Screams. Shouts. The sound of a hundred phones capturing this exact moment from every angle.

"HOLY SHIT!"

"IS THAT SOFIA?"

"JACK'S Ex-GIRLFRIEND JUST—"

"PETER CARTER KISSED SOFIA DELGADO!"

"THIS IS INSANE!"

Connor's livestream viewer count shattered 5000. His voice carried over everything: "DID THAT JUST HAPPEN? DID SOFIA DELGADO JUST KISS PETER CARTER? JACK MORRISON IS RIGHT THERE—OH MY GOD—"

Madison didn't pull away. Didn't react with jealousy. She just tightened her grip on my other arm, smirking at the chaos.

Sofia pulled back slowly, deliberately, making sure everyone saw. Making sure Jack saw.

Her eyes met mine. "Hi."

"Hi yourself."

Jack Morrison stood frozen. His face cycling through disbelief, rage, betrayal, humiliation. His hands clenched into fists. His quarterback friends gathered around him, confused, ready to escalate.

But what could he do?

Nothing.

Because this wasn't his world anymore.

At least he won't do anything with everyone watching.

Sarah and Emma joined us, Sarah immediately grabbing Sofia's arm. "Girl, you just declared war."

"Good," Sofia said simply.

Emma was filming everything on her phone. "This is going to break the school forum."

The first bell rang. Five minutes to class.

Nobody moved.

Everyone was still staring. Still processing. Still recording.

Three hypercars. One kiss. A whole social order shattered in the span of ten minutes.

Tommy jogged over, grinning like a maniac. "Dude. DUDE. That was the greatest entrance in Lincoln High history."

"We're not done yet," I said. "We still have to actually go to class."

"Fuck class! We just made history!"

"Language, Mr. Chen!" Principal's voice cut through, red-faced, bellowing from the admin building entrance. "All three of you! My office! NOW!"

Nobody listened.

Madison leaned into me. Sofia stayed on my other side. Sarah and Emma flanked us. Tommy bounced with residual adrenaline.

Behind us, the Veneno Roadster, the Mansory Carbonado, and the McLaren SpeedTail sat in perfect formation. Orange. Black. Blue. Still smoking. Still victorious.

Monuments to excess.

Proof of power.

And Lincoln High would never be the same.

We walked toward the building—not rushing, not apologizing, just existing in the chaos we'd created.

The crowd parted.

The phones followed.

And school had just started.

***

We'd expected firing squads. Expulsion. Maybe even ceremonial dismemberment.

What we got was Principal White glowing. The man vibrated with a kind of manic glee usually reserved for lottery winners or supervillains unveiling death rays. Tommy froze mid-stride, blinking.

"Boys! Madison!" White boomed, striding around his desk with arms wide open like he'd discovered the Messiah in his reception area. "That was… magnificent!"

Tommy's eyes widened. He tried to sidestep. Too late.

The principal lunged, enveloping Tommy in a bear hug that folded the Aventador-driving titan like a cheap suit. White's wiry arms were surprisingly strong. Tommy let out a muffled, pained groan as the air was crushed from his lungs.

"Ungh— Principal— can't— breathe—" he gasped, face mashed against the man's polyester jacket.

I dodged the attempt at a group hug, sliding smoothly into a plush leather chair across the desk. Madison simply raised a single, unimpressed eyebrow, leaning against the doorframe like a panther observing lunatics.

"You single-handedly put this school on the map!" White bellowed, finally releasing a wheezing, red-faced Tommy. "The exposure! My phone hasn't stopped ringing! Investors! Sponsors! News outlets! The enrollment department is fielding calls from Dubai!"

He punctuated each word with a sharp jab to Tommy's shoulder, making the poor guy flinch. "Donations are flooding in! We're building a new STEM wing! A performing arts center! All because of your… demonstration!"

Tommy caught his breath, rubbing his ribs, but his stupid, proud grin started fighting its way back. "Well, y'know… had to show 'em how it's done," he rasped, then winced as White patted him again, harder.

"The gratitude of this institution is boundless!" White declared, eyes shining with a terrifying intensity. "So boundless, in fact…"

He paused dramatically, leaning in. Tommy leaned back instinctively. "I was hoping… perhaps… a gesture? A symbolic contribution? To solidify this… partnership?" He smiled, all teeth and desperate hope.

Tommy's grin vanished. He stared at White, then at me, then back at White. "You want… money?"

White's nod was frantic. "A million would be… transformative! A landmark gift!"

