The classroom was already buzzing when Aghorik stepped through the door. Students crowded around desks, some whispering, others laughing too loudly, the chaotic hum of youth filling the space. His eyes scanned the room once, sharp yet uninterested.
At the far side, a commotion was unfolding. His friend Ganbold Narantuul had locked horns with a bigger boy, shoving and trading sharp words that nearly escalated into blows. Ganbold's short temper was notorious, and the bully he faced had clearly provoked him on purpose.
Aghorik's gaze lingered for only a second before he dismissed the scene. He walked calmly to his usual bench, set down his bag, and sat. The scrape of the chair legs against the floor was drowned by the noise of the others.
Moments later, the door creaked open. Their teacher entered, carrying a folder tucked under one arm. The class began to settle, though whispers still bounced between desks. At that exact moment, Ganbold appeared beside Aghorik, breathing a little heavier than usual. He slid into the seat next to him without hesitation.
"What did that kid do to you?" Aghorik asked, his tone flat, almost bored.
Ganbold ran a hand through his messy hair. "He tried to bully me."
"Oh." Aghorik leaned back slightly, resting one arm on the desk. His eyes flicked lazily toward his friend. "But that bully is my friend too."
Ganbold frowned, half frustrated, half resigned. "Yeah, like the whole school is your friend. Doesn't really matter, right? You're friends with every type of student—popular, outcast, troublemaker, doesn't matter who. So—"
"Yeah, stop yapping." Aghorik cut him off smoothly, the faintest trace of a smirk at the corner of his lips. "I know you. You'll run out of words and then just keep talking about whatever nonsense comes into your head."
Ganbold opened his mouth, then shut it again with an exasperated sigh.
Before their banter could continue, a shadow fell over their desk. The bully himself—Jabari Okonjo—strode up with heavy steps and sat down on the bench directly in front of Aghorik. His large frame blocked part of the board, and his sharp eyes narrowed with annoyance.
"Aghorik," he said, his voice low but firm. "If you want to be my friend, you'll stop sitting with this child." He tilted his head toward Ganbold, his words laced with disdain.
Aghorik looked at him, expression calm, voice gentle, almost disarming. "Well, I mean… I don't want to interfere in any of your oppositions. We're all classmates, aren't we? Shouldn't we at least be normal with each other? I know I will be."
The words carried no aggression, only sincerity, yet they left Jabari momentarily silent. His brows furrowed, and after a long pause he exhaled sharply. "Tch." A sigh slipped out, heavy with unspoken tension.
The teacher cleared his throat, drawing all eyes to the front of the class. He placed his folder on the desk and began the routine daily report, ticking off names, marking attendance. The murmur of earlier chatter faded into attentive silence, though beneath the calm surface, small storms brewed between friends, rivals, and those caught in-between.
Aghorik leaned back in his seat, his expression unreadable. His mask for the day was already in place—gentle, humble, untouchable.
And yet, somewhere deep inside, the name written in blood the night before seemed to whisper back to him, reminding him of the double life he carried.