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Chapter 2: The Red-Haired Incident (A.K.A. The Day I Died With Honor?)
Leon POV
Let me just start by saying: you never, ever, want to see the words "meet me in the bathroom" scribbled with the urgency of a ransom note. But that's exactly the nightmare reality I was living in.
As the final whistle blew, signaling the end of P.E. (and my short-lived dodgeball redemption arc), my body collapsed on the gym floor like a used tissue. The gym cleared out. Coach Johnson yelled something motivational like, "Get off the floor, Lion, you look like roadkill," before waddling off to his office.
I stayed there for a moment longer, catching my breath. That's when I remembered the note.
> [LION U_ME_TOILET AFTER P.E!]
[xoxo…XANDER]
Yeah. Nothing says friendly catch-up like death threats in crayon.
Dragging my bruised ego—and possibly cracked ribs—I limped my way to the boy's bathroom. The hallway was suspiciously empty, as if the universe itself had agreed I needed privacy for the upcoming trauma.
I pushed the door open. The fluorescent lights buzzed with disdain. A lone sink dripped like a countdown to disaster. And in the far corner, just as expected, was the menace himself: Xander.
Arms crossed. Shirt slightly lifted to show abs that had no business being on an 18-year-old. Beside him, his loyal backup dancers—Goon #1 and Goon #2.
"Took your sweet time, Lion," Xander said, cracking his knuckles like some B-movie villain.
I tried to swallow my fear, but my throat was drier than an overbaked turkey.
"You said after P.E. I'm a man of punctuality," I muttered.
He stepped forward, smirking like he was auditioning for a teen drama. "You really think you're funny, don't you? Mr. Quippy. Mr. Hair-Gel. Mr. 'I didn't totally humiliate the alpha during dodgeball.'"
"I tripped over a shoe. YOUR shoe. That you intentionally threw at my face."
"Exactly! You should've tripped better."
And before I could blink, Xander shoved me hard against the tiled wall. My shoulder hit the cold ceramic like a sack of potatoes. A lesser man would've wept. I—being me—absolutely wept.
Goon #1 stepped up. "You got somethin' to say, Lion?"
"Yes. Hygiene. You might want to Google it."
Boom. Another shove.
My backpack spilled open. Textbooks, snacks, and—oh no. My banana. It rolled dramatically across the floor like a martyr.
Xander picked it up, eyed it, and took a bite.
"Delicious. Just like your funeral's gonna be."
This was it. My coming-of-age moment where I discover hidden courage and sock him in the jaw, right?
Wrong.
I raised a finger and said the bravest thing I could muster:
"Please don't beat me up in front of the urinals. I have standards."
He laughed.
Which was weird.
Until he punched me.
Right in the stomach.
I doubled over. The pain was excruciating, like someone had uppercutted my soul.
"Oof!"
That was the sound my body made as it gracefully crashed through a flimsy stall door like a ragdoll in a Michael Bay movie. My spine kissed cold ceramic, and my face smooshed into something... soft?
Squishy. Warm. Kinda jellyfish-like.
"KYAAA!"
That was not the sound of a dignified male human.
No. That was the shriek of something sacred being defiled.
And right then—right before blacking out—I saw it.
Flaming red hair.
Green eyes filled with trauma.
And just maybe... just maybe... a glimpse of black lace panties.
But who's keeping score?
PAH!
My brain disconnected. Lights out. Dignity? Evaporated.
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??? POV – A Few Minutes Before the pathetic KO
'God, I can't believe that idiot. What's with him and always trying to get laid? I'm not doing that with you behind the vending machine, Brad.'
Mary Jane Watson stormed down the hall, cheeks puffed, heels clicking, her internal monologue louder than the school bell. She was a walking contradiction—Disney princess looks, but with the emotional patience of a scorned RPG boss fight.
Red hair that danced in waves. Emerald eyes that judged your soul. A body sculpted by the collective lust of every teenage male in a 5-mile radius. Every guy wanted her. Every guy failed her.
They weren't tall enough. Or cool enough. Or smart enough. Or... rich enough. Hell, rumor has it not even her ol' humppillow measured up.
(A/N: Think classic Disney. Not whatever Zegler-coded reboot this generation is suffering from.)
"Ugh. I need to pee," she muttered, diverting toward the nearest restroom. The sign on the door said "BOYS," though someone tried to scratch it into "GODS" and failed at both vandalism and grammar.
"Eh. Close enough."
She pushed the door open and entered.
The smell was an unholy cocktail of urinal cakes, body spray, and broken dreams. Her nose scrunched. She scanned the empty room, gave her reflection in the mirror a disapproving once-over, and ducked into the nearest stall.
