"Alright, I'll be taking off now. Thanks for everything, Li Qian. See you at school—if the universe decides to be merciful," Leander said, flashing a small, reassuring smile that didn't quite reach his eyes.
"Wait! Don't just walk out there!" Li Qian practically jumped in front of the door, her hands outstretched. "Leander, those people don't just give up. They're probably circling the block like sharks right now!"
She looked at him, her brow furrowed with a protective intensity that was almost maternal. "You don't get it. Two years ago, when my family first opened this place, I saw a rival shop owner get his legs shattered in broad daylight just for undercutting Mike's prices by fifty cents. That's the kind of people we're talking about. You can't just walk home."
Leander looked at her, feeling a strange tug of warmth. He wasn't used to people—strangers, no less—putting themselves on the line for him. He gave a helpless, soft laugh. "Okay, okay. I'll hang back for a few more minutes. I'm not in a rush to get hit by a pipe."
"Good," she said, her expression softening instantly. "Anyway, are you hungry? Do you like dumplings? My dad just finished a fresh batch of pork and chive."
...
Twenty minutes later, Li Haiyang stepped back into the break room, wiping his hands on a towel. The tension in his shoulders had eased slightly, but he still looked like a man carrying the weight of the world.
"The coast is mostly clear," he grunted. "They left a couple of scouts at the end of the block, but there's a service tunnel through the basement of the bakery next door. It leads to the subway station. Qianqian, take him out that way. Avoid the main road."
He turned to Leander, his eyes stern but not unkind. "Leander, listen to an old man. This needs to end tomorrow. Go to school, find Mike, and apologize. Even if you have to swallow your pride, even if he's the one who started it. He has the power, and we don't. That's just the way the world works in Queens."
Li Haiyang looked at the floor, a flicker of shame crossing his face. "I'm sorry I can't do more. Chinatown is a fragile ecosystem. I can't risk my daughter or my shop for a fight I can't win."
Leander watched the man, realizing that this father was just doing what he had to do to survive. "Don't apologize, Uncle Li. You've already done more than enough. I'll make sure to come back in a few days to properly thank you for the food."
He offered a generous smile, though internally, his thoughts were much darker. 'Strength is a relative term, Uncle Li. We'll see who's stronger by the end of the week.'
Li Qian led him through the damp, narrow service path, her hand briefly brushing his arm as they navigated the dark corners. "Go straight home, Leander. Seriously. Be careful."
Once they parted ways at the subway entrance, Leander's expression shifted. The "clueless student" mask fell away. He reached into his bag, pulled out his glasses, and tapped the frame.
"Jarvis, I need a deep dive. Everything on Mike's Fast Food. Specifically, the ownership and any off-book activities."
"Initiating data sweep," Jarvis responded. "Retrieving records for Mike's Fast Food, established 2004. Legal representative: Jeton Ian. Born 1963. Immigrated 1999. History of..."
"Wait," Leander interrupted, leaning against a cold tile pillar. "The kid at school said his dad is 'Mike.' Is the boss Jeton or Mike? And look for anomalies."
"Processing. Mike Ian, born 1965, forty-six years old. He is officially listed as a store manager for one of the franchise locations. His personal record is impeccably clean. No arrests, high credit score, active in local charities."
Jarvis continued, "However, analyzing the franchise's tax returns from 2005 onward shows a pattern. Revenue spikes every third Tuesday of the month, coinciding with 'inventory shipments.' The data suggests extensive laundering. I've detected a recurring mathematical error in their digital ledger—a deliberate loophole used to mask massive influxes of untraceable cash."
Leander stared at the HUD on his lenses. The digital world showed a completely different picture than the one Uncle Li had painted. On paper, Mike Ian was a saint. There was no mention of drugs, no police raids, not even a parking ticket.
"They're smart," Leander whispered. "They've bought the digital silence as well as the physical one."
"Jarvis, compile the most damning evidence of the laundering and the shipment anomalies. Send it anonymously to the Major Crimes Division and the DEA. Let's see how clean Mike Ian stays when the feds start knocking."
"Transmission sent, Leander. The digital trail is untraceable."
...
The next morning, Aunt Jenny insisted on driving Leander to the school gates herself. She was worried about the "rough neighborhood," unaware that her nephew was currently the eye of a brewing storm.
As he hopped out of the car, he spotted a familiar tracksuit near the entrance. Li Qian was standing there, looking like she'd been waiting for an hour.
"Leander! Get over here!" she hissed, grabbing his arm the moment he was in reach. Before he could protest, she shoved a sun hat onto his head and pulled a surgical mask over his face.
