Thursday starts loud, rain gone, nerves exposed. Minji grabs me by the sleeve before homeroom.
"They're doubling down," she says, breathless. "Principal said three strikes, and anyone caught in a meet gets shipped out."
Jay shrugs, pulling his hoodie low. "People always threaten. Most just want the show to end before they lose control."
Dao keeps checking his phone. Rina arrives late, carrying a bruised knuckle and a story she refuses to tell.
At morning assembly, Principal Choi stands on stage, flanked by teachers in a lineup like bodyguards.
"Order is the foundation of learning. Anyone disrupting that will be removed."
He scans the room—a challenge and a dare.
I yawn, loud enough to get a few side-eyes, but nobody laughs.
Minji scribbles a note, slides it to me: "Will you run?"
I write back: "We stand."
First period, Dao shakes like he's waiting for an earthquake. Rina's full of restless smiles, daring trouble.
Jay draws monsters in the margins, Minji sketches band lyrics.
Half our crew's gotten texts from teachers—some warnings, some invitations to "come clean." Jay holds out his phone, scrolling through anonymous numbers:
"Scare tactics. Noise before the storm."
Mid-morning, Daniel appears, face troubled.
"They want me to testify—what happened on the roof, who said what, why the music. Said you started it."
I offer my hand. "What did you say?"
"I said everyone started it. Except the ones too scared to try."
Zack finds us outside class, punching lockers in frustration. "They're blaming us for everything—the bets, the fights, even the rain."
I laugh, dry. "If that's all it takes to be legendary, we're already famous."
Rina winks. "Be infamous. It leaves bigger footprints."
Lunch is fraught—one side whispers, the other cowers, a few hold the line. Minji splits her rice with Dao, Rina goes hunting for chips, Jay pens manifestos on napkins.
Ms. Park sits at our table, unusual, breaking teacher rules.
She glances around, leans in close. "There's a cost to being loud. But silence is a bigger debt."
I answer: "Some debts are worth paying."
Afternoon, tension thickens in the halls. Sungho returns, no longer bruised, but eyes cold as polished glass—accompanied by some third-years, muscle flanking him like bookends.
Jay steps close. "Storm's rolling in."
Rina walks eaves, calculating every exit. Dao, torn between loyalty and the crowd, sticks near Minji.
By gym doors, two teachers stand guard, eyes combing for suspects. Everyone's split now—old crews, new rebels, some hiding just to survive.
Rina nudges me. "You hear the latest? Bet money shifted. Now there's odds on who folds first."
Jay shakes his head. "Only gamble should be the truth."
Students buzz—word spreads that Sungho challenged Zack, not for pride, but as a warning. Fistfight, public, after last period, with teachers tipped off.
A message circulates:
"Show up. Don't flinch."
Minji assembles the crew, fierce. "We watch. Nobody fights alone."
Last class grinds slow. Ms. Park gives extra homework, a code nobody cares about. I scan the room—site lines, backup plans, knowing today might snap.
School lets out, crowd flows toward the back lot—everyone hungry for spectacle, some just for closure.
Sungho waits, cool, his backup crowding the line. Zack arrives, sleeves rolled, Daniel at his shoulder, Jace between them, eyes flickering over every face.
Dao sticks with us, terrified but loyal. Rina circles, banking borrowed bravado.
Zack cracks his neck, steps into the center. Sungho postures, rumble low:
"You had your piece. Now you pay the price."
Minji grabs my arm. "You going in?"
I don't answer—just walk to the edge, heart pounding, Jay and Rina boxing in my flanks.
Fight starts fast—Zack pushes in, Sungho meets him, fists lightning. A circle tightens, breath made of suspense.
Dao shouts, "Enough!"—his voice cracking the hush.
Teachers push in but the crowd blocks, determined to see this to the end.
I lunge half-in when Zack stumbles, grab his shoulder before a third-year can finish the job. Minji yells, Rina flings her bag—shouting curses hotter than the weather.
Chaos erupts—teachers overwhelm, students scatter, blows land, shoes scrape, someone hits the ground and the blood sprays, bright as a warning.
Jay hauls Minji out, I drag Dao, Rina scrambles between teachers.
Sungho is down, Zack breathing hard, Daniel between them, crowd splitting—everything a blur.
Out of sight, Jay's shaking, Minji panting, Dao pale, Rina mapping the next move in her head.
I check the bruises—mine, theirs—heartbeat echoing thunder.
"Blood pays more than rumors," Jay says, bitter.
I answer, "Only until someone bleeds too much."
After, the school pulses with aftershock. Blood stains a corridor, whispers swirl—who won, who lost, who sold out.
Principals and teachers drag half the names in for questioning: Zack, Sungho, Jace, Daniel, even Dao and Rina. Official lines blur; all alliances tested.
Outside, rain returns, less forgiving now.
Minji nurses a bruise, eyes hard. "They'll blame us, not the old order."
Jay sketches the circle on the back lot, a twisted mandala, faces warped by violence.
Dao sits silent, guilt gnawing, knuckles raw.
Rina packs ice in a napkin, passes it around. "Surviving isn't enough. You have to refuse to break."
I sit by the window, thumb tracing blood on shoe leather. "Lines in the sand get washed away in the first good rain."
Daniel texts—just two words: "It's happening."
That night, weird things spark.
Phone glitches, texts repeating, facts changing—the name list from today's fight gets rearranged every time someone reads it.
Jay snaps, "System's bugging," but I hear it in my bones—reality bends before the story, not after.
Minji reads a news alert: "School authorities investigating 'organizational activities.'" Even the word is weird: not gangs, not clubs—something else.
Rina replies, "Looks like we leveled up."
Before sleep, the bruises thrum with memory. Dao's message arrives, trembling:
"They said if we want to stay, we have to name names."
I write back, "If you're afraid, I'll stand with you. If you fight, I'll stand before you."
Jay sends a line of code he found at the bottom of a club email:
"Sequence initiated. Standby for operating procedures."
I stare at the screen.
For once, it feels like the world is waiting for me to act.