Friday [09/06/2019]

Young cultivators heard about it constantly throughout junior high. The Guardianship Battle Royale – an event held on the first Friday of every Jungle School’s 1st semester. As the name suggested, it was one-Warrior-take-all event where any student was allowed to participate regardless of their year, Martial Rank, or Cultivation Stage. The rules were simple: Whoever was the last fighter standing was declared Guardian of the school.

“So, how come Heartland High hasn’t had one in over three years?” Drake asked as he CJ grabbed a seat at an empty lunch table.

“It’s complicated,” CJ responded.

They continually ignored the looks they received from other students in the dining hall. By then they had come to realize almost every Warrior at Heartland belonged to one of its three factions with. Only a few indecisive freshmen and the South Shore trio were the exceptions. The dining hall was even compartmentalized by factions with a single table in the corner for freshman who had yet to affiliate themselves.

Drake and CJ sat at the very edge of it, receiving the ire of everyone else all the while. They gave them no mind. Even without the Three Lords’ truce, all fighting was forbidden on the day the Battle Royale would occur outside of the royale itself. Even beyond that, the duo, even with their injuries, could still hold their own against anyone at Heartland save the Lords themselves.

After taking a bit of some turkey, CJ started to explain the politics of Heartland High.

“See, back when Hunt was a freshman, everyone thought he was gonna be on top, but Bronson, who had just transferred in from a school in Queens, fought him to a stalemate in their first GBR. Since there was no real winner, the two spent the rest of the year scrapping it out with no real winner. That kept going ‘till they were sophomores, at which point Jane came to Heartland. She was just as dominant in her freshman year as they were, and not even juniors and seniors could touch her; only Hunt and Bronson. When it came time for the Battle Royale, what happened was a three-way Mexican stand-off where none of the ‘em could beat one without risking of gettin’ murked by another. And so… they just didn’t.”

“Didn’t what?”

“Didn’t fight. There was the occasional skirmish every now and then, but none of ‘em wanted to risk putting themselves in a position where one could have an upper hand over the other two. Most of the fighting was done by the Warriors beneath them. The goal was to crush the other factions to the point they can gain more influence over the school; essentially becoming Guardian without actually becoming the Guardian. Hence the name ‘Three Lords of Heartland’.”

“So, basically…” Drake began with his mouth still full. “The Three Lords are too chicken-shit to fight each other straight up?”

“Basically, yeah.”

Tension filled the air as every pair of eyes in earshot honed in on the pair. Drake knew nobody in the dining hall was bold enough to challenge him without one of the Three Lords present. At least he assumed as much until he sensed someone was behind him. The freshman shot up from his seat and snatched them by the collar before they could react.

“Ah… Guess I’m not the only one who’s a bit on edge today,” Isaac said.

He had miraculously prevented his tray from spilling when Drake grabbed him. The freshman, both a bit annoyed and embarrassed, released him then sat back down. He grew even more annoyed when Isaac sat down at the table, just a seat apart from him.

“The hell, Moon? You can’t find anywhere else to sit?”

“Not really? Every other table, even the mostly empty ones, are taken by one of the factions. Since I haven’t joined any of them, I’m not exactly welcome.

CJ waved his hand. “Don’t worry about Drake. Sit where you feel like, man.”

Isaac thanked him and proceeded to eat. At least, he tried. Every time he raised his fork to his mouth, his hand would start to shake and the food would spill onto the tray. After the fourth failed attempt in the row, Isaac finally set his utensil down.

“Eh… I wasn’t that hungry anyway.”

“What’s up with you?” CJ asked.

“The Battle Royale… It’s only a few hours from now.”

“That’s what gotchu shaken up? You even participating?”

“No, I can’t. And I mean, I really can’t.”

“Why? Anyone can.”

“I know, but it still wouldn’t be a smart thing to do. Things would go bad really quick.”

“Sure, but still---“

Drake sighed. “Just leave it alone, CJ. This is just how this guy is. Don’t know where all that moxie he had when he faced Hunt the other day went. Maybe we all just imagined it, but as of yesterday, he’s right back to tucking his tail between his legs at the first sign of a fight. No idea how a guy who’s too scared to throw a single punch plans to survive in a Jungle School. Don’t even get how Moon got enrolled here in the first place, but he seems fine with spending the next three years of life at the bottom of the food chain.”

