Internet Mage Professor

The classroom transformed into an arena, desks shoved aside, shadows retreating. The bullies arranged themselves into a loose circle. The air hummed electric backing drums of anticipation.

Ramos cracked his knuckles. "Five strikes. You dodge each one—one crystal apiece."

The others nodded. Daryn counted out the first bets, stacking colored crystals on the desk like chips in a street game.

Ramos stepped forward. The student backed up, knees hunched, eyes forward.

The air snapped still.

Then Ramos lunged.

Fist arced.

The student ducked. Pivoted.

Ramos recovered.

He jabbed again—harder.

The student slid backward—clean.

Kellan and Daryn exclaimed. "There it is!"

Two down.

Three to go.

The next blow—a heavy cross. The student sidestepped, just in time.

Three dodges.

Now Ramos was breathing loud, nostrils flaring. He feinted high and drove low.

The student split the difference—leaned into the spin, torqued his foot.

Four.

The group cheered.

Ramos paused—hand twitching. He stepped out of the circle, voice low but laced with awe. "Fifth."

He yanked back, then hammered a straight punch.

The student pivoted sideways—brushed fingertips through whiteboard marker stage dust.

The fist whooshed past.

Silence.

The last punch.

He ducked, steel-coiled, pivoted again, eyes locked.

And stayed.

Breathing, calm, victorious.

Five successful evades.

The group exploded—cheers ricocheting off walls.

Crystals clinked, coins rattled. Ramos reached inside his satchel and tossed five blue shards onto the desk. Then ten more—for placing on the bet.

The student laughed—a free, shock-filled laugh—and backed away, stunned, as prizes piled up before him.

Ramos stepped forward, offering a hand. "You earned it."

He looked around at the hushed faces of his classmates.

Ramos cleared his throat: "Kid… you're one of us now."

And in that shout, the classroom exploded into cheers.

Ramos paced slowly in front of the group, his gaze focusing entirely on the student. The others—Kellan, Daryn, Vira, Jules—clustered behind him, expressions shifted from mocking to awed. The air crackled with a kind of rough camaraderie. Ramos finally spoke, voice steady and louder than before.

"Listen," he began, "we've been around a while. We see a lot of arrogance. We see talk, but we don't see skill." He turned his eyes to Kellan, who offered a small nod. Ramos continued right after, "That pivot dodge, that duck—that was the best move in here today. That moment"—he leaned in—"made me second guess my own reach."

Heads nodded in agreement.

Kellan chimed in, voice low and impressed: "Yeah—man, when you went low under that fourth punch? That wasn't just fast—that was surgical."

Daryn added, "Your hips didn't just shift. They slipped. Like liquid. Soap in a pan."

Vira smiled softly, stepping forward. "Genuinely, we're glad you're… with us. Now."

Jules gave a shy thumbs‑up. "Welcome."

Ramos held up a hand, raised high. "But that's not enough. If you wanna roll with us, there are rules. Brotherhood rules."

The student straightened, careful not to look away.

Ramos cleared his throat. "Rule one: Loyalty. If one of us gets targeted, all of us step in. You don't back down. Period."

He swept his gaze across each face. They nodded. Vira folded her arms. "Yeah. Too many times, we got walked over. If someone hurts one of us… we hurt them back."

Ramos kept going. "Rule two: Respect. Not just to each other now—but to anyone who stands their ground. You just… earned mine. Keep earning it."

Jules perked up. "Respect means we don't steamroll just because we can. Doesn't mean we're weak."

The student nodded, absorbing each word.

Ramos leaned in. "Rule three: No secret—no gossip—no cutting someone behind their back. If you've got beef, you don't text it. You … talk it. Face to face. Understood?"

The student nodded again.

Kellan added, "Yeah—honor's part of this."

Daryn scratched his chin. "Rule four: We watch each other's back… literally. Classroom, cafeteria, patrol—whoever moves—whoever messes with one of us—we make sure they sweat first."

Ramos exhaled and gazed at the student meaningfully. "You in?"

The student hesitated a moment—eyes flicking between each member—and finally nodded.

Ramos slapped his shoulder once, hard, but in an act of welcome. "Then you're in."

They grinned, crowding closer, slaps and pats on the shoulder coming from every side.

Vira said, voice softer: "Sorry for what we did today." Others followed—apologies spilled forth in staccato bursts:

"I'm sorry I kicked your bag."

"I'm sorry I laughed at you."

"I'm sorry I iced your lunch."

The barrage ended as Ramos returned to the center.

"We were angry because…" he hesitated, raw emotion surfacing. "Because we're sick of being humiliated by those who don't respect us."

He turned, eyes dark. "Last term, we tried to stand with the second-years. We thought we could socialize, fit in." He paused and spat the words. "They stomped us—physically and verbally. Called us garbage because we're repeaters. Called us pointless, reminded us we'd never be elite."

