____________________________________
"We're all monsters... Being a monster is not the same as being a bad person. It just means you're willing to eat the world if that's what you have to do to keep yourself alive."
— Mira Grant
____________________________________
Isham's POV - After the marathon
Isham barely had time to slow her breathing before the noise found her.
Cheers. Applause. Hands clapping her shoulders, voices overlapping—"well done, you were incredible, that finish was insane. ". It all blurred together until one familiar presence cut through the chaos.
Saleem reached her, smiling wide, eyes shining with pride. He didn't say anything at first—just pulled her into a quick, tight hug that smelled like dust, sweat, and relief.
"You were amazing," he said at last, hands still on her shoulders. "That surge at the fourth marker? No one saw it coming."
Isham exhaled, a tired smile tugging at her lips. "I almost didn't have it in me. My legs were screaming."
"But you did," he said softly. "You always do."
His smile lingered… then faltered.
His gaze drifted past her, toward the far end of the pitch where MiMie stood surrounded by C.A.A girls, a water bottle pressed to her lips, shoulders rising and falling as she tried to steady her breath.
Saleem's brow creased. "Do you think she'll recover in time?"
Isham followed his look. MiMie's posture was strong, but there was a tightness to her movements—subtle, easy to miss if you didn't know what to look for.
"She pushed hard," Isham said. "Too hard, maybe. But MiMie's resilient. If anyone can reset in a few hours, it's her."
Saleem nodded, though the worry didn't leave his eyes. "She'll need every ounce of strength for Afreen. Lawn tennis isn't forgiving."
"I know," Isham replied quietly.
They began walking, moving with the flow of students toward the shaded walkways that led away from the pitch. The next events were being announced over the speakers, but Saleem was already thinking three steps ahead.
"And after that," he continued, "there's basketball. C.A.A versus A.U.N."
Isham straightened slightly. "That one matters."
"Exactly," Saleem said. "Even if we lose lawn tennis—which I'm not saying we will—if we take basketball, we can still climb. From third to second. It keeps us alive. Keeps A.R.C from running away with it all."
"Survive another day", Isham thought. That was what this tournament had become.
Saleem kept talking, his tone shifting from concern to mild irritation. "Speaking of basketball… the Director spoke to me again this morning."
Isham groaned softly. "Don't tell me—Tahir?"
Saleem sighed. "Yes. The director is insisting we put him in the starting five on Monday. Not even as a substitute."
"That's… bold," Isham said carefully.
"Bold?" Saleem scoffed. "It's reckless. He's overselling him, Isham. One lucky goal in football and suddenly he's some kind of hidden weapon? Tahir's average at best. Mediocre student. The way MiMie keeps hinting at how good Tahir is—it sounds like exaggeration. Or hero worship."
Isham didn't answer immediately.
They passed under a row of trees, the noise dimming, the air cooler. Her silence stretched just long enough for Saleem to notice.
"You don't agree," he said.
"I don't disagree either," she replied. "I just… don't think Tahir is simple."
Saleem glanced at her, skeptical. "Simple how?"
Isham slowed her steps, choosing her words. "Have you ever watched him when he thinks no one is looking? Not playing. Not talking. Just… moving?"
Saleem frowned. "Can't say I have."
"I have," Isham said. "He's quiet, yes—but not absent. He notices things. Patterns. People. The way he positions himself, the way he disappears and reappears… it's deliberate."
Saleem chuckled lightly. "You're reading too much into it."
"Maybe," Isham admitted. "But my instincts rarely misfire. There's something off about him. Not bad—just… abnormal."
Saleem studied her for a moment, then shook his head. "If he flops on Monday, the Director will have a lot to answer for."
They reached the academic block where the chess matches were being set up for next week. Boards were already laid out behind glass panels, pieces arranged with ceremonial precision.
Wednesday.
The word settled heavily between them.
"Chess," Saleem muttered. "Abbas will carry us."
"He's our best," Isham agreed. "I'm second. On a good day, I can hold my own."
"But if A.R.C fields Afreen as second chair…" Saleem trailed off.
Isham's stomach tightened.
