I am 15 chapters ahead on my patreón, check it out if you are interested.
https://www.patréon.com/emperordragon
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Chapter 89: The Grade, and the Horror
Jon's Perspective
Jon was riding a high. Not the average "things-are-okay" kind of high. No, this was elite. This was post-documentary-premiere, standing-ovation, people-asking-for-your-autograph-on-a-school-project kind of high. Okay, maybe the autograph thing didn't actually happen, but it was still great.
The classroom was alive with the quiet energy that always buzzes through the air when graded assignments are about to be returned. Students sat straighter, pens clicked nervously, and the teacher's slow progress down the rows with that fateful stack of papers felt like a ceremonial march.
Jon leaned back in his chair, arms crossed, a knowing smirk tugging at the corners of his mouth. He wasn't worried. His project had been solid. Innovative. The kind of thing teachers remember.
Three seats over, Alex Dunphy already had her signature smug face on. Her posture was perfect, her expression annoyingly serene. She was the kind of person who probably practiced victory smirks in the mirror. Not to mention, she had plenty of reasons to be smug after the Great Hot Sauce Con of a few days ago.
As soon as her paper landed on her desk, she made a show of it—flicking her hair, adjusting the edges of the paper like it was a menu at a five-star restaurant. Then, with the flair of a magician revealing the final card in a trick, she flipped it.
A giant, unmistakable A in red pen.
"As expected," she said breezily, just loud enough for Jon to hear. "Bet you feel pretty silly now for picking grandpa Jay for your project."
Jon didn't even flinch. He gave her the kind of nod that wasn't really a nod—more like the bare minimum of acknowledgment required by social contract.
"Nice," he said, flatly.
Then his own paper arrived.
He glanced at it with the casual detachment of someone who already knew what he was about to see. And there it was—an A+. Not just an A+, but an A+ with a tiny smiley face next to it, like the teacher had felt personally blessed by his work and had to express it somehow.
Jon turned his paper around slowly and held it up.
"Oh," he said, in a voice so quiet and nonchalant it almost felt accidental, "that's interesting."
Alex didn't move.
Her eyes remained locked on the page in front of her, as if blinking might cause it to disappear. Her brain, normally a well-oiled machine of academic precision, had hit a wall. Her systems were overloaded. She had expected dominance. At worst, a tie. But this?
Jon waved a hand gently in front of her face. No reaction.
"Alex?" he asked softly. "You okay? You're doing the buffering face."
Still nothing.
It was like someone had unplugged her and forgot to reboot. Jon could almost hear the internal fan whirring, the mental error messages piling up.
The bell rang, breaking the silence like a gunshot.
Jon stood, casually gathering his things.
"Well," he said, slinging his backpack over one shoulder, "I'm gonna head out before steam starts coming out of your ears."
And with that, he walked away like a man who had just scored the game-winning touchdown in overtime—calm, composed, and above the need for celebration. No need for a mic drop when the silence already said it all.
A few minutes later, Jon stood at his locker, swapping out textbooks like a completely average student like he didn't just beat Alex Dunphy at her own game.
Then something caught his ear. Faint, but distinct.
A sound from the nearby art classroom. It was a soft shuffling noise—nothing dramatic—but definitely… movement. The door was slightly ajar, just enough to invite suspicion.
That room was supposed to be empty.
Jon sighed. "Great. Probably a rat or something."
Still, his curiosity was louder than his common sense. He took a step closer and pushed the door open.
And immediately wished he hadn't.
There, in the middle of the room—Terry and Suki. Locked in an intense, dramatic, borderline cinematic make-out session that belonged in a teen drama and not a public school classroom.
All three of them froze on sight.
Jon. Terry. Suki.
For a brief second, time halted. Like someone had pressed pause on a game cutscene right as the NPCs glitched into awkward animation.
Terry's eyes were wide, full of confusion, panic, and a thousand silent screams.
Suki looked like she might try to physically disappear through the floor. Or astral project. Or both.
Jon, meanwhile, could feel his soul trying to disconnect and float away to a safer, less cursed dimension.
An eternity passed in silence.
Then Jon, trying his best to recover any shred of dignity, gave a solemn nod and said, "Sorry to interrupt. Please... continue."
He closed the door with the gentle care of someone sealing a crypt that should never have been opened.
And then he ran.
Full sprint. Down the hall. No explanation. No slowing down. Just a blur of panic and psychological damage.
It was as if he'd caught a glimpse of something from beyond the veil. Something mortal eyes were not meant to see.
Minutes later, Jon was in the restroom.
Leaning over the sink.
Splashing cold water on his face like he was trying to exorcise the memory from his brain.
Once. Twice. Twelve times.
He stared into the mirror, eyes wide, hair damp, expression haunted.
"I can't unsee that," he whispered to his reflection. "They are my friends."
Beside him, a random classmate finished washing his hands and gave Jon a skeptical look.
"Dude, you okay?"
Jon didn't answer. He just muttered something about "needing bleach. For the soul."
And walked out, dragging his dignity behind him like a ghost.
Sometimes, getting an A+ comes with a cost.
And sometimes, that cost is accidentally walking in on your best friend swapping DNA with his girlfriend like there's no tomorrow..