.
So I charged him—went in unpredictable, hoping that would work. But just as I moved, he suddenly stepped in too, catching me off guard. Still, I was already mid-air—and my kick landed clean, sending him crashing down with a thud and a low grunt.
He let out a sigh—clearly annoyed. He scratched his head as he stood, then smiled at me like he hadn't just been fighting all this time.
Then came the switch.
He smirked slightly, then launched a roundhouse kick straight at my head. I barely ducked, the wind brushing my cheek. I didn't even see it coming. His movements had changed—fast, sharp. This wasn't the guy who just stood there smiling.
I tried a back kick. He dodged and tackled me, taking me down for a second. That's when I realized—this wasn't the same guy anymore. I was fighting someone real now.
The fight turned brutal. Ashen's reflexes were insane—refined like he'd been through actual battles. He moved smooth, confident, dangerous. He came at me with a flurry of punches and kicks. I blocked what I could, dodged what I couldn't, and hit back whenever I found an opening.
We were trading real hits now—flesh meeting flesh, the thud of impact echoing. He was relentless. So was I.
I landed a kick to his chest—hard enough to push him back. He came right back with a punch that scraped my cheek. I barely felt it. The rush drowned out the pain.
Something changed in his eyes then—just for a second. A flicker of hesitation.
I didn't let it go to waste. I feinted a punch and drove my knee into his ribs. He staggered, grunting. I spun, driving my heel into his temple with a hook kick. He didn't see it coming. He hit the ground hard.
He lay there for a beat, one hand pressing the floor, breath shaky—but his eyes were still sharp, still watching me.
I stayed where I was, chest heaving, not moving in closer. Not out of fear. That fall wasn't weakness—it was a choice to stop.
I stood there, breathing heavily, adrenaline still surging through my veins. The crowd was silent, stunned by what they had just witnessed.
James, who had been watching with growing interest, finally stood up. His smirk was gone, replaced by a look of grudging respect. "You've won," he said simply, his voice heavy with a reluctant acknowledgment. "I'll make sure they leave you alone."
The air was thick with the aftermath of the fight, the adrenaline still pumping through my veins. I don't know if it was the rush of victory or something deeper—something that had been festering inside me for a long time—but the words spilled out before I could stop them.
"I heard you were the hero who unified this city," I said, my voice cutting through the silence. "The one who fought against the bad guys. But now, you're just a guy who collects money from people—a bad guy, just like the ones you fought against. There's no difference between you and them."
As soon as the last word left my mouth, a blur of movement caught my eye. A leg came out of nowhere, slamming into my side with brutal force. Pain exploded through my ribs, and I staggered backward, gasping for breath. It was James. His face was a mask of cold fury as he grabbed my collar, lifting me off my feet. His grip was like iron, and he leaned in close, his eyes boring into mine with an intensity that made my blood run cold.
"You've got a big mouth," he hissed, his voice low and dangerous. For a moment, I thought he might just finish me off right there.
But then, out of nowhere, Jake's fist connected with James's jaw, the impact resonating with a sickening thud. James's grip on my collar loosened, and he stumbled back, caught off guard by the sudden attack. Jake, usually the quiet one, the one who always tried to avoid conflict, had just punched the guy who everyone feared. The resolve in Jake's eyes was something I hadn't seen before, a determination born out of desperation.
Jake stepped between me and James, his stance protective, defiant. Ethan and Ryan rushed to my side, their hands gripping my shoulders as if trying to steady me. But I shook them off, forcing myself to stand tall. My body was screaming in pain, but I refused to show it. I couldn't afford to fall, not now, not in front of my friends, not in front of James.
"Stay out of this, Jake," I muttered, trying to catch my breath. "This is between me and him."
Jake didn't budge. "No way, man," he shot back, his voice firm. "Don't you remember Daniel, you said we're in this together."
James, regaining his composure, wiped the blood from the corner of his mouth. He looked at Jake, then at me, and then back at Jake. For a moment, I thought I saw a flicker of something in his eyes—respect, maybe, or something close to it. But it was gone in an instant, replaced by that cold, calculating stare.
"You think you can take me on, all of you?" James sneered, taking a step forward.
The tension in the air was palpable, like the calm before a storm. My friends were ready to fight, even though they knew they were outmatched. And me? I wasn't sure how much more I had left in me, but I knew one thing: I wasn't going to back down.
The pain was everywhere—sharp, hot, and deep like fire in my bones. My arms didn't even feel like they belonged to me anymore. My legs? Heavy. Almost numb. But through the haze, through the blur of blood and sweat, I saw them.
Ryan. Logan. Ethan. Zach. Julian. Owen. Adrian.