"That's what scares me," she said. "If it comes down to a head-to-head—C.A.A versus A.R.C—and Afreen is there… that could be the final blow."
Saleem looked at the boards, already imagining it. "The points gap would widen too much."
"And A.R.C would just coast," Isham finished quietly. "Maintain their lead. Walk into the final day and lift the Elite Cup like it was inevitable."
For the first time since the marathon, the victory felt fragile.
Isham clenched her fists, nails biting into her palms.
"Then we don't let it get that far," she said.
Saleem looked at her, surprised—and then smiled, that familiar spark returning.
"That's my Head Girl," he said.
But even as they stood there, surrounded by polished boards and silent pieces, Isham couldn't shake the feeling that the real game—the dangerous one—was already in motion. And not all the players were visible yet.
____________________
Afreen's Certainty
A message from Afreen lit up the screen:
"Meet me in the bus parking lot, ASAP… I see you have been busy, eh..?"
Tahir locked the phone immediately and slipped it back into his pocket.
"Hmm… let's go get lunch in the cafeteria," he said casually.
"Good idea. I didn't even have breakfast this morning," Aysha said, standing.
They walked out of the fan area toward the cafeteria, but halfway there, Tahir slowed.
"You know what—actually, I need to do something. Why don't you go pick a table and order? I'll catch up. My treat."
"Okay," Aysha said, pointing a finger at him, "but hurry, or I'll eat everything myself."
Tahir watched her leave, then turned and headed to the parking lot.
As soon as he arrived, he spotted Afreen leaning against one of the buses, her expression unreadable.
He walked toward her, both hands tucked in his pockets.
"Hmm… Here I am. What do you want, Miss Dimples?" Tahir said.
Afreen looked up, her expression instantly sharpening.
"Well, that's quite rude of you, Lover boy… Aren't you gonna say hello and how are you, to the girl who holds your secrets, eh..?" she said as she slipped her phone away.
"Hmm… oh please, like you care about all that…" Tahir muttered, glancing away toward the lazy drift of clouds above.
"Of course I don't… anyways… how's your jaw..? Eh? Is it still hurting? That Aysha's brother really punched you hard, eh…" Afreen teased, though her eyes were colder than her tone.
"Hmm… I know you don't care about that also… so why don't you cut to the chase," Tahir replied, voice flat, guarded.
"Yeah, yeah, you're right again. Honestly, you're ruining my fun." Afreen's smirk faded as quickly as it came. "Anyway… I see you've been busy. Manipulating things from the shadows. Protecting MiMie." Her voice dropped, suddenly serious.
Tahir shrugged, eyes locked with Afreen's. "Hmm… What can I say? Creature of habit."
Afreen leaned in slightly. "My question is—how did you manage to mess with Safeeyah's head? How did you break her spirit like that? I'm curious."
"I don't know what you're talking about," Tahir replied lightly. "And even if I did, telling you would be pointless. You're no longer someone that a simple tricks as such would work on anymore."
Afreen gave a low, amused hum. "Ooh, I'm flattered. But what I actually want to know is… do you have anything planned for when I play MiMie and her little pride in the lawn-tennis tournaments later?"
Tahir blinked slowly. "Last time I checked, you said you wouldn't interfere with me trying to help C.A.A win. Or have I only dreamt that?"
"Well, I guess it doesn't matter anymore." Afreen flicked invisible dust from her sleeve. "I don't care whether you help MiMie or not. In fact—" She gave a mocking half-bow—"I want you to help her. If you help her beat me… I'll consider letting go of the secret I know."
Tahir exhaled through his nose, amused. "Interesting. But with such a short time to prepare, I doubt my help would change anything in the battle that's coming."
"Oh, you're right," Afreen said, grin widening. "But help or don't help—it's your call. If MiMie wins, I'll let your secret rot in silence. At least for this semester only."
Tahir narrowed his eyes. "Why?"
"Because MiMie won't beat me," Afreen said simply. "As long as we walk onto that court intact, nothing stops me. Not manipulation. Not force. Not intelligence, practice, or experience. I will win. That's all."
Tahir tilted his head. "Are you challenging me?"
