Mr. Jake Peterson stood just a few steps from the school entrance, posture upright, arms folded across his chest like a sentinel. His wire-rimmed glasses hid the sharp scrutiny of his gaze, but his expression was unreadable—calm, composed, and quietly commanding.
He hadn't raised his voice. He didn't need to.
The courtyard had gone still, the bubbling noise of teenage chatter fading into a stunned silence. It was the kind of stillness that came with a sudden shift in power. For a moment, it felt like the very air had thickened.
Adam's smirk faltered. Jessica frowned. Jeremy awkwardly tucked his phone into his hoodie pocket. One by one, the group glanced at each other—silent questions hanging between them.
Then, as if by some unspoken agreement, they stepped away from Liam. Slowly. Casually. Trying not to make it look like retreat.
The students who'd gathered to watch the morning show quickly looked away, pulling out their phones or pretending they had somewhere else to be. A few snuck glances at Mr. Peterson, trying to read him—some intrigued, some unsettled.
As the self-appointed royals of the school walked off with forced laughter and feigned indifference, Liam remained rooted to the pavement. He looked up at the tall man who'd intervened. His expression was a mix of confusion and disbelief—no one ever stepped in. Not like that.
Mr. Peterson tilted his head and gave a single, almost imperceptible nod.
"You okay?" he asked, his voice low and steady.
Liam hesitated, his hands still clutching the straps of his backpack like a life vest. Then, after a long pause, he gave a timid nod. His lips parted like he might say thank you, but the words caught in his throat.
At that moment, a sleek black SUV pulled up to the curb with quiet authority. The tinted window rolled down just far enough for Michael to peer out. He'd been watching everything.
A moment later, the door opened and he stepped out—well-dressed, composed, but with an edge of tension in his movements. His eyes scanned the scene quickly: Liam, shaken but upright. Jake, still standing like a stone pillar.
Michael approached, holding out a matte-black lunch bag.
"What was that about?" he asked quietly, voice laced with concern.
Jake didn't answer right away. His gaze remained fixed on the school doors where Adam and his friends had just disappeared.
"Introduction day," he said finally. "Just making an impression."
Michael handed him the lunch bag with a wry half-smile. "Good luck on your first day," he said, clapping him lightly on the shoulder. "You'll need it."
Jake took the bag and adjusted the strap over his shoulder. "I've handled worse."
Michael gave a short, skeptical chuckle. "Not sure you've ever handled a teenager with a trust fund, two million followers, and a God complex."
Jake finally looked at him then, his eyes steady and cool. "I've seen what unchecked privilege grows into," he said. "This… is the sapling."
Michael said nothing more. But as Jake turned toward the school, coat flaring behind him in the breeze like a dark flag, a flicker of worry passed over the older man's face. Pride and apprehension wrestled in his expression as he watched his son disappear inside.
Inside the School
The halls buzzed with renewed energy. Whispers followed Jake like a ripple in still water.
"Who is that guy?"
"New English teacher. Room 12-B."
"I heard he's ex-military."
"No way—he looks like he could kill you with a book."
"Bet he's gonna go after Adam. Finally."
Speculation spread faster than wildfire, and none of it seemed to touch Jake. He walked with measured purpose, ignoring the stares, the whispers, the occasional smirk from a student who thought he could intimidate the new guy. He didn't flinch.
In Room 12-B, the air smelled faintly of whiteboard markers and old paper. Jake set his things down on the desk without ceremony and turned to the board. With calm, practiced strokes, he wrote:
Mr. Peterson
Then he turned to face the class. Adam, Jessica, Maya, and Oliver were all in the second row—front and center like royalty surveying their court. They leaned back in their chairs, legs sprawled, eyes amused.
Jeremy, seated behind Adam, already had his phone out beneath the desk, thumb moving fast. Christen sketched in the corner, not really paying attention—until she sensed the tension. Harper crossed her legs elegantly and smiled, a hint of challenge in her eyes.
Jake scanned the room, not lingering on any face too long.
"I don't believe in busywork," he said. "I don't believe in favoritism. I don't believe in untouchables. You may have been able to coast before—maybe you had a teacher who let you run the show. That ends now."
A pause.
"If you've got a problem with that, the door's right there."
No one moved.
Jake raised an eyebrow. "Didn't think so."
Adam's smirk returned, barely. He nudged Jessica with his elbow and whispered something under his breath. She giggled.
Jake ignored them.
He picked up a stack of books from his desk—Of Mice and Men—and began handing them out, one by one.
Outside the Classroom
Liam hovered by the door, peeking in.
He saw them all—every face that had mocked him moments ago. Every smirk, every whisper. He hesitated, his hand gripping the frame.
Mr. Peterson caught sight of him instantly.
He didn't call attention to it. He didn't wave him in.
He just gave the same subtle nod—calm, steady, sure.
And somehow, that was enough.
Liam stepped inside.
As he moved to the back of the room, no one said a word. No tripping. No snide remarks. Not today.
He took a seat. Opened his notebook.
And for the first time in a long while, he didn't feel like prey.
He felt like maybe—just maybe—the game had changed.
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