“Drake, c’mon, man…”

“What? I’m not beating ‘em up. Look, Moon. I don’t know what bully or whoever traumatized you back in Kansas, but if you can’t get over that shit and start swingin’ when your life depends on it, your life on Staten Island’s gonna be hell. You get where I’m comin’ from?”

Isaac stared at his untouched food for a moment, his hands occasionally still trembling. After a while, he got up with the tray in hand.

“Yeah, I get you. Thanks for the advice,” he said. “Good luck in the royale.”

He left without taking a single bite of his meal. The boys watched him throw away the untouched food, put away his tray, and leave the dining hall.

“…Yep. He’s a weirdo,” Drake said in Isaac’s absence.

“I’m not gonna dispute that, but… I don’t know, you seemed to go hard in the paint against the dude.”

“If Moon can’t get it through his head to grow a pair and act like a real Warrior, he’s gonna be the whipping boy of Heartland for the rest of his high school career. I’m just tryin’ to spare him a trip down an ugly trail.”

CJ cocked his face. “So, you were just givin’ him honest advice? Damn, I’m gonna have to tell Skylar about this one: Drake actually tried helping somebody.”

“Man, shut up! It doesn’t go that deep,” he said while dropping one of the foundation pills that came with each student’s meal into his drink. “Hey, how is Sky anyway? I texted her, and she just responded with: I’m fine. See you next week.”

“Sent me the same message. Same with her girlfriends that still go to school on the South Shore. Just give her space. For Sky, losing all her hair isn’t like gettin’ a broken arm. She probably feels the same as if she had one of her ears chopped off.”

Drake ruminated on it while finished his supplemented drink. He came to agree with CJ, and the pair went to put away their trays. A new wave of glares came as they headed toward the exit, but nobody dared try them. There was no need. In just a few hours, anyone who still held a grudge against Drake would get the opportunity to settle it during the Battle Royale anyway.

And that included the Three Lords of Heartland.

There was no 8th Period class.

When the second-to-last bell rang, every student at Heartland began shuffling to the battlegrounds of the Battle Royale – the gymnasium. Drake and CJ assumed they would get there at the head of the herd, but they found most of their upperclassmen had already arrived beforehand. Apparently, they didn’t wait for the bell. Since no one was currently allowed on the 1st floor, everyone who came had to be packed onto the bleachers on the 2nd floor. To nobody’s surprise, brouhaha was beginning to brew between the factions.

Nobody came to blows; partially because of the teachers there to keep the ruckus in check, and partially because the faction’s leaders themselves had yet to become caught up in the discord. They sat patiently among their Warriors as though no noise was being raised at all. They didn’t give Drake and CJ any attention either when they passed by them. Honestly, the duo appreciated the lack of attention for once. The students’ rabble-rousing continued until a single staff member with a microphone walked out into the middle of the gym floor. The fuss between Warriors was then replaced with a wave of groans and moans from several upperclassmen.

“Of all the teachers to make this year’s ref they really chose Forrester?” a junior beside CJ bemoaned.

The teacher seemed completely unfazed by the reaction the students gave him. He was more apathetic than anything.

Drake and CJ weren’t sure what to make of him. He didn’t come off as the pedagogic-type. Not his age, not in how he dressed, and not in how he carried himself. He, furthermore, proceeded to do the least ‘teacher-like’ they could imagine – he lit up a smoke in the middle of the gym. This only further inflamed his detractors.

The duo blinked in disbelief. Even kids too young to begin cultivation proper knew that smoking was bad for the chi. When tobacco products were ingested, they would pollute the chakras and disrupts the flow of chi through the meridians. Only masters who had progressed to such a level that something like smoking was trivial, or juvenile deliquents who didn’t care all that much to begin (like CJ) with would light up a cigarette so carelessly.

Of which camp the teacher belonged, Drake and CJ were unsure.

Forrester prodded the microphone in his hand, causing it to make several ungodly sounds across the gym’s speakers before he finally spoke into it.