"If you want to call it that."
"Then I'll take your offer," Tahir said. "And when you lose, you'll let go of the bad blood between us."
Afreen laughed. "In a fantasy land where you imagine you can win, fine—I'd let go of the hard feelings between us. But not between me and MiMie. I'll never forgive her."
"Works for me," Tahir replied.
"Well then, that's that," Afreen said, stepping back. "If you'll excuse me, I need to check on my injured team members in the nursing station."
Afreen started walking away and then stopped "Tahir, Me and you, Chess match, Wednesday, what do you say ?"
"I'd say I am not even on the Chess Club team" Tahir Replied.
"Then you better find a way to be on the team because… " Afreen said while grinning
"Because… What ?"
"When A.R.C wins that Match, the tournament will truly be over. " Afreen said
"You mean, the Points Gap between A.R.C and C.A.A will be too wide"
"Well Look at that… You already know what I am talking about" Afreen said Mockingly
"Hmm… I see…"
They parted ways.
Tahir headed toward the cafeteria, hands shoved into his pockets as he thought, How can I help MiMie beat Afreen? Ideas spun through his mind as he walked.
A quote suddenly resurfaced—
"Win a no-win situation by rewriting the rules…"
His shoe crunched onto something thin. He looked down. A crumpled juice can glinted against the pavement, its silver edge catching the sunlight right into his eyes. He picked it up and turned, gaze drifting across the campus—the distant pitch, the lawn-tennis court, the angle of the sun, the fan stands. He checked his watch.
A slow smile spread across his face.
"Checkmate," he murmured.
______________________
The Clinic.
The emergency room smelled like antiseptic and damp earth.
Safeeyah lay on the narrow bed, the thin mattress pressing against her aching back, white lights glaring down from above. Every breath sent a sharp, burning protest through her ribs. Her leg throbbed in time with her pulse—deep, ugly pain that refused to dull no matter how tightly she clenched her teeth.
A nurse adjusted the cuff around her arm.
"Stay still, okay? We're checking your vitals."
Safeeyah nodded, though her vision swam.
Pain.
That was all she could feel—layered, overlapping, relentless.
But the physical pain wasn't the worst of it.
Her mind wouldn't stop.
Every time she closed her eyes, the audio replayed itself. Imran's voice—clear, unmistakable—confessing to things she had sworn MiMie was lying about. The words looped endlessly, cruel and precise.
"I despised her the whole time…
I loved MiMie more than anything…
I forged the letters… I hacked the messages…"
Her chest tightened.
She saw it all again, as if her memory had turned against her.
The classroom. The letters spilling from MiMie's bag. The slap. The screams.
The promise she'd made—"I will ruin your life."
Her stomach twisted violently.
"Why is this happening to me…?"
Then another image slammed into her—the moments before the marathon.
Her fingers tying the ribbon in her hair.
The notification lighting up her screen.
Her hands shaking as she played the audio.
The way her world cracked open right before the starting gun.
She remembered stepping onto the track already broken. Already bleeding inside.
Then came the impact.
The blur of color.
Rayhana slowing.
Her own body moving too fast, too blindly.
The collision.
The scream ripped from her throat—not just from the crash, but from everything she'd been holding in.
A sharp pain shot through her leg as the nurse pressed gently along her shin.
"Easy," the nurse said softly. "You've got some nasty bruising. Possibly a ligament strain. We'll know more after imaging."
Safeeyah turned her head away, eyes burning.
Good.
Let it hurt.
Let it hurt as much as the truth did.
Safeeyah stared at the ceiling, tears sliding silently into her hairline.
Her body ached.
Her heart felt shredded.
Her certainty—her hatred, her vengeance—was crumbling into something far more terrifying.
"Mimie is still not innocent in this…?
The thought hurt worse than any broken bone.
And beneath the hum of machines and murmured voices, one truth echoed mercilessly through her chest:
This pain—every kind of it—was only the beginning.
_______________
CAFETERIA
Tahir tossed the empty tin can into the recycling bin. It clanged softly, an ordinary sound that felt strangely final, like a full stop at the end of a sentence only he could read. He adjusted his stride and headed toward the cafeteria, mind already several steps ahead of the present.
