From Bullets To Billions

The evening of the bout had finally arrived, and the students of Brinhurst could feel it, an electric buzz in the air that danced along their skin like static.

When was the last time an event like this had happened? Something open, public, and talked about by practically every school from east to west? It had been too long, which was exactly why no one wanted to miss it, whether the rumors were real or not.

Every school, regardless of their side or allegiance, had shown up to witness it.

The location of the event was a familiar place: the Court. It sat just beyond the edge of Brinhurst, nestled beside the sea. A wide track looped around the area, the kind people used for running laps or walking with friends. And in the center of it all was a battered old basketball court, caged in with metal fencing and worn lines that had faded from years of scuffed sneakers.

Normally, it was a place where kids shot hoops or hung around after school, but tonight, it was the stage.

Most of the delinquents from West Brinhurst had already arrived. But rather than cause any trouble or make a scene, they'd chosen to stay on the sidelines, observing in silence. Some had even left shortly after arriving, not wanting to start a mess before things really began.

Students from all over were beginning to surround the outside of the basketball cage, trying to claim the best viewing spots for the upcoming fight. The anticipation was thick enough to taste.

Because it was summertime, even though it was already 6 p.m., the sun still lingered in the sky, bathing everything in a warm golden glow. Each school had brought around eight students, give or take. They didn't want to risk getting reported for overcrowding, and the leaders had made sure things stayed under control.

Eventually, the students from East Brinhurst started showing up. And not just any students, these were from the Clapton Alliance.

They arrived in coordinated groups, each one moving with the kind of quiet confidence that drew attention. No loud entrances, no shouting. Just nods, short and sharp, toward the other delinquent factions already gathered. There was a silent acknowledgment, a mutual understanding: tonight was important.

Whispers spread like wildfire. Small conversations sparked between groups as eyes scanned the crowd, picking out familiar faces, rivals, and names that had become stories.

Then, finally, Clapton himself arrived, along with Rick.

"What the heck!" Rick snarled, spitting on the pavement as he looked around. "We're here before any of the other guys even show up? And he's the one who organized this whole damn thing? He's gonna make us wait?"

"Maybe he ran off scared," one of the guys muttered with a shrug.

"Hey, but look over there," another pointed out. "Those guys, those are the ones from Brinhurst. The Black and White."

The comment was directed at the two groups who ruled all of West Brinhurst.

There was a reason they hadn't gotten too involved with the East before, because their own turf was already a battlefield.

Just like in the East, the schools in the West had been constantly clashing, locked in an endless back-and-forth of fights and feuds. But over time, two individuals had managed to rise above the chaos, rallying a large number of schools under their banners.

The first was a guy named Print, known for his short buzz-cut hair and the heavy black leather jacket he wore no matter the weather. Even now, in the background, his motorcycle was parked like a throne at the edge of the court. No one dared to touch it, let alone try to steal it. His presence alone was enough to make most step back.

The other was Erik, dressed in a clean white hoodie, standing casually among his schoolmates.

Because of the way the two leaders dressed, and the symbolic contrast between their styles, the groups they led had come to be known as the Black and White.

Surprisingly, Rick from Clapton and Erik were standing side by side, both of them looking into the cage with an air of familiarity. From the outside, they almost looked like friends.

"You wanna place a friendly bet on who's going to win this thing?" Erik asked with a half-smile tugging at his lips.

Print let out a low grunt. "You really think that's necessary? I'm pretty sure everyone already knows how this'll end."

He glanced at Rick. "It's gonna be him, Rick, from Clapton High. I've had to clash with the guy a couple of times myself. We exchanged a few hits... and let me tell you, there's no one his age that hits harder than him. One clean blow from him, and you're not getting back up. Not for a while, anyway."

Erik chuckled, a genuine laugh.

"You make it sound like you're scared of him. That's surprising coming from you. But if you're saying it, I know it has to mean something."

Print gave a small nod. "There's a reason why so many schools joined his alliance without a second thought. They knew what the outcome would be if they didn't. Better to stand beside the storm than against it."

"But this Bloodline group..." Erik trailed off, his gaze sharpening. "Didn't they take out that guy called Dipter? I heard he was making waves, even outside the usual delinquent scene."

"You know how it is," Print said with a dismissive wave. "Whenever someone new shows up, everyone acts like they're the next big thing. It's no different this time. If that guy was really all that, he would've already handled Rick. But from what I heard, Dipter wasn't even focused on fighting other schools."

He paused before adding, "There were rumors… that he had protection. Outside of school."

Erik raised an eyebrow, giving him a curious glance.

"Like… a gang?"

Print nodded slowly.

"Yeah. Rick's smart. He had no reason to stir up a nest like that. But now that this new kid's stepped in, I guess all those rumors didn't mean much in the end."

Erik started snickering, his shoulders shaking as the laugh grew.

"I noticed it too. The ones under Clapton, some of the West side schools were talking about how strong they are."

He held up a hand as he began listing them off.

"Reece, the Rhino Charger. Dude played American football. Once he starts moving, he doesn't stop for anything. It's like trying to tackle a train.

"Then there's Bazma, the Tanned Rat. I've heard stories. She's got these long, sharp nails. Some say she accidentally clawed a girl's eye out in a fight. And honestly, sometimes fighting girls is more dangerous than going toe-to-toe with guys."

He shook his head in disbelief, then leaned in a bit. "And the rest of Clapton's picks? No joke either. I don't know all their names, but trust me, they've got more than enough to wipe out whatever's coming their way."

Erik glanced over. "What about the schools from the other side? Heard anything about them?"

Print nodded again, but this time with far less enthusiasm.

"I know the schools, sure. But not their members. Seaton Academy's filled with pretty girls and wannabe influencers, always on their phones or posting about drama. And Konsoon? That place is loaded, just a bunch of rich kids.

"They've got their share of delinquents, but fighting? That's not really what they're known for. Honestly, I think this whole thing gets wrapped up quick."

"Ah, speaking of rumors!" Erik said, snapping his fingers as if just remembering. "I heard there's a hundred grand on the line for this fight. Think that's true?"

Print raised both brows at that one, genuinely surprised.

"If a high schooler had that kind of money, what the hell are they doing wasting their time fighting?"

The murmurs began to ripple through the crowd just then.

More people were starting to arrive at the court.