“Mic check: one, two… Alright, time to get started. I'm Keith Forrester, and I’ll be the teacher refereeing this year’s Guardian Battle Royale. Now, I shouldn’t have to explain the rules – not even to freshmen – but, for the slower students in attendance, the rules of the Battle Royale go as follows:

Don’t kill anyone. Last Warrior standing wins.

And there you go. Outside those rules, feel free to use any Cultivation Technique, Martial Technique, marital art, underhanded tactic, etcetera during the royale. Hell, you can even use weapons. Feel free to use a gun if brought one.”

CJ made a face. “A gun? Is he serious?”

“I know, right? Most Warriors higher than F-Rank can dodge semi-auto fire,” Drake said. “And something like an AK’s pretty much worthless against guys with decent reinforcement techniques.”

While Keith’s comment may have been frivolous, the ultimate meaning behind it remained still clear – there would be no-holds-barred in this competition.

Keith puffed smoke. “Now that the rules have been made clear, let’s get this over with. Anyone who plans to participate in the GBR, come down to the ground floor now. If you aren’t present on the 1st floor within the next five minutes, you’re automatically disqualified from competing.”

Of the students to head down, the Three Lords were the first. They left a nervous ambiance in their wake. Nobody at Heartland could be called a coward for avoiding a confrontation with Queen Jane, the Wild Hunt, and Iron Bronson, and yet several students did go. Some were sophomores. Some were juniors. Some were seniors. No freshman dared to go down.

None save for the Punk from South Shore.

“Wish me luck,” Drake said while approaching the 2nd floor’s railing.

“Don’t get murdered this time, man.”

Drake cast a thumb up before he hopped the railing and dropped down to the ground floor. His entrance caught everyone’s attention. The 11th, 12th, and 13th-grade students already down below honed their sights on him. Even as roughed up as Drake was from the previous days’ skirmishes, he was still one of the strongest Warriors at Heartland High. Ironically, the only ones who weren’t sizing him up were the only other Warriors of which he was wary – the Three Lords.

They were all staring each other down like they were in a Mexican stand-off. The heat from the friction of their clashing essences alone made hairs stand up on nearby students’ necks. The teacher who stood not too far from them was thoroughly unimpressed.

“I’m really hoping you three finally squash this civil war shtick of yours this year,” Keith said.

“Sound a little heated there, Forrester. What’s got you so bothered?” Hunt asked.

“You know why, smartass. While you three have been playing Three Kingdoms with your little factions, Heartland’s been without a Guardian for three years running. Sure you’re aware by now, but Jungle Schools without Guardians get their funding cut, they get excluded from events, and they receive no Prestige Scores. Heartland already wasn’t doing that rosy before you ‘Lords’ split the school in three. But now, we’re one of the worst-ranked schools in New York City. Hell, probably New York in general. You managed to turn a shithole into a garbage dump. I’d be impressed if I didn’t have to work in it.”

It was the first time Drake heard someone aside from himself speak to the Lords in such a way. They just brushed his rant off with shrugs. Obviously, they were accustomed to Keith taking such a tone with them.

“Don’t worry ‘bout a thing, Forrester. We already decided to settle everything today,” Bronson said.

Keith gave them a look before returning to his microphone.

“Last call for participants in the GBR! Get down here now or stay upstairs until the royale is finished!”

A few more students started filing down to the 1st floor. Drake looked up expectantly at CJ who just shook his head. Drake gave him a dismissive gesture in return.

CJ just snorted. “Dumbass really thinks I’m gonna go down there with my leg like this. Not sure if I’d go even if I was in decent shape. For somebody unaffiliated with the Three Lords to go down there with those wolves, they’d have to be crazy or---“

CJ was interrupted by possibly the craziest sight he had witnessed all week – Isaac had suddenly walked out onto the 1st floor. It took a while for the other participants to notice his arrival, but when they did, he garnered more attention than Drake’s entry had. Drake especially was genuinely bewildered by his appearance. His eyes had never been as wide as when Isaac approached him.

“Moon… Are you alright in the head right now?” Drake asked.

“…Nope. Not even a little bit,” Isaac answered. “Though, to be honest, I’ve been in this mood for a while.”

