The classroom hummed with quiet focus as the professor droned on, but in the back row, not every student was paying attention.
Hunched over notebooks and half-hidden behind bags, a small group whispered in low, conspiratorial tones.
"Everything's ready?"
"Yeah. They'll be at college during lunch break. Just like planned."
"Good," the ringleader muttered, a smug grin forming. "That bumpkin needs to learn his place. Walking around with Celina like he owns the place…"
The bell rang, slicing through the air.
Books closed. Chairs scraped back. And just like that, the class dissolved into the chaos of lunch break.
In the cafeteria, laughter and the clatter of trays filled the warm air. Friends gathered at familiar tables, gossiping over assignments, crushes, and weekend plans.
Celina sat at her usual table near the large windows, the soft light illuminating her polished hair and easy smile. Beside her, Becky and Rose chatted animatedly between bites, filling her in on the latest drama from their department.
Meanwhile, at a far-off corner table, Miles sat alone.
As always.
Back straight. Posture relaxed. A black coffee in one hand. His sharp eyes didn't wander, but they noticed everything—movement, energy, tension. He wasn't there to socialize. He was reading the room like a battlefield.
Then he noticed something strange.
A group of five unfamiliar men stepped into the cafeteria—not students. Rough around the edges. Casual clothes, but not the kind worn for a lecture hall. Their walk was too deliberate. Their eyes too focused.
They were carrying sticks. Tucked under jackets. Concealed, but not well.
Goons.
Miles didn't flinch. He didn't even look up. He simply took another slow sip of his coffee.
The men moved toward him, unaware they were walking into the calm center of a brewing storm
A voice cut through the growing tension like a knife.
"I heard you don't like empty threats," one of the men sneered, cracking his knuckles. "How about I give you a handful of them?"
Miles finally looked up from his coffee, calm as a monk in a storm.
"You…" he asked, voice measured. "Are you a student here?"
"Does it matter?" came another voice, smug and arrogant.
The crowd parted as Bill Queens stepped forward, his swagger as loud as his words. "My family knows the chairman of this university. No one can stop us here."
Miles tilted his head slightly, a flicker of amusement crossing his face. "Oh, really?"
"Yeah—really," one of the goons barked, charging forward.
THUD.
He didn't even see it coming. A blur of motion, a twist of Miles's shoulder—and the man was flat on the tiled floor, unconscious. The room went quiet. Conversations died mid-sentence. All eyes turned.
From across the cafeteria, Celina, Becky, and Rose stood frozen for a moment before rushing to Miles's side.
"Miles…" Celina called softly, concern etched into her face.
He didn't look at her. "Let me handle this, Celina," he said. "I'll make sure everyone learns what this college is really meant for."
She paused… then nodded. Something in his voice told her not to interfere.
Miles turned back toward the group.
"Now, where were we? Ah, yes—you said you know the chairman."
Another thug lunged.
Miles caught him mid-air, lifted him off the ground with both hands, and slammed him down hard—right at the feet of the remaining men.
The rest charged, thinking numbers could overpower skill.
Wrong move.
The cafeteria erupted in chaos.
Miles moved like a ghost reborn. Every strike was fast, controlled, deliberate.
One tried to hit him with a stick—Miles caught it mid-swing, snapped it in two, and used the pieces to trip two others.
Another came at him with a punch. Miles ducked, pivoted, and sent him skidding across a table, knocking over trays and gasps in the process.
Someone tried to grab him from behind—Miles flipped the attacker with a clean over-the-shoulder throw.
Not one of them lasted more than a few seconds.
No blood. No death. Just precision. Just a message.
The last goon, terrified, stumbled backward and fled—bolting straight out the cafeteria doors.
Silence.
The students stared, wide-eyed, stunned.
Who the hell was this guy?
Celina stood still. Even she hadn't seen him like this before. Rose's hand covered her mouth. Becky whispered, "He just took them all down… like it was nothing."
Miles dusted off his sleeves casually, then turned back to Bill Queens, who stood frozen in place, trembling.
"So, Bill Queens… that's your name, right?"
Bill couldn't speak.
"Let's see what your chairman friend has to say," Miles added coolly, pulling out his phone.
He dialed.
Chairman Alder picked up immediately—on the first ring.
"Hello, Mr. Sterling," the voice came, respectful, even reverent.
"Chairman, are you in your office today?" Miles asked.
"Yes, I'm on the floor just below the cafeteria."
