"Locke Broughton."
"Texan. Champion of the Texas Youth Cowboy Competition. Known as the 'Lead Bull' of the younger generation of cowboys."
"Recruited by Midtown High afterward."
"Enrolled on a Monday morning; by the time school let out that afternoon, he was already ranked as the Number One heartthrob of Midtown High."
"Last year, he led Midtown to Maine and won the Chemistry Decathlon trophy with overwhelming dominance."
"But his legendary status doesn't come from his school deeds—it's what happened outside of school."
"He was once kidnapped by the Peerless Assassin."
"He was violently interrogated by Homeland Security and the FBI."
"Subsequently, he took both agencies to court, forcing the FBI into an out-of-court settlement while a jury ordered Homeland Security to pay him over ten million dollars in damages."
"And the legend continues..."
"The Poseidon."
"Rumor has it that the eleven survivors of the Poseidon disaster owe their lives to Locke."
"Word is, while waiting for rescue, Locke even slaughtered a Great White Shark in the deep sea."
"..."
Jane Foster finished reciting Locke's profile. She shared a look with Helen Cho and then said, "This year, Broughton plans to run for Student Council President. He made a grand declaration at the start of the competition that he'd take all twelve trophies. He's aggressive and clearly means business!"
The group couldn't help but nod in agreement.
Peter Parker was silent for a moment, then opened his mouth. "Um, Foster? We are the ones who mean business here. This is Midtown High, not Brooklyn."
Jane, Helen, and the others turned to look at Peter.
Peter: "..."
...
In the hallway:
"Good luck, Locke!"
"Thanks."
"Locke, take them down!"
"Will do."
"Locke, everyone in the dance club is going to the auditorium to cheer for you!"
"Thank you."
"Locke, slaughter Brooklyn and you're our next President!"
"...Right."
Locke looked at the student shouting about "slaughtering Brooklyn" and his eye twitched slightly. If he actually slaughtered them, he didn't know if he'd be President, but he'd certainly be on the FBI's Most Wanted list—under the name Locke Broughton.
"Broughton."
"Malik."
Locke closed his locker. Nearby, Sam Malik—the school's star quarterback and Locke's rival for the presidency—glanced at Gwen and then looked at Locke. "Do you have a minute?"
Gwen interjected, "We need to go prepare."
Locke gave Gwen a look that said 'I'll be right there', then looked at the scarred Sam Malik. "Sure. Where to?"
"The stadium."
"Fine."
It was only a five or six-minute walk from the stadium to the Grand Auditorium; it wouldn't take long. Locke gestured for Sam to lead the way.
Gwen stood there and frowned. A second later, she seemed to realize something, shook her head, closed her own locker, and headed off to meet Cindy and Kahn.
In the study room, Cindy, Kahn, and Matt watched Gwen walk in alone.
Cindy peered behind her. "Where's Locke?"
Kahn froze. "Oh god, please don't tell me he has diarrhea."
Matt frowned. "Impossible."
They had been extremely disciplined over the last three days. Even their water was bottled and sealed by the school's nutritional cafeteria after rigorous testing to ensure they didn't end up like Trinity—an embarrassing footnote in school history.
"Locke went to the stadium," Gwen explained. "He'll meet us at the auditorium. Let's head over first."
...
At the stadium stands:
Locke and Sam Malik found a deserted corner and sat down.
"What's up?" Locke looked at Sam.
In the Marvel universe, "Malik" was a name with heavy connotations. In a certain organization, it was a legendary surname; if your name was Malik, you were essentially royalty. Locke hadn't checked if Sam was part of that Malik family.
He believed that after last year's clash, Hydra would be wary. Until they figured out who the Peerless Assassin actually was, they wouldn't provoke him. Nick Fury might lack social grace, but Hydra's "emotional intelligence" was maxed out. If it weren't, they couldn't have lived inside SHIELD for decades without being detected.
If Nick Fury were the one leading Hydra? Heh. Hydra would be exposed to the world within three months under that man's unique brand of subtlety.
Sam pulled out a pack of cigarettes and offered one to Locke. Locke glanced at it, took it, and lit it. Sometimes the way to open a dialogue between men was simple and crude.
Sam nodded and got straight to the point. "If you're running for President, I have one condition. If you agree, I'll drop out."
Locke looked at him. Although saying "the advantage is mine" felt like a death flag, the advantage was objectively his. According to a school paper survey two days ago, Locke's support rating was already ahead of Sam and Nina Bell.
It wasn't a total landslide yet, but Locke hadn't played his "Grand Slam" card. If he won the twelve trophies as promised, his support would skyrocket. With him already leading before the first campaign speech on April 15th, Sam dropping out wasn't exactly "saving the day," nor was it a massive game-changer.
However...
Locke pondered for a moment and looked at Sam. "Let's hear your condition."
If Sam dropped out, his supporters would likely pivot to Locke, widening the gap even further. Locke wanted to know what the price was. If it was a small favor, fine. If it was difficult, he'd just refuse. No big deal.
Sam nodded. "I'll drop out and campaign for you. But if you win, I want the Student Council to look... cleaner."
"Cleaner?" That was a very tactful choice of words. To anyone else, the meaning might be vague.
Locke could translate it easily: 'The wall used to be clean, but now it's covered in stains of corruption.'
Since Sam didn't say it explicitly, Locke didn't either. He raised an eyebrow. "Is the Student Council currently 'unclean'?"
"Do you know why I decided to run?" Sam asked.
"No idea."
Sam Malik smiled. "Because Nina Bell plans to assimilate the Student Council. I chose to run this year because if she wins, my football team will be filled with idiots."
"Oh?"
"The President has the power to interfere with every club and activity in this school."
"I see."
"I knew you'd understand." Sam looked at Locke. "I only have one chance this year to lead Midtown to the High School League Super Bowl. If I miss it, I'm out of time. If you're elected, I want your support regarding the football roster."
Locke smiled.
Locke's lips curled into a smirk. He looked at Sam Malik and nodded. "Alright."
Even if Sam hadn't asked, Locke would have done it once he took over the council.
Sam Malik reached out his right hand. "Pleasure doing business with you, Locke."
Locke looked at it, smiled, and shook Sam's hand. "Pleasure's mine, Sam."
(Translator here, yes another chapter full of raci*t crap. I heavily edited it, tell me if there is still some. Man this author is very persistent with this crap.)
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