John''s heart skipped a beat as adrenaline surged through him; his fist clenched, ready for the inevitable clash. Scenes of Jackie Chan''s moves started to flow through his eyes, and yet the anticipated impact never came.


    "Hey, hey, let him have it. Time''s running out," Ronnie barked, struggling to hold Sweet Tooth back. "Do you want the teachers involved? Especially Gaza and Tomato?" His words had the desired effect.


    The other youth reluctantly held Sweet Tooth''s other arm, helping Ronnie to hold him back. He could risk him lashing out later, but he cannot lose his monthly allowance. His parents would not tolerate violence on his report.


    "Let go of me!" Sweet Tooth tried to shrug off Ronnie''s grip, but the boys were determined. "You and me, tomorrow, at the school grounds!" he shouted, attempting to intimidate John. That was the only thing he could do, after all, he''d already exhausted his three strikes after getting caught sneaking alcohol into school on Valentine''s Day. This time, if news of this got out, it was definite expulsion.


    John exhaled a sigh of relief as the youths retreated. But he could feel a headache coming after him. Now, of all time, he''d booked himself a match with Sweet Tooth.


    Not to mention his sickly physique, he had almost near-zero experience in brawls. The last time John had gotten into a scuffle was back in elementary school. Escaping that encounter had been nothing short of a miracle, all thanks to the other kid''s caution about his recent operation — afraid he might accidentally kill him.


    But tomorrow... Sweet Tooth would undoubtedly try to restore his reputation by all means necessary, and a few of his teeth would not cut it.


    "Gruuh!"


    John''s stomach growled in protest. Was it the lingering pain or the anticipation of what tomorrow might bring? No matter what, he must avoid the fight otherwise, if the school staff decides he''s a violent wild-ling, he might lose the opportunity to pitch his idea.


    "Gruuh!" His head turned toward the nearest bathroom as if seeking escape from the uncertainty ahead.


    * * *


    "And where are you coming from?"


    As the glass door swung open, the squad was met by a stern-faced teacher dressed in a worn-out suit. A man from the hood with tons of problems and was underpaid, but his single gaze shifted the expressions of the youths instantly.


    "We couldn''t find any extra chairs, sir. T," Ronnie quickly interjected his wit on full display.


    Gonzo''s expression remained impassive as he scanned the group. His eyes soon fell on the bloodstains on Sweet Tooth''s face. "And what happened to you, Savior?" he asked.


    The boy standing beside Ronnie opened his mouth to reply—but before he could, Sweet Tooth stomped his foot, stepping forward to cover the mishap. Acting nonchalantly, Sweet Tooth answered, "I fell on the stairs, sir," his voice inadvertently breaking into a whistle.The author''s tale has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.


    "Ha-ha-ha!" Laughter erupted from the crowd as they noticed his missing tooth. Even the normally serious students, busy scribbling notes, dropped their pens in amusement.


    "Silence!" Sir Gonzo bellowed, his cool, unyielding demeanor instantly quelling the clamor.


    A few stifled chuckles managed to escape, which only incited Sweet Tooth further—a boy more accustomed to being the target of insults now found himself with a chance to retort. Yet, once again, all that emerged from his mouth was a defiant whistle. This lone sound sent the bored students into another wave of mockery, with shouts of "Whistling-man!" echoing from the back of the class.


    Before Gonzo could regain control, his unsightly face contorted with displeasure. "Who said that?!" he demanded.


    The entire class quieted as all eyes shifted toward a figure in the left corner—a student whose wool hat was worn so low it nearly concealed his eyes.


    "Ah, Taps, please join your friends," Gonzo ordered once he identified the culprit. A tall boy, a sly smile playing on his lips, made his way over to the group; his suppressed laughter betrayed no remorse.


    [Note: At Gateway High, after Grade 7, students are graded from 1 to 5. A "4 Orange" is equivalent to grade 11, class - orange.]


    "Okay. You 4 Orange students are becoming notorious for mischief around here. If you were as disciplined as the Fountains [John''s class], I could spend my day without frowning—or having to pester Brother Charles," Gonzo sneered.


    "Now, I''ll ask one question, and I expect one answer: which classes did you visit in your search for the ''extra chairs?''" He continued to question. The silence and lack of response only further cemented the truth forming in his mind. "So not only do you fool around in other students'' classes, but you also forget your chairs when it''s my lesson?"


    "Now you''re busy sneaking away during my period—and one of you even got hurt?" Gonzo snapped, smacking his lips in derision. "My Geo lesson must''ve been incredibly boring." With that, he turned and began rummaging through the front desk.


    Sweet Tooth couldn''t bring himself to confess that it was John''s doing; if he did, many people would become his ''friend'' today, and a huge mob is likely to stand beside him.


    Gonzo continued shifting books on his cluttered teacher''s table.


    The object he sought was evident by the ashen faces the squad had worn.


    Getting flogged in front of the class would certainly lower their "heat level" by a large margin. Fortunately for them, after a few moments, the teacher failed to find it.


    "How lucky—I forgot to bring Brother Charley. Anyway—" Gonzo''s voice was abruptly cut off by the chime of his phone.


    Seconds later, a smile crept onto his face. "Seems there''s a blockage in the senior bathroom pipes, and the responsible staff is on leave." Gonzo scanned the rows of students; some turned away, some looked down, while others offered nothing more than poker faces. He teasingly smiled at each one, fully aware of the mischief brewing in their minds. But today, they were not the ones who would face his wrath. His gaze abruptly shifted toward the squad lingering by the door.


    "Heh... since you''ve escaped Brother Charley''s disciplinary lesson, you will assist in the fetching of toilet water as well as help fetch the water during lunch"


    The squad''s expressions darkened—none more so than Sweet Tooth''s. His face twisted as if he had swallowed a fly. He could already hear the whispers, see the smirks. He was going to be the talk of the year. And it was all because of that punk-ass Stick-Man. His veins bulged as he clenched his fists. That match was on. But first—he needed more money for the hit on John. Publicly cleaning the toilets. Losing his tooth. All for ten lousy bucks.


    ...


    Meanwhile, John casually shooed a fly away. "There are so many annoying things at this school; luckily, this is the final year of torture," he muttered under his breath. Getting up, he pulled his pants, closed the lid, and grabbed the handle —but it didn''t work.


    "Well, this is what those janitors are being paid for," he remarked dryly as he left the room, not knowing what he left would only fuel the chaos that was gonna come.