The words hung in the air, cruel and sharp as a blade.
"John himself confessed he's not fit to be a Monster Tamer."
Peter's voice rang out across the cafeteria, saturated with mockery. Laughter erupted like a wave, a sickening chorus of amusement that seemed to swallow John whole.
Mid-bite, John froze. The food in his mouth turned to ash. He lowered his spoon, set his lunchbox aside, and rose without a word. His chest tightened—not from fear, but from something heavier, older. Shame. Rage. Exhaustion.
He didn't look at anyone. He didn't need to. He could feel the eyes on him. The whispers. The judgment.
All he wanted was to find an empty hallway, somewhere silent where the world could no longer scream at him.
But the path to silence was blocked.
Peter and Tony stepped in front of him, their grins as cruel as the words they'd thrown. They weren't content with laughter. They wanted blood.
"What was that about your sister?" Peter said, eyes glittering with malice. "I heard if you bring her here, all your problems get solved, right?"
John said nothing, jaw clenched tight. He moved to sidestep them, but Tony shifted, blocking him again. Ignoring them only made them bolder—it always had.
Peter's smirk widened. Then, with a sudden sweep of his arm, he slapped John's lunchbox out of his hands. Its contents flew across the floor, splattering into a mess of rice, vegetables, and crushed dignity.
"Oh no," Peter said, feigning concern. "Kiddo's lunch is gone. What will he eat now?"
He crouched down slightly, voice turning darker.
"Maybe he should eat off the floor. Or maybe… someone should've taught him not to waste food."
A pause.
A smile.
"Oh wait. Right. You don't have parents, do you?"
It landed like a hammer. John's body went rigid.
His fists clenched.
There was no space left in his chest for restraint. The fire that had been smoldering all morning erupted. With a cry choked by fury, he lunged—fist drawn back, eyes burning.
But just before he could strike, a large bird swooped from the rafters—its black feathers slicing through the air like daggers. It pecked viciously at John's face, forcing him to stumble back, disoriented. His punch missed the mark.
Laughter exploded again.
"Come on, John," Peter sneered. "We're Monster Tamers, remember? Even regular animals know how to deal with trash."
John stumbled, wiping blood from a shallow cut under his eye. Around him, the cafeteria had turned into an arena. Not a single student stepped forward. They watched from behind trays and tables, whispering, commenting, doing nothing.
"Did you hear?" one voice said.
"They're part of the Black God Team."
"Steve's their leader. And Steve likes Joanna."
"But John got the seat next to her."
"That's why they hate him."
"He's already failing as a Monster Tamer."
"This is suicide…"
John barely heard them. His ears were ringing, more from the rage than the pain. He got to his feet slowly, shakily, his body screaming but his mind sharper than ever. He was done with being silent.
He stepped forward again.
But Tony grabbed his wrists, yanking them behind his back with a practiced grip.
"Go on, Peter," Tony said, his tone almost bored. "Let's teach him something."
The first punch hit his stomach. Air fled his lungs.
The second hit his cheek. White burst behind his eyes.
The third…
The fourth…
Time dissolved. All that remained was pain.
John screamed, not because of the fists, but because he knew this wouldn't end until they decided it would. His rage was a candle, burning fast and desperate, while theirs was cold and endless.
After what felt like an eternity, Peter stepped back, chest heaving.
"That's enough," he said, brushing dust from his knuckles.
They turned to leave, their work done.
But John wasn't done.
He wiped the blood from his lips, his eyes scanning the cafeteria—and found what he needed. A student had stopped eating. Their lunchbox sat open, half-full, forgotten.
John moved. His body protested, but his mind had one thought: Hit back. Show them you're still standing.
He grabbed the lunchbox and hurled it with everything he had.
It hit Peter squarely in the back of the head.
The cafeteria went dead silent.
Peter froze.
He turned slowly, the mess dripping down his neck. His face twisted, pure fury etched into every muscle.
"You…" he snarled.
Tony stepped between them, alarm flickering in his eyes.
"Peter, let's just go. We've done enough for today."
But Peter's rage had snapped the leash.
"Enough?" he roared. "If it was enough, he'd be unconscious! He still thinks he can fight?!"
He took a step forward, veins bulging, eyes locked on John.
John didn't move.
He stood there, trembling, bloodied, but unbroken.
Even if he lost every fight, he would not let them erase him.
Not today.