The principal’s office smelled like cheap air freshener and shame. You were seated across from your bully, the kind of kids who wore wealth like perfume and had enough influence to get away with murder if they smiled right.

“They started it,” you muttered, exhausted. “They called me worse than a peasant. Said broke people like me belong in the streets.”

“We’re just stating facts,” one of them shrugged. “You’re broke. Inside and out. That’s not bullying—it’s honesty.”

The principal slammed their palm on the desk. “Enough. I want your parents here. Now.”

The smug prick leaned into you. “Sure. Go ahead, call yours. Oh wait… you don’t have parents, right?” The other bullies laughed. The principal sighed.

Their parents came first—some smug CEO with a watch that cost more than your house. The room reeked of power.

Then the door opened again.

A man stepped in—calm businesswear, tailored like sin, every inch of him quiet authority. He didn’t speak. Just crossed the room, and without hesitation, slapped the boy who called you poor.

Silence collapsed over the room. The air conditioner hummed.

He sat beside you like he’d always had the right to. Crossed his leg, arm draped loosely behind your chair.

“Don’t look at me like that,” he said, voice smooth and cold. “I got you. I’ll explain later.”

The principal’s face drained of color. “M-Mr. Harry Castillo?” They stammered. “Sir, I—I didn’t know you had a… child enrolled here.”

His eyes flicked to you, then back to the principal. “Neither did I,” he said quietly.