Isaac’s hands were trembling again. He also had a peculiar look in his eyes. Drake recalled it as the same look Isaac had when he got between him and Hunt. The freshman couldn’t quite pin its nature down, but he could tell it wasn’t simple nervousness. Before he could decipher it, Keith spoke up again.

“Anyone not already on the 1st floor will be disqualified in six... five... four... three... two...”

At the final second, Jane, Hunt, and Bronson all leaped from where they stood on the 1st floor up to the 2nd. Everybody in the gym, staff included, was dumbfounded. The exceptions Isaac who was still deeply ruminating over his own thoughts, and Keith who was more agitated than anything else.

“And just what the hell is this?” he asked them over the mic.

“Just what it looks like, Forrester. We’re disqualified,” Hunt answered.

“You guys, serious? Bronson, didn’t you say you three were gonna settle things?”

“We are. See, we’re just as tired of this Game of Thrones shit as you are, Forrester. Stalemates get old after three years. Still, we weren’t just gonna draw straws to decide who was gonna be Guardian. So we came up with a compromise.”

“What? Pissing me off?”

“Nah, instead of us locking horns this time, we’re gonna let the strongest Warriors from our factions be our champions. Whichever faction the last Warrior standing belongs, their Lord becomes Guardian.”

Keith exhaled so much smoke most of his face was hidden by it. “That’s not how this works …”

Jane shrugged. “A Guardian can cede their position to any other student from their school whenever they feel like it. Our compromise is right in line with the rules.”

All Keith could think – aside from how much he despised his job – was how the Lords would make spectacular lawyers and bureaucrats if they actually gave a damn about their academics.

After rubbing his temple red, Keith put out his cigarette and said: “Whatever. Do what you want. As for the rest of you… I don’t know how many of you knew about this compromise beforehand, but the rules of the Battle Royale remained unchanged: Last Warrior standing becomes the Guardian of Heartland High. Do you all understand?”

Nobody on the 1st floor made a sound or even a gesture. Neither did anyone on the 2nd. That was answer plenty for Keith. He raised his hand high.

“Alright. Let the Guardianship Battle Royale … begin!“

The moment Keith brought his hand down he vanished from where he stood. None of the students were bothered by his disappearing act. They were too busy honing in on a particular target – Anthony Drake. It was unclear how many of the Warriors truly knew of their Lords’ plot, but what was clear was that the biggest threat to its realization was the hot-heated freshman.

And who else would be at the lead of such a charge than Deontay?

“I’ve been looking forward to this for days! You ready for round two, bitch?!” he howled as he bound toward Drake, his fist glowing with the power of the Furious Power Strike technique.

Drake braced himself. He was injured, he was vastly outnumbered, and he also had the liability of somebody like Isaac, an upperclassman who couldn’t even throw a punch to save his life, right beside him. Still, he would face this coming storm head-on, just as he always did.

“Hey, Moon! You better keep your distance if you want to surv---“

One could hardly blame Drake for not catching it. Deontay hadn’t, and it struck him dead center in his face. Its impact resonated throughout the gym. Students on the 2nd floor heard it before they saw Deontay fly into the bleachers, an imprint of a fist left across his face.

All movement stopped both for the students and for the teachers. Even the Three Lords looked lost. The strangest reaction of all came from Isaac himself. The transfer student looked down at his still trembling fist and smiled. He smiled like a child that had just blown out all the candles on a birthday cake.

“I forgot what this felt like… Fighting spirits – it’s just not the same,” he said. “It can’t compare to going at it with another person…”

Drake looked on with disbelief. He realized at once that what he had assumed about Isaac was completely false. He never had a problem with throwing punches. He just held himself back to prevent this odd euphoria from coming over him, like a shark that swam in the opposite direction of where it smelled blood. That look in Isaac’s eyes – the same look that had sparked a reaction out of Hunt before – was not that of fear or nervousness, it was of a wild animal anxious at a chance to hunt.

Isaac Moon was not at the bottom of the food chain. He, perhaps more so than even Anthony Drake, was a natural-born predator.

He pushed up his glasses and put up his fists. “Alright… Let's go!"