[Jayjay's POV]
The afternoon sun made dust motes dance like tiny ghosts across the empty teacher's desk.
The classroom felt safe in that ordinary way — kids joking, Ciel pestering Ci-N, Adrian bent over a notebook. I told myself it was fine. I always told myself that.
Then Mr. Watson walked in.
He moved with that kind of controlled storm you could feel before it hit — suit too dark for the heat, jaw set. For a second I thought he'd just ask for Keifer.
Instead he fixed his eyes on the whole room, like he was looking at evidence.
"Where's your teacher?" he asked sharply.
David stood up. "She stepped out, sir."
He didn't answer; he crossed the desk to where a framed class photo sat — the last one taken before Checkmate. The picture was tilted at the edge of the teacher's desk, the glass catching sunlight.
"Is that the girl?" he said, voice low, and his finger jabbed at the frame. The sound of glass sliding against wood made my breath catch.
Before anyone could move, he slammed his palm down on the frame as if to point at me. The corner of the glass caught the edge of the desk and cracked. The frame toppled, the glass splintered with a sharp, high sound.
Something small, red, dark — a smear — bloomed where the glass had nicked his palm. A drop jumped free, hitting the desk and rolling toward me.
I couldn't tell whether the world slowed or I sped up. The sight of the blood—so small, so sudden—hit me like a physical blow. Memory slammed into present: antiseptic, rushed footsteps, the metallic smell, the panic. My stomach turned. The classroom light blurred.
The ticking of the wall clock became thunder.
I tried to move but my legs wouldn't obey. I could hear voices far away — Adrian's voice saying my name,
Ciel's shriek, Ci-N's footsteps. The drop of blood on the desk was all I could see.
"Jay?" Adrian's hand on my shoulder was firm but gentle. "Jay, look at me. Talk to me."
I couldn't. I wanted to cover my eyes, to run. The room was tilting toward something I had buried for months.
Mr. Watson didn't look surprised.
He looked satisfied, like he'd just shoveled a knife into a scar. He lifted his hand and the red smear glistened in the sun.
"You're the reason Watson can't concentrate," he said. "You nearly cost my son everything."
The words were a match thrown into dry grass.
I gagged, a sound that turned into a small, frightened whimper. My breath came shallow and fast. My vision tunneled. A cold sweat prickled my neck.
[Keifer Watson's POV]
I heard the shattering before I saw the glass — a flash of movement, the sound of something precious breaking. My legs moved without thinking.
By the time I pushed the door open, my father had his hand on the desk, his palm bleeding, and Jayjay was frozen, eyes unfocused. For a heartbeat I couldn't read the room: anger, fear, a dangerous calm in my dad's stance.
"Get away from her," I said, voice steady but low.
Mr. Watson turned, the nick on his palm crimson. He didn't apologize.
Of course he didn't. "She's a distraction, Keifer. She's the reason you—"
"Stop," I cut him off. I crouched in front of Jayjay and forced my voice soft. "Jay, it's me. Look at me, okay? Breathe with me."
Her hands were ice. I took one and wrapped both of my hands around it, not to hide the world from her but to give her an anchor. "In—two—three. Out—two—three," I said, counting until she followed, breath shading back into place.
Adrian moved like a shadow: quick, protective. He reached forward and placed a water bottle in her other hand. Ciel and Ci-N stood between my dad and the rest of us, sudden and solid. David's face did not smile.
"You will leave now," Adrian told my father quietly but with a fierceness that didn't need raised volume. "Or I call security."
My father's face flushed, pride and fury warring. He looked at me for half a second — that glance was every lecture I'd ever refused — and left his jaw clenched.
He straightened his jacket like a man excusing himself from a contest
he'd lost on principle rather than skill, and he walked out.
The door shut. The small sound felt like a finality.
I stayed crouched until Jayjay's shoulders stopped trembling. The room was quiet with the kind of quiet that meant everyone was waiting for me to say something. To fix it.
"Are you okay?" I asked when she could look at me again.
She managed a small nod. "I… saw it. I saw the blood." Her voice was thin. "It came so fast."
"It's going to be okay," I said, though I didn't know how true it sounded. I didn't want to tell her that my father had done this before—intentionally crossing lines—to rouse talent from threats, to test loyalties. I didn't want her to carry my guilt.
Adrian's voice was low beside me.
"You shouldn't have to explain. We'll be careful. He won't be able to just walk in like that again."
Ci-N added, "Next time we'll call the director the second he steps a foot in, okay? Or drag him out."
Jayjay let out a shaky, humorless laugh. "Thanks. For the theatrics."
David muttered, loud enough for the door, "If that man comes back,
I'll make sure he regrets it." His protectiveness had the edge of someone who'd already fought a few wars.
I tucked Jayjay's fingers into mine.
"I'm sorry," I told her, but not about the spill of blood — about my father. About how sometimes the people who should protect you are the ones who hurt you the most.
She leaned slightly toward me. "Don't be. You didn't do this."
But in my head, the picture of my father's hand slamming the frame stayed like a bruise. I promised myself then I would not let him hurt her again, that I'd do whatever it took to keep this classroom — this group — safe.
Aftermath
That night, messages flooded our group chat with a mix of anger and jokes trying to cut the tension.
Adrian: your dad is a class act… said no one ever
Ciel: also, who brings a suit to a high-school classroom? fashion crime
David: keep him away, Keifer. I don't want to see him again
Ci-N: we will build a wall made of
Ci-N and chips. invincible.
Jayjay texted me directly after I walked her to the dorm gate.
I'm sorry you had to deal with him.
I typed back:
You don't apologize. I'll deal with him. Sleep now.
She replied with a heart and then:
Thank you for not letting me see more.
I sat on my bed long after my phone dimmed. I had always known how much my father's pride could ruin things. Today it had almost ruined her peace.
Tomorrow I would see the director. I would tell him what happened. I would not let Mr. Watson make a classroom into a battlefield again.
And for now, I'd stay by Jayjay — not because she needed saving, but because sometimes saving someone was just showing up and holding their hand until the terror passed.