Bully Lord

Part-58

As Sourov charged, James feigned a stumble, dropping to one knee with a yelp of mock pain.  The movement, clumsy and exaggerated, caught Sourov off guard.  He hesitated for a split second, his momentum momentarily disrupted.  That split second was all James needed.

With a burst of surprising agility, James swept his leg outwards, aiming for Sourov's ankles.  It was a risky move, a last-ditch effort born out of desperation.  But to his surprise, it connected.  Sourov's massive frame went sprawling, a surprised grunt escaping his lips.

The crowd erupted in a surprised cheer.  For a fleeting moment, the tension in the air dissipated, replaced by a sense of awe.  Even Sourov, sprawled on the ground, looked momentarily stunned.  James, chest heaving, used the opportunity to scramble back to his feet, a sliver of hope flickering within him.

Thirty seconds.  He had somehow managed to stretch the fight to thirty agonizing seconds.  His body ached, his vision blurry, but he was still standing.  He had defied the System, at least for now.  The question remained, would it be enough?

In class 9A, sunlight streamed through the windows, illuminating a sea of desks and textbooks. Mili sat at her own desk, diligently copying notes from the board. Her brow furrowed in concentration, but a flicker of unease danced in her eyes. The whispers and excited chatter of her classmates about the "big fight" were a constant reminder of the events that had transpired just a couple week ago.

Anya, her best friend, leaned across the aisle, her voice barely a whisper. "Mili, aren't you going to watch? It's all because of you, after all."

Mili flinched at the accusation, a prick of guilt accompanying the sting of truth. The memory of James, standing up to Judo club bully Ryan in the hallway to save her from harrasement, was strong. She had never asked for the confrontation, but somehow, James had gotten dragged into it, becoming entangled in a web of schoolyard politics she didn't fully understand.

The whispers around her only amplified her unease.  She could hear snippets of conversations, laced with curiosity and speculation.

"Did you see the note James got shoved in his locker? All because of Mili, they say."

"Yeah, I heard she got harassed by Ryan and his goons. Serves her right for hanging out with the wrong crowd."

Mili's cheeks burned with a mixture of anger and shame.  It wasn't her fault James was getting dragged into this mess.  She had never intended to cause trouble, and the thought of James getting hurt because of her gnawed at her conscience.

"I don't have time for such things, Anya," Mili replied, her voice a touch sharper than usual.  It was a half-truth.  Part of her genuinely disliked the idea of watching violence, but another, deeper part, worried about James.  The System's manipulative influence, the potential for serious injury – these anxieties gnawed at her conscience.

The air crackled with tension as Sourov rose from the ground, a growl rumbling in his throat.  James, his body screaming in protest, used the brief reprieve to assess the situation.  His gamble had paid off momentarily, but the toll was evident.  His shoulder throbbed with a dull ache, a testament to Sourov's earlier blow.  His breath came in ragged gasps, his vision tinged with red at the corners.