Jazz pushed his side bag away with his foot and leaned back slightly. His left forefinger tapped the table in a slow, steady rhythm. His eyes never left Silvestor – or the lighter turning calmly between his fingers.
Two thoughts occupied him fully.
First – how. They had been face to face. Eye to eye. No break in focus. No body shift. Yet the lighter was gone from his pocket and alive in Silvestor's hand. Not luck. Not accident. Precision.
Second – rules.
Flammables, blades, contraband – all prohibited on campus. On paper, strictly enforced. In practice, ignored for him. He was the shareholder's son. Rules bent before reaching his name.
But Silvestor was different. Wrong background. Wrong status. Wrong protection. Rules were supposed to land harder on him – not disappear.
Yet no teacher reacted. No warning came. No punishment followed.
The tapping stopped.
"Teacher," Jazz called without standing.
The intern looked up. "Yes?"
"Can you tell me Newton's Third Law of Motion?"
The senior physics teacher at the back snapped her book shut with a sharp thud and rose halfway from her seat.
"Did you not understand my warning?" she said, restraining visible irritation. "No unrelated interruptions. No tactics. No diversion questions."
Several students turned and silently pleaded toward Jazz with exaggerated expressions – folded hands, squeezed eyes – begging him not to trigger an extended class.
Jane lifted a hand slightly.
"It's alright, ma'am," she said gently. "It's only a law. If he needs it now, we should answer it now. Doubt has no timetable."
The senior teacher hesitated – then sat.
Jane turned back to the class.
"Newton's Third Law states," she said clearly,
"To every action there is an equal and opposite reaction. When two bodies interact, the forces they apply to each other are equal in magnitude and opposite in direction."
Jazz didn't look at her while she spoke.
He looked at Silvestor.
The question wasn't curiosity. It was a reply.
A condition answered with a principle.
Silvestor understood immediately.
A faint smile touched his lips. Without turning around, he tossed the lighter backward over his shoulder toward the back bench. The throw was careless – deliberately so.
Jazz rose at once and stepped forward to catch it before it hit the floor. His hand closed around it mid-drop like retrieving something alive.
From the fourth row, Jackson watched the exchange and dragged a hand down his face.
"Damn," he muttered under his breath.
"He accepted."
Jackson pulled out his phone without looking at anyone. His thumbs moved fast.
Jazz.
Idiot.
That dog won.
Sent to Gilbert. Sent to James.
James read it and replied at once.
So he agreed.
Gilbert didn't answer.
Jackson waited. Looked at the screen again. Still nothing. His jaw tightened.
After a few minutes, a message appeared.
I knew.
Jackson typed back.
What do you mean?
Nothing.
Came the reply.
Jackson clicked his tongue softly and locked the screen.
–
The bell rang.
Books shut across the room. Relief showed openly. Several students already half-stood.
"Thank you, miss," a girl said, expecting dismissal.
Jane didn't leave.
"Teacher, period is over," the front-bench girl added carefully.
"I know," Jane said.
She stepped closer and bent toward her, voice lowered.
"I'll tell you a secret."
The girl leaned in immediately.
"Chemistry teacher is on half-day leave," Jane whispered. "So this period is mine too."
The girl's face dropped.
"That's cruel," she said under her breath.
"Pray your physics ma'am gets called somewhere," Jane murmured back.
The news spread across the girls' row in whispers and suppressed groans.
–
The physics teacher stood and picked up her book.
"Jane. XII B is my period now," she said. "You teach there – or here. Decide."
The first-bench girl turned and looked at Jane like a silent plea.
Jane smiled faintly.
"I'll stay here," she said. "I like this class. They won't create trouble."
A few boys looked away to hide their reactions.
The physics teacher faced the room.
"She'll handle this hour too. Behave. I'm next door."Her voice hardened."If I hear noise – you already know."
She left.
The class stood properly this time.
"Thank you, teacher!"
Noise rose again – but controlled.
Jane tapped the table twice.
"Students, listen," she said softly. "You get fifteen minutes. Do whatever you want – but no noise."
Excitement rose instantly, but controlled. Heads nodded. Voices dropped. Permission felt sweeter when whispered.
She moved toward the girls' row and joined their circle, letting the room breathe instead of ruling it.
At the back, Jazz folded a paper and slingshotted it forward. It struck the lean boy behind Silvestor.
The boy turned. Jazz gestured – open it.
He unfolded it.
Send next paper to Silvestor.
The boy stared at the words.
Why am I courier between these two idiots? Lovers should sit together or text, he complained silently.
Another folded paper hit his desk.
He passed it forward.
Silvestor opened it.
Come to back bench.
He stood and walked without hesitation. Jane noticed – and chose not to interfere.
"What is it, Jazz?" Silvestor asked when he reached.
"Sit."
"Alright."
He sat.
At the front, one of the girls leaned toward Jane and whispered with scandal-sweet excitement.
"Miss… secret. Jazz and Silvestor are in a relationship."
Jane shook her head with a half-smile.
"Don't build stories out of boredom," she said. "That habit ruins people."
At the back, Jazz leaned forward slightly.
"You've got nerve," he said quietly. "You know that?"
"Probably," Silvestor replied. "Still less than you."
Jazz's jaw flexed.
"You're vicious," he said. "Putting conditions like a leash and calling it help. You think you're not crossing the line?"
Silvestor laughed once – low, short.
"If it were a leash," he said, "I'd have said work for me."
Jazz's phone lay face down – recording.
"I heard your wording," Jazz replied. "Unconditional work. Same chain, different spelling."
Silvestor tilted his head.
"No. Chain is obedience without direction. I said work with me. That requires position – not submission."
Jazz's teeth pressed together.
"Don't play words with me."
"Then don't pretend you misunderstand them," Silvestor said calmly. "Only fools confuse partnership with ownership."
A pause.
Then softer –
"And only insecure kings fear equal terms."
Silvestor stood and walked back to his seat.
Jazz's grip tightened around his pen.
It snapped in half.