"Then come upstairs. I need to talk to you."
"I'm on my way."
Click.
The silence in the room deepened.
Eyes turned to Bill. To Miles. To the wreckage of would-be attackers still groaning on the floor.
How could the chairman of the university be that respectful… to a student?
Even Celina looked shaken.
Moments later, Chairman Alder burst into the cafeteria, his face tight with worry. He stopped in his tracks when he saw the scene—five men on the ground, the tables a mess, and Miles standing calm in the center.
"What happened here?" Alder asked, glancing between the injured and the crowd.
"You're asking the same question I want to ask you," Miles said.
He pointed at Bill. "This one says his father knows you. That's how they got access to the campus."
Chairman Alder's face darkened.
"Yes, I've met his father once. At a fundraiser. But that doesn't mean he has authority here."
He turned toward Bill, his tone now colder than steel. "Your father does not own this university."
Then Miles added sharply, "Without proper clearance, can an outsider enter this campus?"
"Not at all," Alder nodded. "I'll call the head of campus security ."
Miles raised his hand. "Don't bother. I want him here in one minute."
Alder turned and spoke into his phone. Moments later, the head of security arrived, face pale as he took in the disaster.
"C.. Chairman" the guard muttered.
Chairman Alder stepped forward. "This is the head of security, Mr. Sterling."
Miles didn't move. His voice dropped cold. "Tell me—how did these people enter the campus?"
The man tried to puff his chest. "Who are you? Why should I answer to you?"
CRACK.
Chairman Alder slapped him hard across the face.
"Just answer his question!" he barked, veins bulging.
The room was frozen in awe.
"I… I'm sorry," the security officer stammered, eyes watering. "This student here—he offered me money. Said it was just a harmless prank. I let them in…"
Miles turned and gave the man a slap of his own, sending him to the ground.
"You took what?" Miles growled.
The man stayed down, unable to move.
Miles turned back to Alder.
"I don't want him on this campus again."
Alder didn't hesitate. "He's fired. Effective immediately."
The former security in-charge looked up, wanting to beg—but his lips wouldn't move. Miles's glare alone kept him pinned to the floor.
The crowd had barely caught its breath when Miles turned his cold gaze back toward the trembling rich boy.
"So, Bill Queens, what were you saying?"
Bill tried to steady himself, but fear leaked through his bravado.
"You won't get away with this," he spat. "My father's company works with Reaper Entertainment… even Celina's family won't be able to help you. And after college, I'm going to be the next CEO. You and your family—you're done for."
The moment Miles heard the word family, something shifted.
His expression darkened. The playful smirk vanished. He stepped forward, closing the gap, his cold eyes drilling into Bill's.
And then… he smiled.
But it was a different kind of smile.
One that didn't reach his eyes.
"Let's see," Miles said softly, "if your company still exists by tomorrow morning."
He pulled out his phone again and dialed.
Speaker on.
"Monica."
Her voice came crisp and composed. "Yes, boss?"
Miles didn't even blink. "Do we have any contracts with The Queens Group in Star Harbor?"
Monica didn't hesitate. "Oh, them? Let me check… Yes, boss. They handle secondary logistics for one of our smaller projects. Not that major."
"Terminate the contracts," Miles said, voice sharp but casual. "Let them know Reaper Entertainment doesn't work with companies whose future CEO doesn't know his limits."
A beat of silence. Then Monica answered with quiet intensity, "Understood. I'll give them a very hard time."
Call ended.
The cafeteria fell into absolute silence.
One moment, Miles was just a guy in black sipping coffee. The next, he was firing corporate missiles—on speaker.
People looked around, stunned.
Reaper Entertainment?
Who the hell was this man?
Even Celina stared, a mix of disbelief and intrigue painting her features. Becky and Rose exchanged wide-eyed glances. Students began whispering.
Then—
Bill laughed. A hollow, panicked laugh.
"You're good at acting," he sneered, but his voice cracked under pressure. "You think some fake calls will—"
His phone rang.
The moment he saw the name, the blood drained from his face.
He answered with a trembling hand. "Dad?"
The voice on the other end was like ice.
"What did you do?"
"D-Dad?"
"I just got a call from Reaper Entertainment. What the hell did you say to them? Get to the office. Now."
Bill stood frozen.
"Y-Yes, Dad. I'm coming..."
He hung up.
Turned.
Looked at Miles—now pale, wide-eyed, a shadow of the arrogant boy from before.
Then he ran. Without another word.