Chapter 16 Words and Knuckles
One day, Rick woke up once again in a familiar classroom. The lecture hall buzzed with the low hum of student chatter, a familiar symphony that Rick, perched in his usual seat, had grown accustomed to. He wasn't really paying attention to Professor Alden's droning explanation of recursive algorithms. His gaze was fixed on a young man near the front, hunched over his notebook, horn-rimmed glasses perched precariously on his nose. A timid aura clung to him, yet Rick knew the brilliance hidden beneath that shy exterior. That was Mac Chane, the programming prodigy who, in Rick's original timeline, had founded one of the Kingdom of Poh's most influential tech companies.
Rick, while studying, was supposed to be a business major. But after his encounter with Mac, everything has changed. His future self, the savvy restaurateur in his fifties, had learned and studied computer repair and programming. It was a calculated risk in the past, which Rick believed would yield immense returns. He was so engrossed in programming and fascinated with computers that his attention shifted from business to technology.
But now, he did not want to change anything. He would stick to business courses as he already knew programming in the past and was already good at it.
While trying to recall the past, he suddenly has an urge to know the future tech giant.
He was about to make his move, to casually strike up a conversation with Mac, when a shadow fell over the younger man's desk. Moran Klane. Even now, in their youth, Moran exuded an arrogant charm, his tall, athletic frame commanding attention. Rick's stomach churned. Moran, the man who would later become one of the thorns in his side, the man who would help his cousin, Nortorn Klane, almost tear Jenny from him. He watched, a grim sense of déjà vu washing over him, as Moran confidently slid into the empty seat beside Mac.
Rick knew what was coming. This was the exact moment, in his original past, when Moran's volatile temper flared. Moran, mistaking Mac's polite inquiry to his girlfriend about a missed lecture note as flirtation, would launch into a tirade. The subsequent bullying the public humiliation would drive Mac to a desperate act. Rick had seen the news of what had happened to Mac. It was a big sensation and a sad one at that. He wasn't going to let that happen again.
He tensed, ready to intervene, but then he hesitated. No. Not yet. He had to pick his moment. He had to make an impact, not just a fleeting interruption. He needed to ensure Mac understood he had an ally, someone who wouldn't just walk away.
Moran's voice, a low growl, carried across the quiet hum of the classroom. "What do you think you're doing, nerd?" he sneered, leaning closer to Mac. "Trying to cozy up to my girl?"
Mac flinched, his face paling. "No, sir! I was just... I just needed the notes from last week's lecture." His voice was barely a whisper, a stark contrast to Moran's booming aggression.
A few students shifted uncomfortably in their seats. Some giggled nervously. Most just looked away, pretending not to notice. Rick's jaw tightened. This was the pervasive apathy that had allowed such injustices to fester in his youth.
Suddenly, one of Moran's cronies, a bulky guy named Boros, smirked from behind them. He leaned forward and, with a snide grin, put his arm around Mac's neck, pulling him into a headlock. "Looks like someone's got a crush, Moran," Boros chuckled, tightening his grip. Mac let out a small gasp of pain.
That was it. Rick rose from his seat, his voice cutting through the hushed classroom. "Hey, you three! What are you, ten years old?"
All eyes snapped to Rick. Moran's gaze, initially surprised, hardened into a glare. "What's it to you, pipsqueak?" he retorted, a challenging glint in his eyes.
Rick sauntered down the aisle, a casual confidence belying the rapid thrum of his heart. He stopped a few feet from them, hands tucked into his pockets. "Just pointing out the obvious," he said, a sarcastic edge to his voice. "Anyone with half a brain can see you're acting like overgrown toddlers. Pick on someone your own size, or better yet, grow up and learn some manners."
A ripple of nervous laughter spread through the classroom. Some students even nodded in agreement. Moran's face flushed. Boros released Mac, who rubbed his neck, looking bewildered but also a little hopeful.
"You got a problem, huh?" Moran snarled, taking a step towards Rick.
Rick shrugged, a faint smile playing on his lips. "Only when I see pathetic displays of insecurity. Is your girlfriend really so easily swayed that you have to resort to bullying a scrawny kid for asking about notes? That just tells me you're afraid she'll realize there are smarter, less Neanderthalic guys out there."
The laughter grew louder, more confident now. Moran's eyes narrowed, flickering between Rick and the now openly amused faces of their classmates. His friends shifted uneasily. The tide was turning.