Inside the Cafeteria - Aysha's POV
I was already at the table—two lunches in front of me. I was halfway through one, looking miserable.
"Hey," I said when Tahir sat. "I thought you weren't coming. I almost threw your food away."
"Sorry I was late, I got held up" Tahir apologized.
Amar walked past us with his friends—
"God, it hurts. We used to eat together every day. The way he smiled at me while we—" I don't know why this words came out of me.
"Hmm. Hey." Tahir cut in gently. "It's not your fault. Your boyfriend's overreacting. When he comes to his senses, he'll crawl back."
Aysha sniffed. "He wishes. I'm not taking him back. Not after he doubted me. I'm moving on. I'm not gonna obsess."
Tahir nodded. "Hmm. If you say so."
She eyed him suspiciously. "You've been… nice lately. Why? My brother punched you and now you're scared?"
"Hmm. I don't want to be punched again."
Aysha burst into laughter. "Relax. He misunderstood. He gets angry fast."
"Hmm. Doesn't matter." Tahir leaned back. "Let's talk about something else."
"Like what?"
"Hmm… I need a mirror."
"A what?"
"Mirror. For a science project."
Aysha blinked. "If you want to admire your handsome face, the boys' bathroom exists."
"Hmm. No mirrors there."
"And you think the girls' bathroom will have one?"
"Girls are neater. Obsessed with mirrors. Some carry small ones in their bags. Do you have one?"
"Nope."
"Hmm. Can you get one?"
"What's in it for me?"
"What do you want?"
"You'll owe me."
"Hmm. Bring me the mirror and we have a deal."
"No. You agree first, then I go."
"Hmm. Then forget it."
She groaned. "Fine. After we eat, I'll check. But you'll owe me."
"Hmm. Noted." He glanced behind her. "Your ex and his friends are staring. Whispering. Hope they won't cause trouble."
Aysha turned. "He's not the trouble type. He's a 'turn the other cheek' guy. That's part of the reason why I liked him."
"Hmm. Maybe."
She finished her food. "Let's go. Maybe the ladies' room has one. I don't care what you're planning at this point."
"Hmm… better that you don't."
They walked past Amar and his friends. Their hostile stares were unmistakable.
Tahir felt it instantly—violence lurking beneath their breath.
"They'll jump me. Question is… when?
But if I crush them, will Aysha resent me? She still has feelings for him. I need her next semester as my eyes and ears… I can't lose that. I guess I have to avoid them, unless it's necessary, for now, I will just observe them"
________________________
THE LADIES' BATHROOM
Tahir waited outside of the bathroom several feet away while Aysha slipped inside. A moment later she returned holding a small, pink, round mirror.
She handed it to him with a grin.
"Now you owe me."
"Hmm… indeed. But don't ask for anything I can't do."
"Oh please," she laughed. "I think you can handle anything."
"Hmm… as long as you only think so, I'm fine."
"I'm going to my friends. See you at the event!"
She left just as shadows shifted near the hallway corner.
He noticed their presence since they left the cafeteria.
Tahir didn't even turn.
"Hmm… you can come out now. If you've got something to say, let's get it over with."
Jalo stepped forward with a smug grin. "Well, well, well… the wonder kid huh?."
Four boys approached, forming a hostile circle around him.
"You think you can steal Amar's girl and walk away?" Jalo snarled.
"Let's rough him up," Saleh added. "Teach him what pain feels like."
Amar stayed silent, but hatred smoldered in his eyes.
Tahir turned around, watched the camera angles carefully.
He thought,
"Wow that's smart of them, they chose this area to attack me, they don't want to be caught on camera. That's smart thinking. However it appears they have miscalculated."
__________________
HALLWAY — THE FIGHT
The hallway was empty.
Silent.
Only the distant murmur of classes echoed through the building.
Sunlight poured through the long windows, stretching pale rectangles across the floor.
Tahir stood in the middle of it all, hands loosely tucked into his pockets, looking almost bored.
Almost.
His eyes swept across the boys surrounding him.
Amar. Jalo. Saleh. Babai.
