Dax's blood boiled. He could feel the anger bubbling like hot magma beneath his skin. Without thinking twice, he stomped down hard on Bob's foot, and a loud yelp tore through the hallway. Bob's eyes widened like saucers as he howled, hopping on one leg. But Dax wasn't done.

His shoulder snapped forward with a burst of fury, slamming squarely into Bob's jaw. There was a meaty thud, followed by Bob's dramatic gasp as he stumbled backward, hands clutching his chin.

Before anyone could blink, Dax's free hand swung like a whip and cracked Cot square on the nose.

"Uhhh!" Cot screeched, doubling over as blood oozed out of his nostrils. His hands flew up to his face, his eyes watery, his voice trembling between pain and shock.

The students standing around froze. It was like someone had just hit pause on the world. Everyone just stared at Dax; the weird kid, the school's punching bag, the walking invitation for bullying, and he had just done the unthinkable: he fought back.

Then it began the laughter.

But not at Dax.

At Bob. And Cot.

Snickers rippled through the hallway, followed by muffled giggles that broke into open laughter.

"Yo, Cot's nose is leaking like a broken faucet!" someone shouted.

"Bob got jaw-checked by Dax the Nerd!" another yelled. The humiliation stung worse than the punches.

Cot's face twisted red, his eyes narrowing into slits of fury. Beside him, Malfoy's cheeks darkened; his usual smirk was gone. The laughter of the crowd only added oil to his burning pride.

With a hiss, Malfoy threw Dax's bag to the floor, the contents spilling across the tiles.

"Oh, Dax," he growled, voice thick with malice. "You are so dead. Trying to play God now, huh?"

Cot, still wiping his bloody nose, staggered back into formation beside Bob. The three bullies stood shoulder to shoulder, their shadows looming over Dax like a wall of doom. They began closing in, slow, deliberate steps, the kind of steps that made even the bystanders step back.

Dax lifted his hands up, palms open, like a man being arrested.

"Guys," he said, forcing a shaky smile, "you don't have to do this. This was clearly… a misunderstanding. A mistake."

He sounded calm, but his heartbeat was tap-dancing in his chest.

But Malfoy wasn't listening. The boy's face twisted into something ugly. His fist clenched, his thick arm swinging forward like a hammer of vengeance.

It happened fast. Too fast.

Dax ducked, instinctively. The fist whooshed past his ear, missing him by inches. Dax grabbed Malfoy's arm mid-swing, twisted, and whirled him over like a sack of cement.

Malfoy's bulky body slammed into the wall with a solid crack! The plaster cracked slightly, dust puffing into the air. The crowd gasped.

"Holy crap! Did you see that!?" someone yelled.

Before Dax could even process it, Bob lunged from behind, throwing another punch. Dax bent low, and Bob's fist sailed over his head, meeting nothing but air.

Without missing a beat, Dax swept his leg across, knocking Bob clean off his feet. The sound of Bob hitting the floor echoed like a dropped sack of potatoes.

Cot, furious and bleeding, lunged next. He grabbed Dax by the collar of his black-and-red jacket, trying to yank him backward.

But Dax moved like lightning. His elbow drove sharply into Cot's gut, knocking the wind out of him. Before Cot could recover, Dax spun and flung him right on top of Bob.

The hallway was dead silent.

The bullies groaned in a heap.

Even Malfoy, still slumped against the cracked wall, just sat there, blinking stupidly.

And then, Dax, the so-called weird kid dusted off his jacket, picked up his bag, and walked away like he was leaving a boring conversation. He didn't even look back.

Inside the locker room, he opened his locker with mechanical calm. He gathered his books for the next class, but his mind was far from calm. His emotions wrestled in his chest, a chaotic mixture of happiness, anger, and a strange thrill.

Had he really done it? Had he just humiliated them? The three kings of the hallway?

He stared at his reflection in the metal locker door. His lips curved into a crooked smirk.

"Well," he muttered to himself, "guess being the devil isn't that bad after all."

He chuckled softly, that kind of laugh that could make someone question your sanity. Then came the school bell, loud and sharp.

Grrrrrrrrrrr!

and the chaos of students rushing to their classes filled the halls.

In class, things went back to their usual rhythm, sort of. Cot, Bob, and Malfoy, as always, sat at the back. Unlike Cot and Bob, who were as dumb as doorknobs, Malfoy at least had a working brain cell or two.

He wasn't a genius, but he managed to keep up in class, barely.

Dax, meanwhile, tried to focus, but his mind wandered. He could feel the stares. People kept sneaking glances at him, whispering like he had grown a second head.

Halfway through the lesson, a crumpled paper ball bounced onto his desk.

He sighed. "Please let it be a love letter," he muttered as he unfolded it.

But no, it was written in that handwriting. The one that looked like a chicken's footprints. Bob's handwriting.

The note read: Better run home after shcool.

Yes, shcool misspelled and underlined. Dax rolled his eyes. "Idiots," he whispered.

Hours passed, about two and a half, before the bell rang again, signaling break time.

The classroom exploded with chatter and laughter as everyone poured into the hallways. Break time in American schools was its own circus: some students rushed to the cafeteria for burgers, pizza slices, and fries; others dashed to the basketball court; a few nerds settled in the library, pretending to read while secretly scrolling through their phones; some flirted near the lockers, and others huddled in corners gossiping about who dated who last week.

