"Hahahaha!"
The sound burst out of Melvin like he couldn't hold it in anymore.
"What did she say—put ur textbook in your head?" he laughed again, louder this time. "Denzel, she really went in on you."
Denzel leaned back in his chair, eyes half-closed, one hand pressing into his temple as if the memory itself was giving him a headache.
"Bro, stop laughing at me. It ain't cool, bro," he groaned.
"Nah man," Melvin said, still laughing, wiping his face. "Your reaction to what she said was just out of this world. It was like you stared at her as if she was your mother. Your face was just like a kid being told what to do and what not to do."
Denzel let out a slow breath. The classroom noise blurred into the background—chairs scraping, voices overlapping, life moving on like nothing happened.
"Melvin, it's okay," he muttered. "It's in the past."
Melvin clicked his tongue.
"In the past? My foot. If it were me, you would even make sure the seniors heard about it."
Denzel shook his head slightly.
"Okay, okay, man. But let's be real here… that math test was difficult."
Melvin shrugged, unbothered.
"Yea bro. I wasn't planning on getting 25 out of 100."
"Like, true talk," Denzel said quietly, shaking his head. "And that girl, Sabrina… she got the highest score. I just wanted to see her score. Just to compare mine to hers."
Melvin turned toward him slowly.
"Like bro, you stupid or what? She got 92 and you got 23… why di—"
"Bro, I beg, don't mess," Denzel cut in quickly, lifting both hands.
There was a pause. Not awkward—just heavy.
"So how would we explain this to our parents?" Melvin asked, sighing.
Denzel's lips curled slightly.
"Simple. Hehehe… you tell your parents everybody got low grades, and I'll do the same."
Melvin raised an eyebrow.
"That's genius. But what if they contact the math teacher?"
"Then you just give the belt to your father," Denzel said casually, like it was the most normal thing in the world.
Melvin punched his shoulder lightly.
"Are you stupid? No. Do you think I should give my dad the belt? Like, for real, why am I a self-sacrificial lamb?"
"Maybe," Denzel shrugged.
"Bruh."
The bell rang.
Sharp. Final.
School was over.
A teacher entered Class 1Science4B, his presence cutting through the restless noise.
"Okay, students," he said. "Put your heads on the table and let's pray before leaving."
Denzel leaned slightly toward Melvin.
"For the first time he came early to dismiss us," he whispered.
Melvin hummed quietly as the room settled.
"Father Lord, please protect our children so they reach home safely and come back tomorrow to praise our name. In Jesus Christ, our Lord and Savior, and God our Father, may we all say—"
"AMEN!!" the class responded together, loud and messy.
"Okay, class, make sure you do your assignments."
The teacher raised a hand.
"Oh, one minute. Where are the MDs?"
Every finger turned toward them.
"Huh!" they said together.
"The principal's calling for you two," the teacher said. "He said he wants a favor."
They looked at each other.
"Don't worry…" Denzel said aloud, forcing confidence. "We'll go and meet our old man."
The teacher laughed as he walked out.
"You really are funny, Denzel."
The classroom emptied fast. Bags zipped. Chairs scraped. Voices spilled out through the doors.
Outside, the school gates opened wide, releasing a flood of students into the afternoon heat. Noise rolled like waves. Somewhere, someone shouted. Somewhere else, laughter burst.
But Melvin and Denzel walked calmly, quietly, toward the principal's office, still arguing about who would win in a fight—Goku or Sung Jinwoo.
They stopped at the door.
Knock. Knock.
"Can we come in?" they asked together.
"Enter."
The principal looked like someone in his late 60s, sitting comfortably behind his desk. The room smelled faintly of old books and polish.
Denzel stepped in first, smiling easily.
"My old man George, you called us. What's the deal today? Want to play chess?"
"Bro, shut the hell up," Melvin whispered sharply. "You can't barge in the principal's office and say that."
Melvin cleared his throat.
"Sorry for my buddy's choice of words. You called us here?"
The principal chuckled.
"Don't worry about that. That's just Denzel. But the reason I called you here is because I wan—"
Smack.
"Ouch! What's that for? Why did you have to slap me?" Denzel shouted.
The room went still.
The principal burst out laughing.
"Hahaha. You can come out, Elis."
A girl stepped out from behind the curtain.
"Grandpa, what's wrong with this boy?" she said. "He's just too stupid for my liking."
Melvin muttered, "Ou ohhh bro… two times in one day… damn bro."
Denzel didn't respond. He walked quietly to a chair near the door and sat down. His mood had shifted completely.
"Calm down now," Principal George said. "Don't do that… that's just Denzel."
Elis crossed her arms.
"He was trying to touch my chest when I was behind the curtain."
Melvin glanced at her chest, thinking silently, damn, that shii flat as hell.
The principal turned to Melvin.
"Melvin, this is my granddaughter. I want you to take her to my house today. I have a special meeting with someone. Can you do this small favor for me?"
"Don't worry. I'll gladly do it for you," Melvin said.
The principal looked at Denzel.
"Can you also provide extra protection?"
Denzel gave a thumbs-up, eyes lowered.
They left the school grounds.
At the traffic light, they waited. Cars passed. Engines hummed. The city moved like nothing mattered.
The light changed.
They stepped forward.
BAMMMM!
The impact tore through the air.
Bodies flew.
Pain exploded.
The truck didn't stop.
Blood spread across the asphalt.
Elis was gone.
Denzel and Melvin lay there, breathing shallow, life slipping away.
Darkness came slowly.
Thick. Heavy. Endless.
In a room far away, four people waited.
"Where are those boys?" one man asked.
"It's 6:48 PM," Ahmed said, standing. "I'm going to look for my son, Denzel."
The TV suddenly bled.
"Two bodies found dead. The bodies appear to be 13 and 14 years old. Known as the MDs—their real names: Melvin and Denzel."
Silence fell.
"Nooo… Nooo!!" Ahmed whispered, tears dropping. "This can't be our children… nooo…"
Somewhere, on the top of a ruined building, rain fell hard.
An individual dressed in all black stood still, unmoving.
Another figure approached and knelt.
"Master, the mission was successful."
"Good."
".....like….".
"What's on ur mind, young one?"
"Master… I mean… why did we have ha—"
"Haa… you don't understand, do you?"
"Master, I don—"
Bang!
Blood sprayed on the cracked ground a body fell.
A figure entered the frame, holding a gun.
"Grand G. Who are these new people u keep bringing to the organization? It just pisses me off…"
"Shhhhh. Silence, young one," Grand G said softly. "Mmmhhhmmmm… do u feel it?"
The rain grew heavier.
"The games," he continued. "The games are beginning."
Darkness.
Cold.
Tight.
Like a womb.
They stirred.
Tiny bodies. Strange limbs. Eyes formed, yet useless.
Light flickered.
Nothing made sense.
Fragile.
Strange.
Reborn.
A new life had begun.
Their second chance in a world that demanded they start over—
from zero.