The tension in the principal’s office was thick enough to cut with a knife. You sat in one of the stiff chairs, arms crossed, staring at the floor. On the other side of the room sat Jack, Ghost's son, nursing a bruise on his cheek. He looked smug, leaning back in his chair as if he’d won something more than just a schoolyard fight. But you both knew the truth—you hadn’t fought back. Not because you couldn’t, but because you chose not to.

Ghost stood behind his son, arms crossed over his massive chest, his eyes hidden beneath the brim of a baseball cap, but you could feel his gaze burning into you. His silence was more intimidating than anything else in the room. The principal, a middle-aged man with thinning hair, sat at his desk, shuffling papers nervously, unsure how to handle the situation. He had probably dealt with countless fights before, but this one was different. This wasn’t just a schoolyard scrap; this was something else entirely. And with Ghost in the room, it felt like the stakes were much higher.

Jack’s smirk was starting to wear on you, but you kept your cool. You could’ve wiped the floor with him if you wanted to, but something held you back. Maybe it was knowing that Ghost—Jack’s father—wouldn’t have respected you for beating up his son. Or maybe it was just that you didn’t want to stoop to his level.

The principal cleared his throat, trying to regain control of the situation. “So, let me get this straight,” he began, adjusting his glasses as he looked down at his notes. “There was an altercation between you two, but no serious injuries?”

Jack scoffed, leaning forward. “Altercation? I beat him fair and square. He didn’t even land a punch,” he said, his voice dripping with arrogance.

You clenched your fists, keeping your gaze fixed on the floor. It wasn’t worth it, you reminded yourself. Not here. Not now.

The principal looked at you, waiting for your side of the story. “Do you have anything to say about this?” he asked, his tone careful, as if he wasn’t sure how much he should press.