You could hear music from wireless earbuds, the squeak of sneakers, and the clatter of trays all blending into one noisy symphony.

Dax walked through it all, but this time, he felt different.

Gone was the timid, hunched-shoulder kid who avoided eye contact. His stride was relaxed, confident, even cocky. And people noticed. The looks he got weren't disgusted anymore, they were curious. Some wide-eyed, some whispering.

And from the girls? Oh, that was new.

When they met his gaze, they'd smile nervously, cheeks flushing crimson.

When Dax smiled back; that slow, confident, almost devilish grin, they blushed harder.

If charisma was a weapon, Dax was now fully armed.

He reached his locker, stashed a few books, and pulled out his lunch, a neatly packed box with a sandwich, chips, and an apple. His stomach rumbled.

Normally, this was the part of the day when his "predators" stole his food, tossed it around like a frisbee, and stomped it flat for laughs. He'd chase after it helplessly while they mocked him. The humiliation was routine, or used to be.

But today, he wondered, would that happen again?

He headed toward his usual lunch spot, the basketball court stands. The route wound through a corridor that opened up into a bright, echoing gym. Sunlight streamed through the high glass windows, glinting off the polished floor. The stands rose in neat, ascending rows of metal benches, each row slightly higher than the last, like a stairway of seats surrounding the court.

Dax climbed to his usual spot, the very top row at the edge. It gave him a perfect view of the court below. Normally, he came early so he could eat a few bites before his bullies arrived. But today, something was off.

The basketball team was already there, warming up. Sneakers squeaked, the ball thumped rhythmically, and bursts of laughter filled the air.

"Guess they're excited the school year's back," Dax mused, settling down. "Give them a week, they'll start skipping practice again."

He unwrapped his sandwich and took a bite. For once, lunch tasted like victory. He was mid-chew, savoring his food, when suddenly.

smack!

Something hit his hand, and the sandwich flew out, splattering onto the floor.

A loud *"Whoa!"* rang out from several voices. Then came laughter.

"Oh man, not again!"

"Classic Dax moment!"

"He's cursed, I swear!"

Dax's eyes flared. He turned, and of course, it was Malfoy.

Except this time, Malfoy was alone. No Cot, no Bob.

Maybe the other two had learned their lesson. Or maybe they were off at the pool, they were both swimmers, after all.

"Oh, what are you gonna do, Daxxy?" Malfoy bellowed mockingly.

The laughter grew. Even the basketball players paused, balls in hand, to watch.

Dax straightened up slowly, his jaw tightening.

"Malfoy," he said, his voice low but sharp as glass.

"Bend down. Pick. Up. My. Food."

The gym went dead silent.

Then, like an aftershock, murmurs rippled through the crowd.

"Did he just...?"

"No way…"

"Bro, he told Malfoy to pick it up!"

A wave of astonishment swept through the students. Those who had witnessed the earlier hallway fight began whispering the story like wildfire.

"Yeah, Dax decked Bob and Cot this morning," one kid whispered.

"Threw Malfoy into a wall, man!"

The more they talked, the redder Malfoy's face got.

"Say that again," Malfoy growled, stepping closer.

Dax didn't even flinch.

That's when Malfoy snapped. His fist shot forward in another furious punch.

But once again, Dax sidestepped with grace , almost casually, and Malfoy's swing went wide. His momentum carried him too far; he stumbled, teetering dangerously near the edge of the stands.

Gasps filled the air. Malfoy flailed, arms waving like a panicked windmill. For a terrifying second, it looked like he was going to tumble straight down the metal steps onto the court floor below.

But just before disaster struck, Dax moved fast. His hand shot out, grabbing Malfoy's collar and yanking him back to safety.

A collective "WHOA!" thundered through the court.

Even the basketball players dropped their balls. The moment was electric, epic, even.

Malfoy froze, breathing hard. His entire face flushed, half from fear, half from the horror of being saved, by the very person he bullied. The humiliation was enough to melt a man's soul.

Dax leaned in close, his voice a whisper laced with venom.

"Just so you know," he said softly, "if my food doesn't get back into my hand, perfectly.... the way it was before you hit it… I will turn this school into your personal haunted house. You'll hear me in every hallway, see me in every shadow. No peace. No sleep. Just me, reminding you, that you messed with the wrong devil."

Malfoy's face turned ghost-white. His lips trembled. A bead of sweat rolled down his forehead. For a moment, it looked like he might actually pee his pants.

Then came the explosion of laughter.

Students burst out in hysterics, pointing and howling.

"Oh my God, look at his face!"

"Malfoy's about to faint!"

"Bro got spiritually exorcised!"

Even one of the basketball players clutched his stomach, trying not to fall over laughing.

Dax just stood there, calm as ever, his piercing stare locked on Malfoy like a predator watching its prey.

For the first time ever, Malfoy looked small.

The laughter rolled on, the whispers spreading like wildfire across the court. Some were cheering Dax; others just couldn't stop replaying the scene in disbelief.

And in the midst of that chaos, trembling, red-faced, and cornered, Malfoy did something no one expected.

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