The silence after the assembly was deafening.
Zion didn't wait to be summoned. He walked toward the administrative wing himself, hands in his pockets, jaw set. Behind him, the corridors erupted—students whispering, phones out, recording the moment he'd just created. Some looked at him like he was a hero. Others like he'd just signed his own death warrant.
Mabelle caught up to him halfway down the hall, grabbing his arm. "Zion, what were you thinking?"
He didn't slow down. "I was thinking I'm done being quiet."
"You just declared war on the entire academy," she hissed, glancing around at the stares. "Do you understand what they're going to do to you?"
Zion stopped, turning to face her. His eyes weren't cold anymore—they were fire, barely controlled. "Let them try. I'm tired of playing their game, Mabelle. Kevin gets away with everything, and I'm supposed to just take it? No. Not anymore."
She opened her mouth to argue, but the words stuck. Because part of her—the part that had watched Kevin manipulate and scheme without consequence—understood.
But understanding didn't make it right.
"They're going to expel you," she said quietly.
Zion's smile was bitter. "Then at least I'll leave on my terms."
He turned and kept walking, leaving her standing alone in the hallway.
The principal's office smelled like leather and old books. Mr. Harrington sat behind his massive mahogany desk, fingers steepled, expression unreadable. Two other administrators flanked him—Ms. Rowe from the UK branch and Mr. Carlisle, who looked like he'd aged ten years in the past hour.
Zion sat across from them, spine straight, face calm.
"Mr. Vale," Harrington began, his voice measured. "What you did today was not just disruptive. It was an attack on this institution's integrity."
"With all due respect, sir," Zion said evenly, "this institution lost its integrity the moment it started protecting students who break the rules while punishing those who call it out."
Ms. Rowe's eyes narrowed. "You're referring to Kevin."
"I'm referring to a pattern," Zion corrected. "Kevin's just the most obvious example."
Carlisle leaned forward. "Zion, we understand you've been under pressure—"
"Don't," Zion cut him off, voice sharp. "Don't try to therapist your way out of this. You all know exactly what's been happening. You just chose to ignore it because it was easier than dealing with it."
The room tensed. Harrington's jaw tightened.
"That kind of disrespect will not be tolerated," he said coldly. "You've put us in an impossible position. Half the student body is ready to riot, the other half thinks you've lost your mind, and the staff—" He gestured to the others. "The staff is divided on whether you deserve expulsion or a medal."
Zion leaned back in his chair. "So what's it going to be?"
Harrington studied him for a long moment. "Suspension. Two weeks. Effective immediately. You'll complete your coursework remotely, and when you return, you will issue a public apology."
Zion's eyes flashed. "I'm not apologizing."
"Then you're expelled," Harrington said simply.
The silence stretched like a wire about to snap.
Ms. Rowe spoke up, her voice gentler. "Zion, you're one of our brightest students. Don't throw that away over pride."
"It's not pride," Zion said quietly. "It's principle."
Carlisle sighed heavily. "Think about it, at least. You have until tomorrow morning to decide—suspension with an apology, or expulsion."
Zion stood, the chair scraping against the floor. "I don't need until tomorrow. I already know my answer."
He walked out before they could respond.
Outside, the courtyard was chaos.
Students clustered in groups, arguing, filming, posting. Kevin stood near the fountain, surrounded by his usual circle, but even they looked shaken. When Zion emerged from the building, every head turned.
Kevin's eyes locked on his.
For a moment, neither moved. The entire courtyard seemed to hold its breath.
Then Kevin smiled—slow, knowing, dangerous. He raised his hand in a mock salute.
Zion didn't react. He just walked past, head high, ignoring the whispers that followed him like a storm.
But inside, something had shifted.
This wasn't just about Kevin anymore. This wasn't even about Mabelle or the friend group or the academy's hypocrisy.
This was about survival.
And Zion Vale had just bet everything on one truth: he would rather burn than bow.
That night, Mikey sat in Zion's dorm room, watching his best friend pack a bag in silence.
"You're really doing this?" Mikey asked quietly.
Zion folded a shirt, not looking up. "What choice do I have?"
"You could apologize. Just say the words, Z. It doesn't have to mean anything."
Zion stopped, his hands still. "It means everything, Mikey. The second I apologize, I'm admitting they were right. That I should've stayed quiet. That Kevin wins." He looked up, eyes hard. "I'm not giving him that."
Mikey ran a hand through his hair, frustrated. "So what—you're just gonna leave? Let him take over?"
"I'm not leaving," Zion said, zipping the bag. "I'm regrouping. Two weeks is all I need."
"For what?"
Zion's smile was cold. "To make sure when I come back, Kevin wishes I'd stayed gone."
Mikey's stomach twisted. Because he knew that look. That tone.
Zion wasn't backing down.
He was preparing for war.