My friends. My crew. My people.
They were fighting—fighting like hell. All in their own ways. Logan was swinging like a madman, Zach was relentless with his grapples, Ethan moved with that deadly precision he always had. But one by one, I saw them fall. Some crashed hard, others staggered, but every single one of them got back up. Again and again. Like it was the only thing they knew how to do.
And then… it was my turn.
I didn't think. My body moved before my brain caught up. I launched at James. Every muscle screamed. I didn't care. I had nothing left to lose.
My kicks landed—barely—but he was still there. Standing. Unshaken. He was too strong, too fast. I don't even remember the hit that dropped me, but I tasted blood and concrete at the same time. My chest was caving in, like the world had collapsed on it. I tried to breathe. Failed. Tried again.
I couldn't move. Not really. But then—
Jake.
He was still standing.
Jake, who had never been the fighter. Jake, who got knocked down more than anyone. Jake, who kept standing back up like he had to.
And James... he noticed.
"Why do you keep getting up?" James asked, like he genuinely wanted to know. "What's your resolve?"
Jake didn't even hesitate.
"Because I brought all of them into this mess," he said. His voice cracked. He was barely holding on. "It's my responsibility to make sure they're okay."
Those words hit me harder than any punch had. It was like someone yanked my heart back into rhythm. That was Jake—always the quiet one, always feeling more than he let on. He wasn't fighting to prove anything. He was fighting for us.
He didn't want any of us to be hurt.
That's why he punched James when he grabbed me.
That's why he kept getting up.
Damn it, Jake.
I groaned and pushed myself up. Every bone in my body begged me to stop. My ribs were on fire. My legs wobbled beneath me like broken stilts. But I didn't care.
I wasn't going to let him fight alone.
I wasn't going to let him carry that guilt.
And somewhere in all that pain, something else woke up in me—something colder, sharper. A quiet, seething anger.
James had his back turned.
Big mistake.
I didn't even think. I just ran. My legs moved like they knew what to do before I did. I jumped—mid-air—and drove my knee straight into his head just as he wound back to hit Jake.
The hit landed clean.
He stumbled. Off balance. Caught off guard.
I landed right in front of him—shirtless, blood trickling down my cheek, my chest heaving. My eyes locked on his. I didn't say anything at first.
Then I turned to Jake.
My voice came out low, steady.
"Stay out of this."
He looked at me—surprised. Maybe hurt. But he nodded.
He stepped back.
ETHAN
I was on the ground, pain shooting through every inch of my body. I could barely move, but I forced myself to stay conscious, my vision blurring in and out. That's when I saw him—Daniel, standing up again.
Blood smeared his face, his shirt was gone, and there was something terrifyingly calm about the way he moved. I'd seen Daniel angry before, seen him fight with everything he had, but this… this was different. There was no emotion on his face, nothing that gave away what he was thinking or feeling. It was like he had shut off everything that made him Daniel and had become something else entirely. Far worse from the raged Daniel from Finals.
He took a step forward, his eyes locked on James, who was just starting to regain his balance. I couldn't help but feel a shiver run down my spine. This wasn't the same Daniel who smiled and lightened the mood. This was someone else—someone cold, calculating, and dangerous.
Daniel's voice, when it came, was devoid of anything warm. "If I win against you," he said, his tone icy, "you're going to stop this. No more collecting money."
James, for a moment, seemed stunned by the sheer audacity of Daniel's demand. But then he smirked, a challenge flashing in his eyes. I knew that look all too well; it was the same look he gave when he was about to crush someone.
The air around them seemed to thicken, the tension growing with every passing second. And then, Daniel moved.
His kicks were a blur—fast, powerful, and relentless. Each one connected with a precision that was almost inhuman. It was like he had become a machine, his movements cold and calculated. But James wasn't easy to take down. His strength was brutal, and he countered with raw power that kept Daniel on the edge.
With each exchange, Daniel's fighting style seemed to change, adapting to James's moves, reading him like a book. But no matter how well he fought, James was just too strong. And then, it happened—James caught him off guard and thrashed him to the ground.
My breath caught in my throat as I watched James pin Daniel down, his fists raining down on him with merciless force. Daniel's face remained emotionless, but I could see his eyes betraying him, tears mixing with the blood on his face. It was painful to watch, and I wanted to do something—anything—to help, but I was too weak, too broken.
Then, just as suddenly as it had started, James stopped. He looked down at Daniel, his expression unreadable. "Enough," he said, his voice steady—low, almost weary—but there was something softer beneath it. Something like respect.
