"How are your olives today, Oliver?" a voice rang out down the hallway.
"Hope they're not cracked!" the boy added, bursting into obnoxious laughter as lockers rattled with the sound.
The corridor buzzed with movement and chatter, but to Oliver, everything blurred into background noise. He kept walking, his fingers tightening around the strap of his bag.
The jokes never stopped — they'd turned his name into a sport. Every day, different voices.
Same humiliation. Different punchline.
'Don't react.' He tried to ignore it.
'Don't give them what they want.'
But irritation kept crawling under his skin, slow and persistent, like something chewing its way in.
His steps slowed.
Then stopped.
The noise behind him faded as he turned around, staring straight at the boy.
"Well," Oliver said, his voice steady, but sharp around the edges, "I'm surprised your girlfriend didn't mention them… considering how she sucked them last night."
A moment of silence rippled through the hall like a held breath.
The boy's face twisted instantly, shock snapping into rage.
"What did you just say?" he snarled, his jaw tightening as his hands balled into fists.
Students instinctively stepped back.
"I said," Oliver repeated coldly, "maybe you should worry less about my name and more about who's sleeping with your girl."
The air shifted.
The boy's hands started to glow faintly at the seams of his sleeves, and a metallic sound broke through the hallway like machinery starting up.
Silver plates surged out from his forearms, locking together with sharp mechanical clicks until a full gauntlet covered each hand from elbow to knuckles.
Energy pulsed through the lines of the metal.
A faint green light gathered between his palms as he slammed them together, the air tightening around it like it was being dragged into a vacuum.
"You're going to take that back," he spat, stepping forward, his eyes burning.
He broke into a sprint.
Every heavy step echoed against the floor as students scattered out of the way, fear cutting through the usual school chaos.
Soon, the boy closed the distance to just a few meters, and thrust his both palms forward.
The energy between them detonated outward.
A blinding white beam ripped through the air, screaming through the corridor with enough force to make the lockers tremble.
Oliver had no room to move.
The beam was already there before his body could even think of reacting, slicing through the air faster than his instincts could catch up. He knew it the moment it left the boy's hands — there was no dodging this. All he could do was clench his jaw, brace his body, and prepare for the impact.
The light struck him dead on.
A violent force slammed into his chest, lifting him clean off the ground as if he weighed nothing. His back crashed into the far end of the corridor wall, concrete cracking under the impact as his body rebounded and dropped to the floor in a cloud of dust and debris.
The hallway fell into chaos.
"What's going on?" someone in the crowd muttered, their voice shaky.
"Are they seriously fighting on the last day of school?"
Students poured in from different directions, drawn by noise, curiosity, and the unspoken thrill of watching someone else fall apart. A small crowd formed almost instantly, phones half-raised, eyes wide, whispers spreading faster than the dust in the air.
One girl pushed through the crowd, her expression filled with genuine worry as she ran toward the damaged section of the wall.
"Hey, are you okay?" she called out, squinting through the haze.
The smoke started to thin.
First his shoes came into view.
Then his legs.
Then the familiar splash of dusty, slightly messy purple hair.
When she realized who it was, her footsteps stopped.
Her concern froze mid-motion.
"Wait… that's just Oliver," someone muttered behind her.
The girl's face changed instantly. She stepped back, like the air around him had suddenly turned toxic. Without another word, she turned around and walked away, as if none of it had ever happened.
When she rejoined her friends, Oliver could hear the hushed laughter.
"I can't believe you actually went to help him," one of them snickered.
"I didn't know it was him," the girl snapped back, her cheeks flushing with embarrassment. "I thought it was someone else."
Their voices drilled into him sharper than the impact.
Dust clung to his clothes as Oliver pushed himself up slowly, his muscles burning, pain rolling through him in rough waves. His vision blurred for a second, but he wiped the blood from his lip and steadied his breathing.
He stared at the ground, jaw tight.
"Damn it…" he muttered under his breath.
It was supposed to be Oliver's last day here.
He had told himself that today, maybe, for once, nobody would try to provoke him.
As he tuned towards the exit corridor, a hand grabbed his collar and yanked him back.
"You piece of trash," the boy snapped. "What did you just say back there?"
Oliver's patience cracked instantly.
He grabbed the guy's wrist and shoved it away, his eyes blazing.
"Didn't you learn anything?" he shot back.
"Using weapons like that without consent — that'll get you suspended at least."
The boy's expression twisted in anger.
"And who's going to report me?" he said, before driving his silver mechanical fist straight into Oliver's face.
The impact jolted his head sideways, pain flashing through his jaw.
"If you can't fight back," the boy sneered, "maybe you should buy one yourself."
Another punch slammed into him, harder this time.
Something warm started dripping down his lip.
Blood.
The boy leaned in closer, eyes burning, his voice shaking from fury.
"You…" he muttered through clenched teeth.
"Were you with Tina last night?"
Oliver straightened slowly, tasting iron, his vision blurring at the edges.
But he still smiled.
Not because it was funny.
Because he refused to give him that satisfaction.
"Yeah," Oliver replied, his voice rough but steady.
"And the whole time, she kept moaning so loud."
The boy's rage was palpable.
He screamed, "You bastard! I will kill you!"
The words hit Oliver like a physical blow, and at the same moment, the blue hum of the boy's gauntlets flared violently, filling the space with a tense, crackling energy.
Oliver's own panic boiled over, blending with anger as he shouted, "You psycho!"
"What the hell are you trying to do?!"
But the boy didn't answer him.
He lunged, gripping Oliver with one hand on his head and the other crushing against his chest, holding him like he was seconds away from tearing him in half.
"I swear to God, I'll rip you apart!" The boy snarled, breath wild, voice cracking with rage.
Oliver felt real fear slice through him.
"Reed—stop! Just stop!" he yelled, panic clawing up his throat.
But Reed didn't stop, If anything, hearing Oliver beg only fed the fire.
The energy humming from Reed's gauntlets thrummed like a living thing, and Oliver could feel it pressing against him, against every nerve, every inch of his body.
Students circled them instantly, drawn like moths to a flame. Their murmurs grew louder, bubbling into excitement and horror.
"Oh shit—Reed finally lost it."
"Record this—quick!"
"He's gonna kill him."
"Look at him… he's actually going for it."
And then, like a spark catching dry grass, their whispers shifted.
"Kill…!"
"Kill!"
"Kill him!"
Their voices hit Oliver like a cold wave.
Meanwhile, those same voices fed Reed's anger, amplifying the intensity of every movement, every threat, every pulse of blue light along his arms.
Oliver's chest heaved as adrenaline crashed through him.
"Stop—hey, STOP—!" he shouted, but his words were chopped off when Reed jerked him down, his strength amplified by the pulsing tech humming along his arms.
A cry tore out of Oliver before he could stop it, his breath stuttering. His body strained under the pressure, and panic flooded every thought he had left.
Reed's face twisted, voice dropping into something ice-cold and furious.
"You shouldn't have slept with Tina."