The next day came and went like any other. At least, at first. Lyna and I slipped into our seats in class as usual, her on my right, the professor yapping on and on about theory while I kept my notes in neat order. I didn't mind the rhythm of it. Study, listen, write. Simple enough.
By the time the clock struck noon, our last lecture was wrapping up. Wednesdays were like that. There were no other assigned class in the afternoons for today, and everyone seemed to know it. Pens clicked shut, books thumped closed, and the scrape of chairs filled the room as the professor dismissed us.
The professor left the classroom, the scrape of the door echoing faintly as the students began to pack their things. I took my time, methodical as always, not in any particular rush. I thought that maybe I could finally check out the bookstore I'd passed on my way to school the other day.
I turned slightly, about to ask Lyna if she wanted to show me the way. But before I could open my mouth, a small group of her friends surrounded her desk.
"Come on, Lyna. Let's hang out!" one of them chimed, tugging her arm lightly.
She glanced back at me to bid me farewell. "See you later, Faulk."
I nodded. "Yeah, bye."
She waved once before being swept along with her friends, laughter trailing behind them as they left the classroom.
And just like that, it was quiet again.
I slung my bag over my shoulder. Well… bookstore it is then. Alone.
I stepped out of the school gates and onto the busy street. The sun was still hanging high, spilling a lazy golden light over the rows of shops and houses. I was certain I remembered where the bookstore was. I'd passed it on my first day in this town, when I wandered around to find the school.
I walked straight down the road, then turned left at the familiar intersection. At least, I thought it was familiar. After a few more minutes of weaving through narrow lanes, I realized the shopfronts looked different. Too different.
I slowed my pace, scanning the street. "That's… odd."
The bookstore should've been here. Or at least close. Instead, I found myself in a part of town I didn't recognize at all. The buildings leaned closer, older, like they hadn't been cared for in years. The bustle of students and workers faded, replaced by a quieter, more watchful atmosphere.
I turned the corner, hoping this street would finally lead me to the bookstore. Instead, I stopped dead in my tracks.
Four men were there, in the narrow alleyway. One had his back to the wall, handing off a small packet wrapped in brown paper to another. The other two loitered like shadows, scanning the alley with sharp, restless eyes. The smell of cigarettes and damp concrete filled the space.
My footsteps echoed before I could stop myself. Too loud in a place this small.
All four turned at once.
"The hell's this kid doing here?" one of them barked. His voice bounced off the brick walls, rough and hostile.
I froze, my shoulders tense. "I— I'm lost. I didn't mean to be here."
The scar-faced one sneered. "Lost? Nobody just strolls down a dead-end alley. You watchin' us, is that is?"
My heart was hammering, but I forced myself to stand firm. "I don't care what you're doing. I just want out."
The tallest, broad-shouldered man glanced at the packet quickly shoved into his pocket, then back at me. His lips curled into something between amusement and threat.
"Wrong place, wrong time, kid." He tilted his chin, and the two nearest stepped closer. "How about we make sure you don't talk."
I knew running wasn't an option. I'd either be lost or they would run faster than me as they have the physical advantage. My legs aren't exactly built for running away, anyway. The secret Joestar technique isn't an option to me.
I shifted my stance, ready. If they wanted a fight, I wouldn't let them drag me down easy.
The alley was tighter than any woman I know. No space to move the way I wanted. But if I froze, I'm cooked.
The one in front of me grinned, pulling a folding knife from his pocket with a flick of his wrist. The glint of the blade in the weak light would be scary, had it been my first time seeing it.
Behind him, another thug reached down and snatched up a rusted metal pipe leaning against the wall.
The third… pulled out something much worse. A stun gun, the kind you would need direct contact to send the current. Electricity hissed from its prongs, blue sparks lighting up his face in flashes.
Knife, metal pipe and stun gun....
"Scared yet?" the knife-man sneered, stepping in first. His movements were very sloppy, as if he's afraid to cut himself.
As he's extending his knife in an attempt to stab my shoulder, I dashed forward while slightly lowering my hips. Thus, the knife barely missed my shoulder whilst his right hand are over my shoulder. I twisted my body clockwise and raised my toe to hit him from under the chin.
The knife clattered onto the ground. He groaned in pain, rubbing his face, but I didn't linger. The pipe was already swinging for my head.
I ducked. The clang of steel against brick rattled my ears. Before he could recover, I threw a left hook to his ribs, and he dropped the pipe. I could feel his body shaking from the impact. He staggered, wheezing, but didn't go down. So I jumped to send my knee flying to his nose. He fell to the ground.
