The next morning.
Fat Tiger was sitting in the last row,
legs crossed, a toothpick dangling from his mouth,
looking as arrogant as if nothing had happened yesterday.
But his voice—
was even more grating than usual.
"Lin ! Yesterday you actually used your face to injure my hand."
I froze.
I looked up at him.
"What? You're the one who threw the first punch!"
He sneered and lifted his right hand, waving the finger wrapped in bandages.
"Everyone take a look—
this is what happens when you deal with people who have no upbringing."
He glanced around the room, the smirk on his lips growing wider.
"If he doesn't pay my medical fees today, then I'll just have to bring my boys to settle it."
Laughter burst out from all directions.
Those mocking voices stabbed into my chest like knives.
I gritted my teeth and looked toward our homeroom teacher, Jianguo Zhang.
He stood on the podium, adjusted his glasses, and said blandly:
"Lin , you need to learn discipline. Acting impulsively only makes you look worse."
That sentence hit me like a heavy brick.
What "discipline"?!
Does being bullied silently count as discipline now?
Seeing the teacher stand on his side, Fat Tiger became even more smug.
He walked up to my desk,
tapped it with his fingers,
and lowered his voice:
"What's wrong? Still not convinced?"
He leaned close to my ear, his voice slithering like a poisonous snake:
"After school, I'll be waiting for you. I guarantee you're not going home today."
I shot to my feet.
The screech of the chair scraping the floor exploded in the room, and everyone fell silent.
"Bullshit!"
I pointed at his face,
my voice shaking—but loud enough.
"I didn't do anything wrong. Why should I pay you?!"
Fat Tiger blinked twice in surprise, then burst out laughing.
"Good, kid. You've got some backbone."
As he turned away, he tossed one last threat over his shoulder:
"After school… you're dead."
The whole classroom sank back into silence.
The lights buzzed overhead,
and my hands wouldn't stop trembling.
I looked tough on the outside,
but inside, everything was a mess.
During the break, a few classmates who usually got along with me walked over and whispered:
"Forget it… just give him some money. Don't make trouble."
"Fat Tiger's not someone you can handle. Don't fight him."
I looked at them—
and all I felt was disappointment.
So even the people who called themselves friends
would rather watch from the sidelines when it mattered.
So I really was… completely alone.
When the dismissal bell rang, my hands were still shaking.
I walked to the school gate and saw Fat Tiger standing there with his lackeys,
as if they were waiting for a ritual sacrifice.
I took a deep breath.
Clenched my fists.
And stepped forward.