Chapter 22 – Classroom of Irregulars (Part 3)
The air in the classroom was chokingly thick now—more tension than oxygen. Every student sat paralyzed, eyes darting between Zane and Damian as though watching a powder keg moments from exploding. The entire room had gone silent, save for the pounding of anxious hearts.
Damian wasn't known for brushing off insults, let alone from Zane, the supposed weakest kid in school. Everyone knew how this usually ended: verbal degradation, physical humiliation, sometimes worse. But today? This was something else entirely.
The quiet dragged on for a few agonizing seconds, stretching into eternity.
Then—Laughter.
It burst from Damian's mouth like a thunderclap, raw and loud. He threw his head back and laughed with wild amusement, as if someone had just told him the world's best joke.
"Hah! Oh man… You've really changed, Zane," he managed through his snickering. "You used to flinch just from eye contact. Now you're throwing shade like you've got nothing to lose. I like that! I really like that!"
His voice was tinted with wicked glee, but there was a flicker in his eyes—a wariness, subtle but there.
Zane didn't laugh. He didn't even blink.
"And that's funny because…?" Zane asked flatly, raising an eyebrow.
Damian tilted his head, grin widening. "No, no, I just want to know what flipped the switch. Aren't we friends, Zane?" he asked, stepping closer and resting a heavy hand on Zane's shoulder. His voice dipped into something colder—mock concern barely masking malice. "C'mon. You're just confused, right? Gonna apologize now? Friends shouldn't treat each other like this. I only wanted to greet you and you're being so cold and distant."
Zane didn't turn his head. Didn't look at him. His expression remained tranquil—eerily so, like the surface of a still lake hiding something far more dangerous below.
'He's really pushing it now,' Zane thought. 'But killing him would be messy. I don't need trouble this early… and someone like him probably has money, or powerful parents. Not worth it… yet.'
Instead, he calmly lifted Damian's hand off his shoulder and let it drop as if it were a piece of trash.
"I don't have anything to apologize for," Zane said coolly. "You're delusional if you think otherwise."
Gasps.
The classroom broke into whispers and muffled shrieks of disbelief. Several students leaned forward in their chairs, some exchanged wide-eyed glances, others looked downright terrified.
"What the hell is he doing?"
"Did he snap or something?"
"He's gonna die…"
"Is that even the same fatty? I can't believe my eyes..."
But Zane heard none of it. His focus was still locked on Damian. And in that moment, he caught the change.
That smile—so cocky and carefree—vanished.
What took its place was something far more sinister. Damian's eyes narrowed into slits, his brow furrowed in cold fury. It was like watching a mask fall away.
'There it is,' Zane thought, leaning into his palm as he rested his elbow on the desk. 'The real you. Took you long enough to show up.'
He let the silence hang for a beat longer, then spoke again. "As you can see, I've got better things to do than waste time with you. So, unless you're planning to offer something of value, get lost."
His words were sharp. Blunt. Cutting.
Exactly what Damian needed to hear—and exactly what he couldn't tolerate.
Swish.
The sound of Damian's movement was sudden, almost silent—until he grabbed Zane by the collar and yanked him up with brutal force. The desk screeched across the floor. Students recoiled in their seats.
Zane didn't resist. He let himself be pulled, eyes calm as ever.
Damian's face was only inches away now, and it was twisted in hatred. His voice dropped to a venomous whisper.
"Who the hell do you think you are?" he hissed. "Did you hit your head or something? You're lucky I let you come back here. I should've broken you properly the first time."
Zane didn't flinch. He merely stared.
Damian's voice dropped lower, uglier.
"You're nothing but a fat, pathetic loser. A waste of space. You think anyone here actually gives a shit about you? You should've just done the world a favor and jumped off a building. Or better—tie a noose, hang it up, and give us all some peace."
He grinned. A cruel, rotten grin. His eyes searched Zane's face for that old flicker of fear, the tremble in his jaw, the gloss of tears.
But none of that came.
Instead, Zane blinked, slowly. Then, a smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth.
'Wow. He didn't even hesitate to say that,' Zane thought, almost amused. 'Suggesting suicide like it's a joke. You're not just a bully… you're a manipulator. A nasty one. But that was desperate. His ego's cracked, and now he's clawing to keep it intact. Should I push him to the limit a little? I want to see how far I can go before his mind breaks.'
He raised his hand, placing it lightly on the knuckles of Damian's fist.
Then, he looked up.
Damian froze.
Those eyes—icy blue, sharp as daggers—cut through him like a blade through paper. There was no anger in them. No hatred. Just something far worse.
Control.
Damian felt the entire dynamic suddenly shift as if Zane was the one holding him by the collar. Even when he was in a position of power, in a split second, that feeling vanished as if it had never been there to begin with.
"Let me ask you something," Zane said quietly. "Have you ever felt real fear before?"
The question shouldn't have been threatening. It was simple and short, almost agonizingly simple. But, the deep meaning it carried sent chills down Damian's spine. He didn't know why, and he couldn't understand what was happening to him and yet his body was starting to betray him.
Damian's grip trembled.
His pulse spiked. Every instinct in his body told him to let go and run. But he couldn't move. His knees locked. His lungs felt like they'd forgotten how to breathe.
"What… what are you talking about?" he stammered.
Zane leaned closer, voice a whisper. "You don't know what it means to fight for your life. To be swallowed in darkness. You've never felt powerless. You've never suffered. That's why you act like this. It's a mask—one bad day, and you'd fall apart."
Each word chipped at Damian's composure like a hammer against glass.
Zane saw it.
The cracks were showing.
"You bully people like the old me because it makes you feel powerful. But tell me, Damian…" He tilted his head, smiling faintly. "Is it really about power… or are you trying to impress someone? Maybe a girl in this room?"
Damian's pupils shrank.
Zane grinned, just enough to be infuriating. "Yeah. That struck a nerve, didn't it?"
"I—I don't know what you're talking about—" Damian began, but his voice faltered. His hands shook now, visibly.
"Don't lie. It's all in your eyes," Zane murmured. "I've seen people like you before. Big bark, fragile spine. Once someone sees through the act, you crumble like wet paper."
The tension in Damian's grip loosened, his bravado rapidly fading.
Zane slowly reached up and brushed the boy's hand away from his collar.
"You're not scary, Damian," he said with finality. "You're just loud."
Damian staggered back a step, dazed.
The entire classroom had gone dead quiet
"What is going on here?"
At that moment, a cold voice penetrated the tense classroom, catching everyone's attention immediately.