James stood up, turning to look at the fallen Daniel, who was still trying to get up despite the beating he'd just taken. "When you fought against Ashen and the other, you were like a kid," James said, his tone thoughtful. "Eager for attention, trying to look cool with those kicks no one else could do. But when you fought against me… there was something else behind your punches. A weight, a purpose that you didn't have before. You were fighting for something you couldn't lose."
There was a pause, and then James's eyes darkened. "I'm the same as you. You see me collecting money, but you don't know the whole story. I had a lot to lose too—that's why I couldn't afford to lose."
His words hung in the air, heavy with meaning, and for the first time, I saw a flicker of something in James's eyes—something almost like understanding.
DANIEL
The sound of James's words echoed in my head, but it was like I was hearing them through water—muffled, distant. My chest heaved, each breath burning as if my lungs were on fire. My hands trembled, still clenched into fists, ready to strike, but there was no need anymore. The rage that had fueled me moments ago was slowly fading, leaving a cold emptiness in its place.
I stared at James, trying to process what he'd just said. The idea that he was fighting for something he couldn't lose, just like I was, hit me harder than any punch he'd thrown. I wanted to keep hating him, to keep seeing him as the enemy, but something in his eyes stopped me. There was no arrogance left, no smugness—just a strange understanding, like he'd seen something in me that even I didn't recognize.
As the adrenaline ebbed away, so did the fire inside me. I felt the full weight of what had just happened pressing down on me like a ton of bricks. My friends were hurt, lying on the ground because of a fight I'd dragged them into. A fight I could've avoided if I hadn't let my anger get the better of me.
The realization hit me like a sucker punch. I'd been so focused on proving a point, on not backing down, that I'd put everyone at risk. And for what? To show James that he wasn't the only one who could fight? To satisfy some twisted sense of pride? I could feel the shame creeping in, a bitter taste in my mouth that no amount of blood could wash away.
My gaze flicked to Jake, who was still standing despite everything, his face bruised and battered, but his resolve unbroken. He'd been fighting for us, for all of us, even when I couldn't see it. When James grabbed me, Jake didn't hesitate to step in, taking blows that should've been mine. And here I was, letting my own pride blind me to the people who mattered most.
I took a shaky breath, trying to steady myself as I looked back at James. He was still watching me, that strange look in his eyes, like he was waiting for something. Maybe he expected me to keep fighting, to push him until one of us couldn't get up. But I couldn't do that—not anymore.
"I…" The words caught in my throat, and I had to force them out. "I was wrong. I didn't see the bigger picture, and I let my anger get the better of me. I shouldn't have dragged everyone into this."
James didn't say anything at first, just watched me with that unreadable expression. But then, to my surprise, he smiled—not the smirk I was used to, but a warm, genuine smile that I'd never seen on his face before. It was like the weight of the fight had lifted from his shoulders too.
"Apology accepted," he said, his voice softening in a way that stunned everyone around us, even his own crew. The tension in the air seemed to evaporate as his words sank in. "Let's get out of here."
His tone was light, almost casual, but the impact of his words was anything but. I nodded, the anger that had driven me now completely gone, replaced by a weary acceptance. I knew this was the best outcome—for everyone.
James turned to his crew, his smile still lingering, and I could see the shock on their faces. They were just as surprised as I was, maybe even more. But no one questioned him, no one argued. They simply followed his lead as he started to walk away, leaving the fight behind.
I looked back at my friends, each of them slowly getting to their feet, bruised and battered but alive. I could see the relief in their eyes, the understanding that we'd come through this together, even if it wasn't the way I'd planned.
As we started to leave, I couldn't help but glance back at James one last time. He met my gaze and gave me a small nod—a silent acknowledgment that this fight was over, and that maybe, just maybe, we'd both learned something from it.
For the first time in a long time, I felt the tight knot of anger in my chest begin to loosen. Maybe I didn't have to fight every battle with my fists. Maybe there was another way—a way that didn't put the people I cared about at risk.
But that was a thought for another day. Right now, all I wanted was to get out of here, to leave this fight behind and focus on what really mattered: my friends, and the bonds we'd forged through all this chaos.
I couldn't shake the feeling that this wasn't the end—just a new beginning.
We walked in silence, a bruised and battered group, making our way back to Crestwood High. The air was thick with unspoken frustration, everyone wearing an unsatisfied smile that barely masked the weight of what had just happened. The fight with James lingered in our minds, a harsh reminder that we hadn't done enough. Jake and his second-year crew were alongside us, a few third-years trailing behind, all of us united by the sting of our collective shortcomings.
