As the lunch break drew to a close, the corridors filled with the rhythmic shuffle of students returning to their afternoon classes.
Ethan was about to step into the classroom when he spotted Madison down the hall. She was heading the same way, but the moment she caught his eye, she visibly stiffened and quickened her pace, clearly haunted by their encounter earlier that morning.
"Madison," Ethan called out, his voice steady. "Was there something you wanted to ask me?"
She stopped, turning back with a hesitant nod. "I... I wanted to ask you about Mr. Henry."
Ethan's eyes narrowed instantly. "Mr. Henry? Why? Is something wrong with him?"
"No, it's about the incident in the cafeteria," Madison said, stepping closer. "You were right there, weren't you?"
Ethan gave a curt nod.
"Did you see him move?" she pressed. "I mean, did you see the moment he stepped between Allen and Enzo?"
Ethan looked away for a moment, retracing the memory. "To be honest? No. I didn't see him coming at all. He was just... there."
"Isn't that strange?" Madison's voice dropped to a whisper. "He blocked full-force punches from both of them simultaneously. With his bare hands."
Ethan nodded again, the weight of the realization settling in.
"Allen's strength is no joke," Madison continued, her eyes wide. "I've seen him literally break bones with those hands. And Mr. Henry didn't even flinch."
Ethan started to respond, but as he opened his mouth, Madison went silent, watching him intently.
"Mr. Henry is a mystery, that's for sure," Ethan said quietly. "Sometimes, when he looks at me... I feel like he can see right through everything I'm hiding."
Madison looked shocked. "Have you met him before? Before he came to this school?"
"No," Ethan replied. "Never."
Madison let out a long breath, trying to shake off the unease. "Let's just get to class."
Meanwhile, Allen emerged from the restroom, drying his hands as he walked toward the lecture hall.
He rounded a corner and came face-to-face with Mr. Henry. Allen's expression remained a mask of cool discipline—the result of years of rigorous training—but his mind raced. I need to find out who this man really is.
Mr. Henry turned, his gaze landing on Allen with unsettling precision. "Allen? Why aren't you in class?"
"I was looking for a friend, sir," Allen replied, his voice level and respectful.
Mr. Henry offered a thin, knowing smile. It was a look that made Allen feel exposed, as if his very thoughts were being read like a book.
"I believe your friend has already made it to class," Mr. Henry said softly.
Allen nodded. "I see. Thank you, sir." He turned and walked away, maintaining a steady, measured gait.
Mr. Henry watched him go. He noticed it instantly: the slight hitch in Allen's chest, a 0.3-second spike in his respiratory rate. So, the boy is hunting for secrets, Henry thought, a faint glint in his eyes before he turned to enter his own classroom.
When the final bell rang, Ethan waited by the school gates for his sister. Soon, Daisy appeared, flanked by Madison and Allen.
"Brother! You waited?" Daisy beamed.
Ethan's cold exterior melted into a genuine smile. So, he actually can smile, Madison noted to herself, surprised by the transformation.
"You don't have to wait for me every day, Ethan," Daisy teased, hugging him. "I'm a grown woman, you know."
Ethan let out a rare, soft laugh. "If you say so. Shall we?"
"I'm heading out now," Daisy said, turning to Madison.
"Why don't we give you a ride?" Madison offered.
Ethan shook his head. "You don't have to trouble yourselves. We can walk."
As he spoke, a black Rolls Royce limousine purred to the curb. All eyes turned to the vanity plate: a single, bold number 1. In this city, everyone knew that plate belonged to Madison's family.
Allen stepped forward and held the door open with a practiced gesture.
"The car is already here," Madison said, leaving no room for argument. "Get in."
Daisy smiled and hopped in, followed by Ethan, who offered a respectful nod. The heavy door clicked shut, and the limousine sped off into the afternoon traffic.
Across town, Mr. Henry entered his quiet apartment. The air was still, but he didn't need to turn on the lights to know he wasn't alone.
"Who are you?" he asked calmly, hanging his jacket on the closet handle.
A man sat in the corner, shrouded in shadows, the cherry of a cigarette glowing as he took a long drag.
"I came to ask about the boy, Henry," the man said, his voice gravelly.
"The boy is observant," Henry replied, pouring himself a glass of water. "He's starting to realize that I'm not just another teacher."
"Did he say anything specific?"
"No. But he looks at me as if I'm a threat he hasn't figured out how to neutralize yet."
The man in the dark let out a short, dry laugh. "Hahaha! You really can see through anyone. I expected nothing less from a master of psychology—especially the 'dark' variety."
Henry took a sip of water. "Is that all you came for?"
"No. I wanted to talk about the morning. Pure cinema, Henry. Twenty professionals sent to the hospital with shattered limbs and broken spines. You didn't leave a single one standing."
"Enzo sent them," Henry said flatly. It wasn't a question.
"He did. And he's about to send more. The kid is playing a very dangerous gamble."
"He's a fool," Henry remarked. "He's going to destroy himself, and he'll likely drag his father down with him."
The man in the shadows sighed. "That's the tragedy of it. His father is a saint—built hospitals, funded schools for the poor, lives in a modest apartment despite his wealth. He gives everything away to help people who have nothing. And yet, he ended up with children like Enzo and Olivia."
Henry shook his head slowly. "A good man with a rotten legacy. It's a shame."
"Well," the man said, standing up to leave. "Be ready for tomorrow, Henry. It's going to get loud."