Four against one.
Most people would've been nervous. Most people would've been scared.
Tahir merely sighed. A long, disappointed sigh.
"Hmm… Hey… listen guys, I'm not looking for any trouble," Tahir said softly.
His voice was calm. Almost gentle.
"So back off."
The words only made Jalo laugh harder.
"Hahaha… Back off huh? We don't think so, Wonder Boy."
The nickname dripped with contempt.
Jalo stepped forward and grabbed Tahir's collar aggressively, bunching the fabric in his fist.
Then he swung.
Fast. Angry. Predictable.
Tahir's hand moved before the punch even arrived.
He caught Jalo's wrist effortlessly.
The attack died instantly.
Saleh chose that moment to attack.
"YAAAH!". Too loud. Far too loud.
Tahir heard him immediately.
Without even looking behind him, he yanked Jalo forward. Then shifted his body.
Hard.
Saleh's kick missed completely.
Instead of connecting with Tahir's ribs, it sliced through empty air.
His own momentum betrayed him.
He stumbled forward awkwardly, almost falling.
For a split second, confusion flashed across his face.
Babai remained frozen where he stood.
Watching. Terrified. His feet seemed glued to the floor. He hadn't thrown a punch.
Hadn't moved. Hadn't even decided whether he wanted to be there.
Then Amar finally spoke.
The question sounded less like anger and more like pain.
Raw. Personal. A wound refusing to close.
"Of all the girls in school…"
His jaw tightened. "Why Aysha?"
For the first time, Tahir smiled.
A small smile. A dangerous one.
He slowly rolled up the sleeves of his uniform shirt.
"Hmm…" His eyes drifted toward Amar.
"Because I like her."
The words landed like a knife. "She's cute."
Amar's face darkened.
Tahir continued casually.
"I'll date her this semester…"
His smile widened slightly.
"…then dump her."
The silence that followed felt violent.
"When I'm done…"
Tahir tilted his head.
"…you can have her back."
Something inside Amar shattered.
"You bastard!"
The scream echoed down the hallway.
He charged. No thinking. No strategy.
No control. Only rage. Pure rage.
His left hand shot forward.
Tahir saw it immediately.
Predictable.
Everything about it was predictable.
He slipped aside effortlessly.
Amar's fist slammed directly into the concrete wall.
CRACK.
Skin tore. Knuckles scraped. Pain exploded through his hand.
But Amar barely noticed. The anger was too strong.
Too overwhelming. He attacked again.
And that was his mistake. Tahir's eyes narrowed.
The moment Amar's injured hand came forward—
Tahir struck.
His fist crashed directly into Amar's damaged knuckles.
The impact was brutal.
A sharp, horrifying burst of pain shot through Amar's arm.
"AAAHHHH!"
The scream ripped from his throat.
He stumbled backward immediately, clutching his hand against his chest.
His entire body shook.
Tears formed involuntarily in his eyes.
Pain had completely replaced anger.
For a moment. Only a moment.
Because Jalo and Saleh were already moving. They charged together.
Trying to overwhelm him. Trying to bury him under numbers.
Tahir stopped moving entirely.
Waiting. Watching. Calculating.
Jalo jumped first.
A flying kick. Desperate. Messy.
Tahir stepped aside.
Nothing more. The kick missed. Completely.
At the same moment, Saleh came in with an elbow strike.
Tahir's hand shot out. Redirecting Saleh's Arm entirely.
He grabbed the back of Saleh's neck.
Then—
SLAM.
The sound thundered through the hallway.
Saleh's face crashed into the lockers. Metal rattled violently. The entire row shook.
Pain exploded through Saleh's skull.
Stars filled his vision.
Before he could recover, Jalo rushed in to help.
Big mistake.
Tahir caught his wrist. Twisted. Hard.
Jalo screamed.
Then came the kicks.
One. Two. Three. Four.
Each one buried deep into his stomach.
Each one driving the air from his lungs.
Each one stealing another piece of his strength.
Jalo collapsed.
Coughing. Gagging.
Then vomiting across the floor.
His body folded around itself.
Defeated. Broken.
"YOU MONSTER!"