Tommy deflated. He groaned, a low, agonized sound of defeat. "Fine," he mumbled, pulling out his phone like it was a dead weight. "A million. For… the art thing." He tapped the screen with all the enthusiasm of someone signing their own execution papers.

White's reaction was… explosive. He actually jumped, a choked sound escaping him. Then he danced. A little jig right there beside his desk, shuffling his sensible shoes, pumping a fist in the air.

"YES! Magnificent! Transformative!" He beamed at Tommy, who looked like he'd just been sentenced to hug duty for a year. "Thank you, Thomas! Truly! Your generosity binds this community!"

Tommy started edging away, trying to peel himself off the adhesive force field of White's gratitude. "Yeah, yeah… glad to help…" he muttered, attempting to sidle towards the empty chairs.

No such luck. White snagged his sleeve again, pulling him close for another shoulder-squeezing session. "You understand the spirit! The vision! This school is your legacy now, Thomas!"

Madison and I exchanged a look. Poor bastard. He'd bought the school a new future and earned himself a human barnacle.

"Alright, alright, break it up, lovebirds," Sarah's voice cut through the awkwardness. She stood in the doorway with Sofia and Emma, having clearly slipped in during the commotion. Her gaze landed on the seating arrangement – one plush armchair occupied by me, the long leather couch currently holding Sofia and Emma.

"Carter!" White snapped, winking wildly at Sarah. "Give Mr. Chen your seat!"

Sarah didn't move. She crossed her arms, one eyebrow arched in patented Sarah-territory disgust. "The errand boy can stand," she deadpanned. "Plenty of floor."

"Hey!" Tommy yelped, finally wrenching free from White's grip and glowering at her. "That's mean!"

"Get over it."

The room chuckled – a mix of genuine amusement and nervous tension. Sarah and Tommy existed in a state of perpetual, low-grade warfare. If I didn't know better, I'd swear they'd once fought over the last donut at a brunch.

"Enough," White said, his usual stern grace snapping back into place as he retreated behind his desk. He gestured vaguely at the floor. "Thomas, just… lean somewhere." Tommy glowered but leaned against the bookshelf, radiating injured pride.

White steepled his fingers. "Now, on a more serious note." The levity evaporated. "Thank you again for the… spectacle. But that's not the only reason you're all here." His gaze shifted, settling on Emma.

My protective instincts sharpened instantly.

"Emma," White said, his voice dropping, thick with genuine remorse. "I must apologize. Profoundly. What happened to you…" He shook his head, looking haunted. "It was an unforgivable failure on my part. On this school's part. We should have known. Should have seen what Trent was doing. We failed to keep you safe. I am so deeply, truly sorry."

The apology felt real. Raw. Emma gave a small, tight nod, her eyes fixed on the polished desktop. Sofia squeezed her hand. My own muscles coiled, ready to intercede.

"The School Council," White continued, "as Emma is aware, has voted. And effective immediately, we have a new Vice Principal." He paused, letting the weight of it settle. "Given the… circumstances… surrounding Trent's actions and the subsequent negligence, the Council believes a thorough investigation is warranted. All authority for this investigation has been placed solely in the hands of the new Vice Principal."

I sighed, leaning back. "Duly noted. But let's be clear," I said, my voice dropping to a low, metallic chill that cut through the room. My gaze locked onto White, injecting every ounce of the dominance that made bullies flinch and principals pause.

"Emma has revisited enough horror. She is not participating in some internal witch hunt to absolve this school's guilt. You let your dog off the leash. He mauled someone. My sister doesn't clean up your yard."

White flinched. Just a flicker, but it was there. He understood. Trent was rotting in prison because I'd fed Lawyer Sterling every scrap of his ugliness – enough to bury him under the jailhouse. We weren't interested in "settlements."

We were interested in Emma being left alone.

"Actually," White interjected quickly, his voice regaining some steadiness, "Emma has already spoken with the Vice Principal. Briefly."

I looked at Emma. She nodded mutely. "She said she'd call again," Emma murmured. "To… schedule?"

I turned back to White, my eyes boring into him. "See that she doesn't have to," I stated flatly. It wasn't a request.

White swallowed. "That… won't be a problem," he assured me. "The only remaining issue," he added, shifting his gaze squarely onto me, "is you."

Ah. Right. Beating Trent into abstract art. "Figured," I said. "Police were one thing. School's another?"

"You crossed a line, son," White said, not unkindly. "You bypassed every protocol. Vigilantism, however understandable, has consequences within these walls. You will meet with the Vice Principal. Formal meeting. To discuss… appropriate responses."

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