The pain from the fight was still fresh, but it wasn't just the physical wounds that hurt—it was the realization that we hadn't been strong enough, that we'd let ourselves down. Each of us carried that weight in our own way, our thoughts heavy with what we could've done differently.
I looked around at my friends, their faces reflecting the same mix of emotions. Ethan was limping slightly, his expression dark. Ryan, was oddly subdued, his usual sharp wit dulled by the weight of the moment. Julian, normally the joker, was uncharacteristically quiet, his usual light heartedness replaced by a thoughtful frown. Logan, was visibly frustrated, his hands clenched into tight fists. Zach, who was usually more focused, was lost in thought, his brow furrowed. Owen, was staring at the ground, his confidence shaken. And Adrian, always the supportive one, was unusually silent, his gaze distant.
The atmosphere was thick with tension, the silence oppressive. I knew we couldn't go on like this, not if we wanted to move forward.
As we continued walking, I couldn't shake the curiosity gnawing at me. James had surprised me today—not just with his strength, but with the way he'd ultimately backed down. There was a story there, something more than just another schoolyard fight.
I broke the silence, turning to Ryan. "What's the real story with James? He's not just some random thug, is he?"
Ryan looked up, his expression thoughtful. "No, he's not. James and his crew used to be the ones ruling Brookhaven. They were unbeatable, but then he disappeared. Some people said he joined another crew, took on a new position. Others thought he just left it all behind."
He paused, a glimmer of amusement lighting up his eyes as if he'd just made a connection. "It's kind of like the Legend of Gideon Cross. Remember him? The guy who unified the Brookhaven and the nearby cities when he was just in his third year? He fought different crews, and his moves were so advanced that his opponents struggled before the fight even started. He was a force to be reckoned with—like some kind of myth."
Adrian, who had been quiet until now, suddenly perked up. "Gideon Cross? I heard some guys talking about him earlier—saying you, Daniel, might be following in his footsteps. They said your moves reminded them of his. I didn't get it at the time, but now it makes sense."
I frowned, trying to process what they were saying. Another name, another legend dropped into conversation. "Gideon Cross, huh?" I said, looking over at Ryan, who was quickly becoming the group's unofficial historian.
Ryan nodded enthusiastically. "Yeah, he was this legendary figure who seemed to come out of nowhere, fought his way to the top, and then just disappeared. No one ever recognized his school uniform or knew where he came from, but he was unbeatable. They say his skills with his legs were unmatched—kind of like you, Daniel. You use your legs a lot in fights, just like he did."
Then Ryan's eyes widened as if something just clicked. "Wait a minute... is your father Gideon Cross? Are you his son? Because, man, he was definitely around during my father's high school years!"
Everyone turned to look at me, their expressions a mix of curiosity and disbelief. I could tell they were half-joking, but I could also see they were intrigued by the idea.
I rolled my eyes, smiling to lighten the mood. "There's a 0% chance that my father is Gideon Cross. I know my mother well—she wouldn't marry someone like that." I paused, realizing what I'd just said. "Not that I don't trust my father. His name's Evan Carter, and he's nothing like the guy you're describing. What you see in me is more the result of hard work and training than genetics. I'm just trying not to break my hands by punching guys like James, who wouldn't go down even if I hit them with a motorcycle."
The group chuckled, the tension easing as they smiled at my attempt to lighten the mood.
"But, yeah," I added, "it would've been cool if my father was someone like Gideon Cross. Still, I love my dad just the way he is, no comments on that."
As we continued walking, the name Gideon Cross kept flickering through our conversation. There was something about the legend that captivated everyone, something about the idea of a lone fighter taking on the world and winning.
Jake and his friends from the second years were a few steps ahead, talking quietly among themselves, while some third-years trailed behind, still processing everything that had happened. My friends—Ryan, Julian, and Logan—would soon part ways and head home, leaving me, Ethan, Zach, Owen, and Adrian to walk the last stretch together.
Owen, who had been silent most of the way, finally spoke up. "You know, Daniel, if you keep fighting like that, people might start thinking you really are related to that Gideon Cross guy."
I laughed, shaking my head. "Nah, I'm just trying to make it through Crestwood High without getting expelled. But thanks for the vote of confidence, Owen."
Ethan, limping beside me, grinned despite the pain. "Still, it's a hell of a story. Gideon Cross, Daniel Carter—has a nice ring to it."
"Maybe," I said, smiling as I looked at my friends. "But I'd rather just be known as the guy who sticks by his friends, no matter what."
And with that, the tension that had hung over us like a cloud finally began to lift. We were still bruised, still battered, but we were together. And as we walked back to Crestwood High, I knew that whatever challenges lay ahead, we'd face them as a team.