"You're lucky this isn't outside," Moran mumbled, his bravado deflating under the collective scrutiny.
"Oh, I'm sure I am," Rick drawled, unaffected. "Now, why don't you three go back to your caves and leave the actual students to their learning?"
Defeated, Moran and his two flunkies muttered threats under their breath as they slunk out of the classroom, their faces red with humiliation.
"Just watch your back, a**hole!" Boros shouted while showing Rick a finger.
Rick sneered while waving his hand in the air as if waving on some buzzing fly.
The moment they were gone, a wave of relief washed over the room, followed by a smattering of applause for Rick.
Mac, still rubbing his neck, looked up at Rick, his eyes wide with gratitude. "Thank you," he said, his voice stronger this time. "Really, thank you. You didn't have to do that."
Rick grinned, extending a hand. "Rick Lane. And it seems I did. Nobody deserves to be treated like that. You alright?"
Mac shook his hand hesitantly. "Mac Chane. Yes, I'm fine, thanks to you. But... Moran won't forget this. He'll come after you."
Rick waved a dismissive hand. "Let him. I can handle myself." He winked. "Besides, if he's half as smart as he thinks he is, he'll realize this isn't worth his time."
…
Later that evening, as the last rays of the setting sun painted the sky in hues of orange and purple, Rick sat on the worn wooden bench on the campus. He could feel that the time was almost up. Rick pulled out a small, dog-eared notebook from under his backpack and uncapped his pen.
Past Self, he began, his handwriting still as ugly as it was. I think I've caused some trouble today. I might have handled Moran well… But I think he'll be gunning for you, though. Don't let your guard down. Boros and that other guy, Jace, will likely be with him. They're predictable. Moran likes to strike when he thinks he has the advantage of numbers.
He paused, thinking. Remember the exercises? Don't slack off. Eat more. I'm leaving a few more Poh bills for you under the mattress. Get some protein. We need to be stronger. Much stronger. This is just the beginning.
Rick signed off with his usual "Future You," then carefully placed the notebook on his lap where his younger self would see it easily. He closed his eyes, feeling the pull of the future, the inevitable return to his fifty-year-old body.
…
Rick found himself sitting on a worn-out bench, and in front of him was the campus field. He knew that his future self had once again taken control of his body. It has been happening for almost a month now, so he is already used to it. He stretched his lanky limbs. He squinted at the slowly setting sun streaming through the open grassfield, then his eyes landed on the notebook on his lap. A small frown creased his brow as he picked it up, looking at the familiar, sometimes cryptic, messages from his "future self."
Moran... Boros... Jace... He mumbled the names, a flicker of irritation crossing his face. More food, huh? I'm already doing that. And exercises. He sighed. This "future self" was relentless, but he had to admit, the extra strength was starting to feel good. He felt less like a twig and more like a sapling. He also noticed a thicker wad of 100-Poh bills under his notebook. Always good for more food, he thought.
Knowing the incoming trouble, Rick just sneered. He is not afraid of any trouble. While in high school, he would join in student gang fights while pretending to be a good son at home. He is not afraid of any fight, especially knowing that the opponents were rich kids.
After buying some snacks, Rick grabbed his bag and headed off campus. He decided to take the scenic route home, cutting through the sprawling City Bee Park. The park was usually bustling with families and joggers, but today, it was relatively quiet. He walked along the winding paths, humming a tune, but his mind and senses were already attuned to his surroundings. He felt a thrill of defiance. He'd never stood up to Moran before. His future self seemed to have a knack for getting him into these situations, but he could not help but feel a sense of excitement.
He was nearing the northern exit of the park when a prickle of unease ran down his spine. He subtly glanced over his shoulder. Three figures were trailing him, not overtly, but definitely keeping pace. He recognized the tall, confident stride of Moran Klane, flanked by the bulky Boros and the lean, shark-eyed Jace.
Rick's heart quickened. His future self had warned him. Don't let your guard down. But Rick, the 17-year-old, had always been impulsive. He'd inherited a stubborn streak and a quick temper from his father, traits that his older self had long since learned to temper.
He stopped, turning to face them. "Well, well, well," he said, a sneer twisting his lips. "Look what the cat dragged in. Still haven't learned your lesson, have you?"
Moran's eyes glinted. "You're a brave one, aren't you, Lane? Running your mouth in that classroom today, thinking you're hot stuff." He cracked his knuckles. "Let's see how brave you are without a classroom full of mommy's boys to back you up."