Suddenly, the guy with the stun gun lunged at me the same way the knife wielding guy did. But this time, instead of lowering my shoulder, I instead raised it high to put his hand into an arm lock. He could break through it, but I was faster.
As his body twisted slightly from the pain, I used my left hand to jab him in the face. Strong enough for him to let go of his stun gun. I then twisted his body to the ground, almost dislocating the bone in his shoulder.
By the time it was over, all three of them were on the ground, groaning, coughing, clutching at bruises and busted ribs. The knife lay bent in the gutter, the pipe dented from its own weight against the wall and the stun gun kicked far out of reach.
I stood there in black silence. I tried hard to hide it, but myy fists felt raw, and my knuckles felt like it was burning. I haven't fought in a while, which is probably why it feels very tiring when it's over.
The fourth guy, which I assume is a customer, froze in place. His face drained of color the moment he realized his suppliers couldn't get up. His eyes flicked from my death stare to the alley's mouth. And without a word, he bolted. His footsteps faded into the street, swallowed by the noise of the town.
I let him go. I didn't have the strength to chase. Didn't want to, either. My only thought was get out before someone else comes.
So I did.
I stumbled away from the alley, heart pounding in my ears, forcing my legs to keep moving until the chaos behind me was nothing but silence. I didn't look back. Not once.
Much later, long after I'd left, the groans in the alley gave way to curses. One by one, the three I left crumpled on the pavement stirred awake.
The knife-man spat blood onto the ground, pushing himself upright with a broken chin. "That bastard…"
The pipe-user leaned against the wall, breathing through clenched teeth as his nose broke pretty bad. "How in the hell… did he fight like that…"
The stun-gun wielder shook his head, electricity spent, pride shattered. But as he shifted, his hand brushed against something lying near the wall. A small card, scuffed but still legible.
He picked it up, squinting under the dim light.
"…a student ID." he muttered, a slow grin spreading across his bruised face.
The others crowded closer, staring at the name and school crest. Their expressions twisted, anger and humiliation hardening into something worse.
"He dropped it," the pipe-user said darkly. "and didn't even notice."
The knife-man wiped his split lip, smirking despite the blood. "Looks like we've got ourselves a little souvenir. And maybe… a way to make him pay."
The three exchanged looks, their anger hardening into malice. Even if they were beaten and humiliated, they had a thread of hope now. Revenge delivered not by their fists, but by someone far above them.
"Middle Brother..." the knife-man repeated under his breath, his smile edged with spite. "He'll know what to do."
I wandered the streets longer than I meant to. Every corner I turned only made things more confusing, as if the paths themselves were changing when I wasn't looking. Eventually, I gave in and asked a few civilians. Most shook their heads, but one older man pointed me in the right direction after I explained which shop I was looking for.
Made sense it wasn't on Google Maps. The bookstore, he said, had only opened a few months back.
Then, I finally found it. Tucked between a café and a tailor's shop. Quite unusual placement, if you ask me.
I walked inside and browsed the narrow aisles, shelves heavy with dust and titles I'd never seen before. My eyes landed on a book titled Lost At The Farthest Ends. Something about the weight of the title pulled at me, and without thinking too much, I brought it to the counter and paid for it.
The sky was starting to dim by the time I headed back. The streets weren't as crowded now, and the walk back to the dorms felt faster and quieter than the way there.
By the time I reached my room, all I wanted was to rest. I tossed my bag onto the chair, slipped the book onto the desk, and emptied my pockets. Keys, coins, receipt from the store....
And then I realized that something important was missing.
My student ID isn't in my pockets.
I checked the floor, patted my pockets again, even dug through my bag just in case. Nothing. My chest tightened. I remember slotting it in my pocket when I left. Somewhere along the way, I must've dropped it.
I sat on the edge of my bed, staring at my empty hand.
"…damn it."
The ID wasn't just for attendance. Without it, the school could easily fine me. Or worse... But deep down, I had a heavier feeling. Like maybe losing that card would bring me consequences I wasn't ready to deal with.
I sat there for a long moment, weighing my options. Pretend nothing happened and hope it turned up? Nah, too risky. If someone found it and misused it, I'd be the one paying for it.
I stood, grabbed my jacket, and headed straight out. The administration office should still be open. I'd seen lights in that wing on my way in.
The corridors were quieter than usual. Most students had either gone out for dinner or were holed up in their rooms. When I reached the office, I knocked and pushed the door open.
A clerk, middle-aged with thin glasses hanging low on her nose, glanced up from her papers. "Yes? Can I help you?"
I stepped in, rubbing the back of my neck. "Uh… I need to report a lost student ID."
Her brows lifted slightly, but she didn't look surprised. She shuffled through a drawer and pulled out a form. "Name and class?"
"Faulker. First year."
