The last bell rang and the classroom cracked apart into noise. Desks scraped, chairs slammed back, voices tangled in the rush for freedom.
Max didn't move with them.
"Holloway," Mr. Hale said, slipping a folder under his arm, "office has your locker keys. Don't forget before you go home."
"Yes, sir."
He followed the teacher down the hall, slow and steady. By the time he got to the admin office, most of the crowd had already spilled out. A clerk behind glass slid him a small envelope with a stamped number. Key inside. His locker.
Simple.
But walking back was anything but.
The hallway past the stairwell pulsed with voices. Not empty like he'd hoped — clubs had staked their ground. Tables cluttered with flyers. Posters taped to walls. Students shouting over each other, pitching teams, trying to catch the stragglers who hadn't bolted home.
And Max — Daniel Holloway — was exactly the kind of straggler they wanted.
"Transfer student!" one voice called. "You look built—track team could use you!"
"Tall frame, good shoulders, come on man—basketball!"
Another shoved a pamphlet at his chest. "Drama club. You've got the face for it!"
He stepped past, noncommittal. Didn't shove, didn't stop. Just steady, unbothered. Which only made them chase harder.
"Look at him, not even sweating."
"Bro, with that jawline? Girls are gonna lose it."
"Bet he's hiding a six-pack under that uniform."
"He's too cool for us. That's the problem."
Max didn't look at them. He kept walking, expression flat, but the noise followed like smoke.
Then the noise shifted.
Akane Emi — Sera's cover — had arrived.
Her blazer hung loose, ribbon knotted casual, skirt just short enough to test the code. She didn't walk — she arrived. Every step was light, every glance quick, scanning the hall like it was hers to command. A flick of her hand here, a smirk there, and half the corridor bent toward her.
"Emi, join tennis!"
"You'd kill in dance club!"
"Drama's waiting for you!"
She fed it back with easy charisma. A smile, a laugh, a playful shove. Not yes, not no — just enough to keep them wanting.
And then she spotted Max.
Her eyes lit like she'd been waiting. She cut through the crowd, her hair catching the light, her grin widening.
"Daniel!" she called, voice clear enough to slice the noise.
Heads snapped. Voices dropped.
Akane Emi, the hot, magnetic transfer girl — walking straight up to Daniel Holloway, the quiet, aesthetic one.
She stopped in front of him, hand flicking at her bag strap, eyes sparkling like it was rehearsed. "Hey. Didn't think I'd see you this soon."
The whisper wave crashed immediately.
"They know each other?"
"No way."
"Holloway and Emi—are you serious?"
"That's not fair, they're both hot."
"He's cold, she's fire. What even is this?"
Sera leaned in just slightly, enough to set the hook. "Walking home?"
Max's jaw flexed. He kept his tone level. "Yeah."
"Perfect. I'll walk with you."
The crowd noise sharpened. Some jealous, some awed, all of it feeding into the rumor mill already stitching them together.
And then, before they could break free, someone shoved through the press of bodies.
A boy in a worn martial arts club jacket. Desperation in his face.
"Holloway!" he barked, clutching a clipboard. "Please—you've gotta join the martial arts club. Help us this once, man. We're one member short of keeping the club alive. They'll shut us down if we don't."
He shoved the paper forward, eyes wide, almost pleading. "You look strong. You'd fit right in. Just one signature. Please."
The whispers rose again.
"Martial arts? Yeah, he looks like he could kill it."
"Imagine him sparring—damn."
"He hasn't even said yes and I'm already picturing it."
Sera tilted her head, lips curling like she was entertained. "Looks like you're popular already."
Max's hand hovered near the clipboard. He wasn't supposed to draw attention. Justice's warning rang sharp in his skull.
No fire. No spectacle. Blend.
But the boy's eyes burned with real panic.
And the whole hall was watching.
Max's fingers brushed the pen. Justice's warning clawed through his head—blend, don't burn. Signing a form wasn't fire. It was boring paperwork. Boring kept him invisible.
So he signed.
The boy's shoulders slumped with relief, but only for a breath. Then his eyes lit sharp. "Sorry man but you can't just sign. Rules say new members have to audition."
Max's head tilted. "Audition?"
"Trial match." The boy's grin cracked wide. "Show the club what you've got. Don't worry—it's just friendly sparring."
He grabbed Max's sleeve before he could protest. "Dojo's open. This way."
The corridor exploded.
"No way—he's fighting already?"
"Holloway in the dojo?"
"Bro, I'm skipping cram for this."
"Emi's going too? Damn, this is huge."
By the time Max registered it, he was being pulled down the hall, Sera strolling beside him, clearly enjoying the stir. Her smirk widened every time someone whispered his name.
"Looks like you're trending already," she teased. "Don't break your cool too fast."
Max's expression didn't shift. "Wasn't planning to."
They stepped into the gym wing, where mats and wooden floors gleamed under fluorescent lights. The martial arts club was already there—half a dozen members in gis, the banner hanging crooked against the wall.
The boy with the clipboard pushed Max forward. "Got us a savior!"
The club captain, taller, built like a coiled spring, looked him up and down. "Transfer?"
"Daniel Holloway," Max said flatly.
The captain nodded once. "Then let's see if you belong."
The crowd pressed into the doorway, spilling onto the bleachers. Phones slipped out, cameras half-raised. Sera leaned against the wall, arms folded, grin bright.
