When Gorak saw the last spark of defiance fade from Advait's eyes, he said nothing. He simply turned and walked out of the office, then out of the school. His son needed him now.
Advait pushed himself up from the floor and started toward his classroom. Though the beating had left him badly hurt, his clothes hid most of the bruises. His fingers, crushed under the hard stomps, barely moved, and sharp pain shot through them with every step. He tucked both hands deep into his pockets, determined not to let anyone see.
Even so, the pain in his legs made him limp slowly and awkwardly. Classmates noticed the strange walk, but no one asked. They assumed he had simply slipped and fallen somewhere. None realized how much agony he was hiding with every careful step.
Gorak, meanwhile, gave quiet orders to his men as he left. "Keep an eye on that filth. Make sure he tells no one. If anyone else finds out, kill them—but don't touch the boy. My son will deal with him himself when the time comes."
He kept his identity hidden on purpose. If he had revealed who he truly was, he would not have bothered with lies or explanations—he could have beaten the boy openly without a word. But exposing himself would force him to pull strings through his political connections, and the cost would be high. Better to control the punishment quietly and keep everything contained.
Back to Advait—after school ended, he made his way home, each step slow and painful. His mother spotted him from the doorway. She saw the odd limp right away and caught the faint marks on his face that others had overlooked.
She hurried toward him, voice full of worry. "Advait, what happened to you?!"
She reached out to check him over, but Advait quickly pulled back a little and forced a small smile. "It's nothing, Mom. I just slipped on the ground. Really, I'm fine."
His mother frowned but softened at his words. "Remember to use the bandages if it hurts. And don't play so roughly again—you have to be more careful."
Advait nodded, the gentle concern in her voice easing the pain just a little.
He then slipped into his room to change clothes, making sure the door was shut tight and no one could see. He peeled off his shirt slowly, wincing at the fresh bruises blooming across his back and arms.
The next day, he went to school as usual. He endured the punishment in Gorak's office again—more strikes, more pain. He screamed until his voice cracked. When it ended, he limped out, his walk even stranger now, each step careful and uneven.
Reaching home, his mother noticed right away. "Advait, what happened? You're walking like that again." He forced a weak smile and muttered, "It's just the old injuries hurting, Mom. Nothing more."
The pattern repeated the following day. And the day after.
On the fourth day, Gorak joined in the beating himself. Advait had started to grow numb to the pain, so Gorak struck harder, testing his limits.
Advait took the harder beating all silently at first, then broke into quiet sobs. In the middle of the beating, He mummer to empty air, When is this going to end?
Gorak heard it, he smiled for the first time and whispered in his ears, "Soon."
That day's injuries were worse—deep welts, swollen places that throbbed with every heartbeat. Even his father noticed when Advait came home. "Son, what's all this?" Advait avoided his eyes and said nothing. His parents exchanged worried glances but did not press him further.
The next day, while Advait bathed, his little brothers caught sight of the ugly marks covering his body. They ran straight to their parents. "Mom! Dad! Advait has bad bruises everywhere!"
His parents sat him down and asked gently at first, then more firmly. Advait stayed silent, staring at the floor. They decided they could wait no longer. "We'll talk to the school tomorrow," his mother said. "Some kids must be bullying him."
They had no idea it was not children bullying him at all.
The following morning, they went to the principal. He listened carefully and promised, "I'll look into this right away."
He did. He checked the school logs and spoke quietly with a few staff members. He learned that every day after classes, Advait went straight to Gorak's office—a small, quiet room tucked in a forgotten corner where few people passed. A bad feeling settled in his gut.
Later that afternoon, he went to the office himself. Through the slightly open door, he saw Advait pinned down, fresh marks on his skin, and Gorak standing over him with his men nearby. The child's condition had clearly worsened—pale, trembling, eyes hollow.
The principal's face hardened. He pushed the door wide and stepped inside.
"Gorak, what were you doing?" His voice shook with fury. "How can you do this to a child? I am calling the police right now. You just wait!"
The principal's shout echoed through the wide-open office door, drawing the attention of every remaining staff member in the quiet after-school building. No students were around at this hour—only teachers and administrative workers hurried toward the sound, concern turning to confusion as they approached.
Gorak's face hardened the moment he saw the crowd gathering. In one swift motion, he drew a concealed pistol from his jacket. His two men followed suit, raising their guns and barking, "Don't move! Put your phone down!"
Several staff members froze in terror. They stared at the weapons, minds reeling. Why would Gorak—a PE teacher—suddenly pull a gun? This made no sense.
One older staff member, still half-smiling in disbelief, let out a nervous laugh. "Teacher Gorak, come on—you don't have to prank anyone. That's obviously a fake gun."
The words barely left his mouth before Gorak squeezed the trigger. A sharp noise rang out. The man crumpled instantly, blood spreading across the floor as he fell dead.