Beginning of the game

The clatter of trays and the hum of gossip died instantly. All eyes were on the purple liquid that was poured into Akin’s meal . Jay stood over him, the empty carton dangling from his fingers like a trophy.

"Oops," Jay sneered, leaning in so the surrounding students could hear. "I thought your meal looked a little dry. Consider it a donation from someone who can actually afford to eat."

Akin didn't flinch. He didn't look at the juice, nor did he look at the crowd whispering in the shadows. He slowly looked up at Jay. His eyes weren't filled with the tears or the rage Jay expected. They were hollow—the same eyes that had watched his mother breathe her last on a rain-slicked staircase.

The Response:

Akin picked up a napkin and calmly wiped a small splash of juice from the back of his hand.

"You're right, Jay," Akin said, his voice terrifyingly steady. "It was dry."

He stood up slowly. Despite being thinner and poorer, Akin seemed to tower over the table. He picked up the ruined tray. For a heartbeat, the crowd held their breath, expecting him to throw it. Jay braced himself, a smug grin forming, ready for the excuse to have his bodyguards crush the "scholarship kid."

But Akin didn't throw it. He walked to the trash can, dumped the entire tray with a metallic clack, and turned back to Jay.

"Don’t start what you can’t finish" Akin whispered to Jay ear as he stepped backwards until he was inches away from the cafeteria’s door. He spoke in a whisper that felt like a razor blade.

Jay’s grin flickered. The lack of a "victim" reaction made him look foolish, like a toddler throwing a tantrum for an audience that wasn't interested.

"You think you're better than me?" Jay hissed, his face turning a deep shade of red. "I could have you expelled by sunset. I could have your entire life ruined”.

Akin tilted his head, a ghost of a smile appearing—the first emotion anyone had seen on him in years.

Akin turned his back on the richest boy in school and walked toward the exit. He didn't look back. He didn't need to. He could hear the low murmurs of the students—not laughing at him, but at Jay, who was left standing alone with an empty juice box and a fading sense of power.

After the long cafeteria drama Jay embarrassingly walked down the school’s hall kicking all the trash cans when suddenly he heard a voice coming from the teachers office. “So when are you going to stop ignoring me and tell me about how you truly feel?” asked Ms. Green Jay’s English instructor whom he just saw talking to a male student from his class.

Jay froze. The trash can he had been about to kick stayed upright as he pressed his back against the wall, his heart hammering—not with fear, but with a dark, sudden realization. He recognized that voice. It was Ms. Green, the ice-cold English instructor who had failed him on his last three essays.

And the student she was speaking to? Jay leaned in closer, catching a glimpse through the cracked door. It was Akin.

"You can't keep doing this, Ms. Green," Akin’s voice was lower than usual, stripped of its typical robotic calm. "If the administration finds out about the 'extra' help you're giving me... about..."

"They won't find out," Ms. Green snapped, though her voice trembled. "As long as you keep your promise of meeting me this weekend, everything will be fine and don’t tell anyone. You stay in this school, and I... I don't lose everything."

Jay felt a slow, wicked grin spread across his face. He didn't need to dump juice on Akin to break him. He just needed this. Blackmail is a much more effective tool than physical bullying.

Instead of bursting in, Jay pulled out his phone and hit record. He caught thirty seconds of their hushed, desperate exchange before slipping away into the shadows of the hallway.

The next morning, Akin found a note in his locker. It wasn't a death threat or a joke. It was a printed screenshot of Ms. Green and him.

At the bottom, in Jay’s messy handwriting, were four words:

"I have already started.”

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