"What are you doing?" he muffled through the fabric.
"Hiding you! I saw two of those thugs from yesterday. They've been patrolling the gate since 7:00 AM," she whispered urgently. "Mike is seriously obsessed. He's like a jilted ex, but with more crowbars. By the way... are you afraid of needles? Or pain?"
Leander glanced toward the sidewalk. He saw them—two men in leather jackets, scanning every face that walked through the gate. He felt a cold surge of annoyance.
"I'll be fine," Leander said. He subtly slid his hand into his pocket, where two small, high-density metal beads sat. With a tiny flick of his wrist, he dropped them. They didn't hit the ground with a clatter; they glided through the air, propelled by a faint magnetic tether, rolling through the crowd of students toward the two scouts.
"Let's go, Li Qian. Ignore them."
Li Qian kept her head down, her arm linked tightly in Leander's. In a high school environment, they just looked like another couple, which helped them blend in perfectly.
Just as they passed the two men, the metal beads reached their targets. Beneath the soles of the thugs' boots, the smooth spheres suddenly transformed, sprouting jagged, razor-sharp spikes that locked into the pavement.
"ARGH!"
A guttural wail erupted from one of the men. He collapsed, clutching his foot as the spike pierced through his leather sole. His partner leaned over to help him, and—crunch—his own foot found the second spike.
Within seconds, the two "tough guys" were on the ground, wailing and clutching their legs. A crowd of curious students immediately swarmed them, blocking the entrance and creating a chaotic bottleneck.
Li Qian wanted to turn back and look, but Leander kept walking, his pace steady. "Hey, Li Qian, we've got a first-period bell to catch. No time for street performers."
"That was... weird," she said, looking at Leander with a squint. "You don't seem surprised at all. Did you see what happened to them?"
Leander pulled the mask down, letting out a breath of fresh air. "I guess karma works fast in Queens. Maybe they stepped on their own bad intentions."
Li Qian laughed, though she still looked puzzled. "My dad always says bad guys get their comeuppance eventually. I guess 'eventually' was today."
They parted ways at the stairs, Li Qian heading for the sophomore wing and Leander walking into Classroom 103.
The moment he stepped through the door, the temperature in the room seemed to drop. Mike was sitting in the very front row, his wrist heavily bandaged. He looked up, expecting to see a broken, terrified Leander. When he saw Leander walking in completely unscathed, his face went from smug to a ghostly, trembling white. His legs actually gave a little shake under the desk.
Leander didn't say a word. He didn't even look at Mike. He walked straight to the back row, taking his seat by the window. Without Karin there, the desk felt vast and empty, but he preferred the silence.
He hadn't placed the tracker on Karin out of some creepy obsession; it was a failsafe. The "medicine" she had injected wasn't just a blood substitute. Jarvis's preliminary analysis of the residue on her sleeve suggested a complex synthetic protein structure—something far beyond standard pharmaceutical capabilities. Karin Fete wasn't just a rich girl with anemia; she was a walking science experiment.
The class dragged on. Walker, now officially the monitor, spent the hour trying to organize a "social mixer" that nobody wanted to attend. The other students gossiped about the latest pop hits and how "cool" it would be to see a real superhero. Leander just stared out the window, his mind focused on a single number: 77%. His 'Iron Bones' were nearly four-fifths complete.
...
Meanwhile, in a windowless office in the back of a Mike's Fast Food franchise in downtown Queens.
Mike Ian sat behind a massive mahogany desk that looked out of place in a burger joint. He was staring at a map of the borough, his face a mask of cold calculation.
His phone buzzed. Private caller.
"Yeah?" Ian grunted.
"Mike, we've got a problem," a voice whispered on the other end—a voice that belonged to a high-ranking detective in the 104th Precinct. "Someone dumped a digital file into the DEA's anonymous tip line. It's deep, Mike. It's got the laundered ledgers, the shipment dates, even the shell company names."
Ian stood up so fast his chair hit the wall. "What?! Who found that? I pay you to make sure those files don't exist!"
"This wasn't a physical leak. Someone hacked the encrypted server. They're calling it a 'systematic audit.' The feds are already forming a task force. You need to move that shipment tonight, or you're done."
Ian hung up, his hand trembling with rage. He looked at the map. "Who is it? Who's trying to cut my throat at a time like this?"
He didn't know about the boy in the back of a history classroom. He didn't know about the "Ordinary" student with the golden eyes. All he knew was that someone had started a war, and Mike Ian was prepared to burn Queens to the ground to win it.