Something strange was happening.
The air shifted—no, rushed—sweeping inward from all directions, like a silent storm gathering around one point: John. Hair whipped back, loose papers tore through the air, and clothes flapped wildly. A chill swept through the crowd as they backed away in fear.
No one understood what was going on.
Then, his eyes began to glow.
A fierce, bright white light beamed from John's eyes, cutting through the chaos like twin lanterns in a hurricane. A glowing white mark flared to life on his chest, burning through his shirt, radiant and otherworldly. The crowd stared in stunned silence.
John was no longer the boy who had been beaten to the ground.
With a surge of impossible strength, he ripped free from Peter's chokehold and kicked him with terrifying force. Peter flew backwards, crashing through a storage room door behind them. Boxes toppled in a loud avalanche, burying him beneath wood and dust.
Gasps erupted from the crowd.
A long pause followed before Peter stumbled out, bloodied and bruised, but standing. His face twisted in pain—and fury.
"John, you're doing something very wrong," Tony warned, stepping protectively beside Peter. They exchanged a quick glance and charged together.
But John didn't flinch.
"I would've listened to you before," John said with a calmness that was more terrifying than rage, a strange, unsettling smile on his lips. "But now... it's my turn."
The white light around him blazed even brighter. The air howled as if being pulled into him, like he was becoming the eye of a storm.
Peter struck first, launching a powerful punch straight at John's chest.
John bent low and dodged it effortlessly. He countered with a jab to Peter's face and followed up with a crushing blow to his ribs. Peter crumpled with a gasp.
John spun around just in time to see Tony raise a metal stick and hurl it at him.
John caught it mid-air.
Effortlessly.
He twirled it once in his hands before letting it fly. The weapon spun out of his grip, and before Tony could react, John swept forward, seized it again, and slammed it against Tony's leg.
There was a sickening crack.
Tony screamed and collapsed. He couldn't even stand.
"John… you… you don't know what you're doing. You have no idea what's coming for you," Tony choked, clutching his shattered leg.
John didn't respond. He just raised his foot—and delivered a crushing kick to Tony's chest.
Tony flew back and hit the ground. This time, he didn't get up.
A flicker of movement—John turned just in time to catch Peter's leg mid-kick. The blow had missed, but Peter's foot was now locked in John's iron grip.
"You still want to fight?" John laughed coldly, eyes flashing.
Peter's eyes widened—but too late. John spun, flinging him like a ragdoll. Peter smashed into the wall, his body bouncing off the bricks. Still, he staggered back to his feet like a broken toy, stumbling forward mindlessly.
Somewhere else on campus, in a large administrative room, the staff sat in conversation.
"Principal," one of the teachers said suddenly, "what is that noise outside?"
The principal was already holding his chest, eyes closed, breathing deeply. "I… I feel it…" he murmured.
"What do you feel, sir?" another teacher asked. "We… we're all feeling strange too. Like… like our minds are shaking inside our heads!"
The principal opened his eyes, grim. "It's a neuro-core. Someone is generating one. Right now. And it's coming from the Young Students' Section."
Gasps filled the room.
"But—but that's impossible!" a teacher stammered. "Students below 20 can't generate neuro-cores. It's never happened."
"And yet…" the principal stood slowly. "It's happening now."
The teachers looked at one another, stunned. Then, all at once, they surged from the room and rushed toward the Young Students' area.
Back in the schoolyard, John grabbed Peter again—this time pinning him against the wall.
With a sickening crunch, he twisted Peter's arm.
Peter screamed.
"JOHN, STOP!" he cried out. "You don't know what you've done! Steve won't forgive you—"
John slammed his fist into Peter's face.
CRACK.
Peter's skull smacked against the bricks, and he collapsed like a sack of stones.
Silence.
John stood still. Then slowly, he flexed his fingers, shaking the pain from them as if he'd just finished cleaning up a mess. The glowing white light around him began to fade.
All around, the crowd stared—frozen, shocked, terrified.
Miss Julie had left earlier when Peter and Tony were attacking him. She'd feared being blamed if anyone saw her doing nothing. But now, she returned—drawn by the strange light and the unbearable mental pressure. Her head throbbed like her brain was rattling inside her skull. She stopped, frozen in horror, as the light dimmed and John finally turned toward her.
"JOHN!" she shouted. "How dare you behave like this in school! You think you can just bring shame to a good institution like ours and—!"
She raised her hand to slap him.
John caught her wrist.
Tightly.
Miss Julie gasped as pain shot up her arm.
"At least they're alive," John said coldly. "Not dead. That should be good enough for you, right? It's very easy for you. You can just say we had a small fight, and what else? After all… that's what you said to me when they were beating me."
Julie Ma'am's eyes widened in shock—and fear.
John let go, his eyes burning one last time with the remnants of white light.
The winds had stilled. The glow was gone.
But something inside John had awakened.
And it would never go back to sleep again.