His fists clenched tightly at his sides.

"When we failed the blue-field run," he continued, "they jeered like hyenas. The senior passers—Rox, Silvia, Mark—they laughed at us when we tripped in freezing rain, wrists bleeding from cuts. Called us ignorant trash. They blew our confidence—and they only laughed harder when we couldn't answer a simple rune question in class."

Each breath he drew was ragged.

Vira stepped forward, tone shaking: "They stole our badges. Tore them off our chests and trampled them."

Daryn slammed a fist against the desk. "They shoved us off the podium. Called us 'debtors to the system.' They abused us—and it was child's play because we didn't fight back."

Ramos turned to the student, suppression of anger flashing in his eyes. "And we took it out on you. Not because it was your fault. Because we thought someone had to be the bottom—so we blamed you."

The student chewed his lip, voice soft: "I… I'm sorry."

He stared down at his shoes momentarily, then met their eyes again.

But Ramos shook his head, waved a hand dismissively: "Nah. Past is past."

The group shifted into a small circle, settling with relaxed solidarity. They put arms around shoulders. A nascent team.

Silence lingered—thick but comfortable.

Their shared vow to avenge the second years hung in the air.

And then—a sudden SLAM!—the classroom door burst open behind them with startling force.

All five heads whipped around in unison.

Their new brotherhood froze, in perfect synchrony, hearts knocking, adrenaline surging.

They waited.

For the next move.

But the person in the doorway had not spoken yet.

Suddenly, the classroom door slammed open again, and Nolan whirled in from the corridor. He strode across, paused at his desk, then snapped his fingers. "Oh shit—I forgot my change!" He yanked open his bag, rifled through pockets, muttering curses, then darted back out before anyone could respond.

The room sank into stunned silence as the door swung shut behind him. The bully crew blinked, stray shards of laughter hanging frozen in their throats. Ramos cleared his throat, leaned in toward Delo, the newest member, and let out a low chuckle.

"You know," Ramos said quietly—but loud enough for only his friends to hear—"if you can dodge sword swings after that display of knife dart evasion, buddy, we'll be in trouble."

Kellan snorted. "Swords? That's fantasy. No way even Delo here moves that fast."

Daryn rolled his shoulders, grinning. "Yeah—unless you got warp-speed legs, we're talking shadows slicing air faster than you."

Vira winked at Delo. "Careful, you're setting a trap—giving 'em ideas of wizard school."

Jules chuckled. "Let's be real—that move vs. steel? Dude, I don't even dodge arrows yet."

They all laughed, playful but curious. Their eyes flickered around Delo, the one who had upended their dynamic just minutes ago.

Ramos offered a soft sigh. "Maybe it's crazy—but I mean it. If you can dodge steel, I'd follow you anywhere."

The others fell silent, exchanging surprised looks—did he really mean it?

Ramos looked at Delo, then spread his hands in front of him. "Your name? Delo?"

Delo swallowed, shadows still under his bruised eyes, what little confidence he'd gathered from this morning's events flickering like a candle. He nodded slowly. "Yeah. I'm Delo."

Ramos nodded back. "Ramos. Callsigns, brotherhood rules, all that. So, Delo…"

He paused, tone thoughtful.

Delo opened his mouth and surprised himself. "We can try."

The silence stretched. Air froze. Kellan's jaw went slack. Daryn blinked twice. Vira's shoulders jerked. Jules's laugh stuck in his throat.

"Wait—what?" Kellan finally croaked. "We can try? You mean tomorrow I'll pull out a sword and swing it, and you'll… dodge it?"

Delo stood straighter. "Why not? You believe in me, right? You said it yourself, Ramos."

Stillness.

Then Ramos shrugged quietly. "I said I meant it." He paused. "You're serious, then?"

Delo nodded firmly.

Another silence. Kellan leaned in close. "You're serious. Serious serious?"

Delo cleared his throat. "Yes. I am."

Daryn snorted, sounding almost nervous. "You sure? We trained for dagger and club—never sword. This is… steel."

Delo swallowed. "Let's just… see what happens."

Vira shifted forward. "Mic drop, man. We—We'll bet you serious." Her tone was soft but unwavering.

Jules exhaled a low whistle. "I'd call that nuts—if he misses, he gets cut. Like… big cut."

Delo's pulse pounded. He closed his mouth, heart hot and pounding... but he stood his ground.

Ramos inhaled sharply. "Alright." He exhaled with purpose. "Tomorrow. At the old courtyard. After classes."

The others nodded—half shocked, half excited.

The electric tension pulsed louder than any bell.

Just as Ramos opened his mouth to signal the end of the clandestine meeting, the door slammed again—Bang!—jolting everyone.