The captain pointed at another member, a stocky boy with fast hands. "You're up. Spar one round. Light contact."
The boy grinned, bouncing on his toes. "Got it."
Max stepped onto the mat, blazer still buttoned, tie still tight. He set his bag down without flourish.
The circle tightened. The whispers thickened.
"Bet he folds."
"Nah, look at him—built like a wall."
"What if he's trash?"
"What if he's not?"
The boy was practically bouncing on his toes. "Trial match!" he shouted. "One round. Holloway, don't hold back."
The crowd pressed tighter at the doorway. Sera was already there, leaning back against the wall with her arms crossed, watching like it was the best entertainment she'd had all week.
Max walked to the edge of the mat. His blazer felt stiff against his shoulders. With a sigh, he slid it off, folding it once before dropping it on the bench. A murmur rippled through the crowd.
Next, he tugged his tie loose, pulling it down just enough to unbutton his collar. His hands moved slow, unhurried, like he wasn't preparing for a fight but for a nap. Then, with one sharp roll, he pushed his sleeves to his elbows.
The fluorescent lights hit his arms. Veins traced across his forearms like lines of a map, muscles tight and lean. The whispers hit instantly.
"Damn, look at his arms—"
"He doesn't even look like he lifts—how's he built like that?"
"He looks crazy."
Girls near the back of the bleachers leaned forward, trying to catch a better angle. One whispered too loud, "If he's this cut under a uniform—" and the rest of her group burst into muffled laughter.
Max ignored it. He flexed his hands once, the knuckles popping softly, and stepped barefoot onto the mat.
The club captain nodded to the stocky fighter already waiting. "One round. Keep it clean."
The boy grinned, bouncing. "Don't blink, transfer."
"Start!"
The fighter lunged fast, fists sharp. Max slid sideways, catching his wrist. A twist, a subtle shift of weight—he bent the boy forward with minimal effort. Not slammed, not brutal. Just control.
Gasps filled the room.
"Too smooth—"
"He didn't even try."
"That was clean."
The boy broke free, teeth clenched, circling. He darted in again, a hook aimed for Max's jaw. Max blocked with his forearm, muscles shifting like rope under skin, then pivoted, shoulder bumping the boy's chest to knock him back.
The crowd roared.
"Yo, Holloway's built different—"
"He's making it look easy."
"That stance—where'd he train?"
The boy growled, embarrassed now. He charged low, aiming to sweep Max's legs. Max hopped, twisting just enough that the boy's momentum slid under him. Max landed light, grabbed the collar of the gi, and used the boy's own pull to send him flipping onto the mat.
The slam wasn't hard. Controlled again. But loud enough to echo through the gym.
Phones shot up instantly.
Sera smirked, eyes glinting. She clapped once, slow, deliberate. "Looking good, Holloway."
Her voice was like oil on fire. The whispers spiked into shouts.
"Emi's cheering for him?"
"New transfer's untouchable."
"They're seriously unstoppable together."
The stocky boy scrambled up, flushed and sweating. "Again."
The captain raised a hand. "Enough."
But the boy shook his head. "One more. I'm not done."
The captain studied Max. "Will you?"
Max rolled his shoulders. "Fine."
The boy came in wild this time, swinging with frustration. Max ducked the first punch, blocked the second, then let the third graze his shoulder. He stepped inside the swing, lowering his body with sudden force.
In a heartbeat, Max drove forward. His shoulder hit the boy's midsection, arms wrapping tight around his waist. The impact rattled the mat as Max took him down hard, legs kicking out under them both. The boy hit back-first, stunned, breath torn from his lungs in a gasp.
But Max didn't stop there. He slid seamlessly into position, pinning the boy's arm across his chest, knee pressing against his side. His forearm locked across the boy's throat—not choking, not crushing—just enough pressure to make the message clear. Controlled. Absolute.
The gym erupted.
"Holy—he tackled him—"
"That was like a pro—"
"Look at his arms, oh my god—"
"Those veins—he's built like steel!"
Phones shot up, flashes snapping. Girls leaned forward, whispering fast and breathless.
"Did you see the way he moved?"
"He didn't even hesitate."
"He's scary. Hot, but scary."
The boy squirmed once, tried to buck him off, but Max's weight didn't shift. The control in his muscles wasn't brute force—it was a quiet inevitability.
The captain raised his hand sharply. "Enough!"
Max released immediately, pushing off with a smooth roll, standing without a drop of sweat on his forehead. He tugged his sleeves back down, slow, deliberate. Picked up his blazer. Slung it over one shoulder.
The whispers didn't die down. If anything, they grew sharper, hotter.
Sera clapped once, loud enough to slice through the buzz. Her grin was sharp, eyes glinting. "Submission. Clean. Beautiful. Holloway, you're full of surprises."
Max didn't answer. He slipped his tie loose again, as if the whole thing had been nothing but a chore.
The martial arts captain crouched by his teammate, checked his breathing, then looked up at Max. His voice carried over the echoing gym. "Holloway's in."
The crowd cheered.
Sera leaned close as they stepped away, her voice teasing. "Day one and you already own the spotlight."
Max kept his eyes forward. "They're too easy to impress."
She laughed, bright and sharp, tossing her hair back. "Or maybe you're just better at this than you think."