Amar screamed again. His voice cracked.
He charged once more.
Still angry. Still heartbroken. Still hopelessly outmatched.
He threw punch after punch.
None connected. Not one.
Tahir slipped around them effortlessly.
Amar looked like he was fighting a ghost.
Then suddenly—
Tahir stepped inside his guard.
A forearm slammed across Amar's throat.
Pinning him against the lockers. The metal groaned from the impact.
Amar gasped. Couldn't breathe. Couldn't move. Couldn't escape.
Tahir mockingly asked Amar "You used your voice box to hurt Aysha with your words, right ?,"
Tahir condescendingly added "I am just going to snuff the voice out of you for a bit, so relax"
Then the punches started.
The first hit buried itself in his stomach.
The second came immediately after.
Then another. And another. And another.
Every strike stole more air. More strength. More resistance.
Until finally—
Amar gagged, seconds away from vomiting.
Tahir let go of him
His body collapsed.
All fight gone. All pride gone. All strength gone.
Only pain remained.
Amar slid down the lockers helplessly.
Started vomiting.
Tahir stared at his own hands.
Then pulled out a handkerchief.
Slowly.
Methodically. He wiped them clean.
"Disgusting."
The word carried more disappointment than anger. Then he turned.
His gaze landed on Babai.
The boy froze.
For one horrible second their eyes met.
That was enough.
Babai spun around and ran.
Not walked. Not retreated.
Ran.
As fast as his legs could carry him.
His footsteps echoed wildly through the corridor.
Tahir watched him disappear.
Then looked back down.
Amar sat on the floor. Bruised. Humiliated. Shaking.
His breathing uneven. His eyes burning with hatred.
Good.
Hatred was useful.
Tahir crouched slightly. Looking directly at him.
"Hmm…" His voice became softer.
Almost thoughtful. "If you want revenge…"
Amar looked up.
"…then hate me even more." The words settled heavily between them.
"Let that hate make you stronger."
Tahir adjusted his sleeves.
"Remember."
His eyes narrowed slightly.
"I'm the monster who stole your girl."
Amar clenched his fists.
"And beat all of you today."
The humiliation deepened.
"Never forget it."
Then Tahir stood.
Turned around. And walked away.
None of them stopped him. None of them could.
The hallway remained silent behind him.
Four defeated boys. 3 laid down, in pain.
One victorious monster.
And a seed planted carefully inside Amar's heart.
A seed called hatred. A seed called revenge.
As Tahir disappeared around the corner, a faint smile touched his lips.
"Let's see how much you grow, Amar."
His footsteps echoed softly.
"I'm curious."
________________
A Secret Text
Tahir walked away without looking back.
His footsteps echoed once… twice… then faded into the noise of the campus as he slipped around the corner and out of sight. Only when he was certain no one was following did he slow.
He exhaled—long, controlled.
From his pocket, he pulled out his phone.
The screen was still smeared faintly with sweat from his palm. He wiped it against his sleeve, unlocked it, and opened a contact that didn't have a name—only a single symbol.
He typed as he walked.
"Activate Plan B1.
Timeline moved forward.
Implant the device. Make it unnoticeable. No margin for error."
He paused, thumb hovering.
Then added:
"Assume hostile awareness possible."
Send.
The message disappeared instantly, as if it had never existed.
Tahir slipped the phone back into his pocket and adjusted his pace, blending into the flow of students heading between venues—just another boy in a uniform, just another face in the crowd.
To anyone watching, he was calm.
But beneath that calm, gears were shifting.
"Plan A1, and A5 had been enough for the marathon, he thought. Even though A2, A3, and A4 had failed, in the end, it is a good result. However, now Afreen is trying to put my shadow operations on her radar. I think I should let MiMie handle her. But Afreen doesn't play straight games."
He glanced toward the direction of the lawn-tennis courts, eyes narrowing slightly as the afternoon sun cut across the campus.
Now that she forces escalation, Tahir thought, then the "B-Series of plans" goes live.
His expression didn't change.
He kept walking—already several moves ahead, already treating the rest of the tournament as a board that had finally revealed its true shape.