She handed me the form and a pen. I filled it out quickly, noting where I thought I might've lost it, though I couldn't exactly say narrow alley while getting jumped by guys with weapons. I just wrote "around town."
When I slid the paper back, she skimmed it, then gave a curt nod.
"We'll flag your old card as invalid in the system. We'll also have a phone call with your guardian to deal with payments and everything else. A replacement will be ready within three working days. So, Monday. Until then, you'll need a temporary pass."
She handed me a laminated slip with my name scrawled on it. It felt flimsy, but it was better than nothing. If anything, I'm more intrigued by the phone call with guardian part. If I remember correctly, Mr. McCallister said that my guardian would be my father's close acquaintance. To this day, I wonder why that would be necessary...
Looking back on it... my mother was never the first one to call my father. The calls would always be coming from him. Even sometimes, I overheard my mother picking up her phone and asked "Who am I speaking to?" before realizing it is my father.
As I was thinking for the reasons, she snapped me out of it.
"Be careful next time." she said, giving me a sharp look before returning to her work.
I muttered thanks and left.
Walking back to the dorm, I exhaled slowly, relief washing over me. At least it was settled… for now. I sure do hope this is the end of it.
The room was heavy with smoke. The smell of nicotine fills the air. A huge man in his middle 20's, also known as Middle Brother, sat on the comfortable couch. Leaning forward, elbows on his knees, the faint glow of a cigarette burning between his fingers. His eyes glinted in the red lamplight as the three battered men stood before him, shifting nervously.
"Three against one. All of you each had a weapon." Middle Brother said, his voice a slow rumble, the kind that made the walls seem to lean in. "And you come crawling back to me like beaten dogs."
He rose to his feet. The couch screeched backward. And before the one with the pipe could stammer an excuse, Middle Brother's hand lashed out. The slap cracked like thunder, sending the man sprawling sideways, crashing into a chair that splintered beneath him. Blood trickled from the corner of his lip as he groaned.
Then, from his back, a delicate hand reached forward. One of his mistresses, a woman draped in silk with long painted nails, offered him a glass of deep red wine. "Brother," she purred softly, "don't waste your strength on trash."
The other, curled against his side with her head on his shoulder, whispered, "Drink this instead. Don't let them ruin your mood."
Middle Brother snatched the glass, his glare still fixed on the three broken men. He swirled the wine once, then downed it in a single gulp. The burn slid down his throat, and with a long exhale, the storm in him dimmed. His grip loosened, the veins on his hand retreating beneath his skin.
He set the empty glass on the table with a dull clink. His voice, when it returned, was calmer but colder.
"Fine." He leaned back into his chair, one mistress rubbing his shoulders while the other rubbed his thigh. "Talk. Tell me exactly what happened. And don't leave out a single detail."
The two who were still standing exchanged nervous glances. The one with the stun gun spoke first, his words stumbling. "He was too good, Middle Brother. He took risky movements and converted them to the safest. As if he's an AI made for fighting."
The other man, clutching the knife still sheathed at his side, nodded quickly. "It wasn't like fighting a kid. His movement, reflex and speed is unreal. He neutralized both the three of us without any wasted movements."
The mistress at Middle Brother's side giggled softly, but his eyes never left his men. Cold, unblinking. He swirled the wine in his cup, then asked in a low voice:
"And this boy… Laburantes Faulker." He raised the stolen student ID, the red light glinting across its surface. "You're certain he's from the academy?"
Both men swallowed hard and nodded.
Middle Brother's lips curled into something between a smile and a sneer.
"Interesting…"
He took a long sip of wine, but then paused. His gaze slid back to the ID. He picked it up, turning it slowly in his hand. Something in his expression shifted. Faint curiosity seeping through the irritation.
"Personally, I don't care about a high schooler. But still…" he murmured, more to himself than to them. "One boy, outnumbered three to one. Knife, pipe, even a stun gun, and yet he walked away while you were left crawling. That doesn't happen everyday..."
The room tensed as his voice grew colder. He tapped the ID on the table, each knock making the three men flinch.
"I could ignore your shame. But what I can't ignore is this: The Siblings never forget its debt, and always repay in full." His eyes gleamed with something dangerous now.
"And you three… you were humiliated. Which means we were humiliated."
The mistresses exchanged glances, small smiles tugging at their lips, as though they were already savoring whatever storm was about to come.
Middle Brother leaned forward, resting his chin on his fist, still spinning the ID in his fingers. "This Faulker… hm. I want to know what he's capable of. He might've been the Jackpot I'm missing to rise through the ranks."
His voice dropped, almost amused, but carrying a weight his men dared not dismiss.
"It's time to collect..."