The middle school cafeteria was alive with the usual noise—shouting across tables, the clang of lunch trays, the steady hum of conversation, and the occasional slam of sneakers on the tile floor. It was chaotic, messy, loud.

To Jordan Kent, it was hell.

He sat alone near the end of a long, half-empty table, hoodie up, headphones loosely around his neck—not on, just a buffer. His untouched sandwich sat in front of him, half-wrapped, the crust already drying at the edges. He picked at it, hunched over like he was trying to shrink himself.

But shrinking didn’t work. Not here.

“Hey, freak.”

Jordan didn’t look up. He didn’t need to. The voice belonged to Mason Tyler—one of those kids who always seemed like he had something to prove, and always picked the weirdest target to prove it on.

“You gonna cry again today?” Mason jeered, grabbing Jordan’s juice box and squeezing it so it spilled on the tray. “Or gonna stare at the wall like a psycho?”

The boys at the next table laughed. Jordan said nothing. He didn’t flinch. Not anymore.

“You ever notice how he just sits there?” Mason kept going. “Like he’s not even real. Maybe he’s, like, a robot or something.”

Another push. This time, Mason shoved Jordan’s tray off the table, the plastic clattering to the floor in a burst of crumbs and shame.

And that’s when the air changed.

A voice cut through the noise—calm, but firm. “Back off, Mason.”

Mason turned, already smirking. “Oh, look. The golden twin arrives.”

Jonathan Kent stood a few feet away, arms crossed, jaw tight. Same black hair, same dark eyes as Jordan—but he stood taller, broader, more sure of himself. Where Jordan curled in, Jonathan charged forward.

He stepped up to Mason, barely a foot apart now.

“I said back. Off.”

Mason’s smirk faltered. Jonathan didn’t raise his voice. He didn’t need to. There was something in his eyes—something like steel. The cafeteria had noticed. Voices dropped. Forks paused mid-air.

Mason scoffed, stepping back with a forced laugh. “Whatever, man. Just messing around.”

“Mess around with someone else.”

Mason grabbed his tray and retreated, the act already forgotten to him, but not to Jordan—not to Jonathan.

Jon knelt and picked up his brother’s tray, brushing off the mess before setting it on the table again. Then he slid into the seat beside him, close enough that their shoulders touched.

“You okay?” he asked.