"Finally... peace and—"
BOOM!
Like a scene from a tragic anime, the door exploded inward.
"KYAAA!"
And then there was black.
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Leon POV – The Resurrection
Everything hurt.
My back. My pride. My left cheekbone. And maybe my soul.
I groaned, opening one eye. The other refused to cooperate after the traumatic experience of headbutting a literal goddess by accident.
"Wha... where... oh, right. I died."
I sat up with a grunt, leaning on the stall wall like it was my life support. My first instinct?
Apologize.
Second instinct?
Make sure I wasn't sitting in a puddle.
Third instinct?
Run.
I peeked through the door like a scared raccoon.
And there she was.
Red hair. Green eyes. Death glare unlocked.
Mary Jane Watson, the school's unattainable dream girl, was sitting on the bathroom floor like she'd just been sucker punched by Zeus himself.
And her skirt? A little higher than legally allowed by anime logic.
"Oh, my god—I'm so sorry!" I stammered, scrambling over like a baby deer. "I didn't mean to! Xander shoved me and—"
"Xander? That Neanderthal with the IQ of a toaster?" she snapped.
"More like a broken microwave, but... yeah."
Her glare could've melted lead. She stood up slowly, brushing herself off like a Bond villain recovering from a failed assassination.
"Well," she said with a voice that dripped sarcasm, "congratulations. You just upgraded your bully package to 'Advanced Torture.'"
"I'll make it up to you! I swear," I said, hands raised like I was facing a judge.
She paused. Tilted her head. Smiled.
Not the good kind.
"Anything?" she asked.
Gulp.
"Uh... within reason."
She leaned in, strawberry-scented breath tickling my earlobe.
"All right, Lion... here's what you're going to do."
Of course she got my name wrong.
Of course. They always do.
.....
Reassuring Time skip (2 minutes later)
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Leon POV – "The Whisper of Doom"
"All right, Lion..." she purred like a redheaded mafia boss. Her lips were so close to my ear I could practically feel the strawberry-flavored lip gloss seeping into my soul. "Here's what you're going to do."
I nodded, more out of self-preservation than chivalry.
"You're going to carry my books for the rest of the semester," she said sweetly, "get me lunch every day, and if you ever make me scream like that again—"
She paused.
"—it better be because of something fun."
My brain short-circuited.
Wait... what?
Was that a threat? A flirt? A felony? Shit! I don't have money to hire a lawyer!
She stepped back, her grin growing.
"And I want iced matcha lattes," she added, "with oat milk. No foam. One pump vanilla. Not two. If I see foam... you die."
"Y-Yes, your majesty," I stammered.
"Good."
She spun on her heel, opened the stall door, and froze.
A silence fell over us.
I peeked over her shoulder and felt my soul escape my body again.
Standing just outside the stall entrance were three girls.
Three popular girls.
Phones out.
Recording.
Faces frozen in the kind of wide-eyed, slow-blinking disbelief that only came when you walked in on Mary Jane Watson half-disheveled with me, public school's crown prince of cringe.
"Oh my god," one of them whispered.
"Oh my god," the second one echoed.
"OH. MY. GOD!" the third screamed and bolted out the door like she was chasing clout itself.
Mary Jane turned to me slowly, her face redder than her hair.
"I—I can explain?" I offered weakly.
She punched me.
Not a metaphor.
Not emotionally.
A literal punch.
Right in the gut.
FOOMP.
I folded like a folding chair against the bare floor.
---
Ten Minutes Later – The Nurse's Office
"Concussion. Bruised ribs. Mild internal betrayal," the nurse muttered as she scribbled on a clipboard. "You're going for the full high school bingo card, huh?"
"Does—does this count as first base?" I wheezed from the cot.
The nurse didn't laugh.
No one ever does.
Outside the door, I could hear MJ arguing with the principal.
"…and I told him I didn't mean to shove him into a wall!"
"You broke a boy, Miss Watson!"
"Then maybe tell the boys to stop using other boys as dodgeballs!"
I sighed, staring up at the cheap ceiling tiles.
God, what a life.
Bullied by jocks.
Assaulted by redheads.
Used as a missile.
Maybe this was my superpower: the uncanny ability to suffer so hard, the universe itself bends around me. You know how this world is surrounded by flashy superheroes with flashy powers... Magicians... Green hulks. Maybe I'm meant to be this.
Just maybe.
Or maybe I just had a crush on a violent ginger with trust issues.
Either way… this was shaping up to be one hell of a school year.
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