Reborn as a Ghost Rider

8 days before obtaining the Cross of Vengeance.

The roar of the engine pierced the morning silence of the schoolyard. Johnny Blaze's jet-black bike gleamed in the sunlight, like a challenge to the world itself. Students turned their heads instinctively, some in admiration, others with caution, stepping aside for the guy who always seemed a step ahead of everyone else.

Johnny smirked slightly, just at the corner of his lips. He was used to it. The constant admiring looks, the loud comments, and the aura of perfection people desperately tried to impose on him. To them, he was the epitome of success: the son of a police captain, captain of the school boxing team, an excellent student with a promising career as a military doctor. But Johnny knew the truth. He hadn't trained for a decade to become a role model. He was preparing for a different life, a war none of these people could even imagine.

He chuckled inwardly:

"If only you knew who I really am, would you still smile at me or keep your distance?"

Johnny parked his bike, instantly drawing a small crowd of peers. Some stared at the motorcycle in awe, while others commented on his riding style. Among them, as always, was Roxy.

Roxanne was the daughter of Craig Simpson—a family friend, motorcycle instructor to Naomi and Bart, circus stuntman, and the poor soul destined to die from cancer.

At eight years old, Johnny had armed himself with an oncology textbook and insisted Uncle Craig undergo a medical examination that saved his life. Johnny had tried to act like a worried child overwhelmed by medical horrors, but after that incident, everyone close to him decided his destiny was to become a doctor. And Roxy, grateful for her father's rescue, convinced herself she had to be his best friend.

"Hey, Johnny," her bright voice effortlessly cut through the crowd's noise.

She approached, playfully raising her eyebrows, tugging at her perfectly ironed sweater that emphasized her slim waist. Her golden hair shimmered in the morning sun, and her eyes sparkled with mischief.

"How about saving me from total failure?" she asked, tilting her head slightly with a teasing smile.

"With what exactly?" Johnny already knew the answer but asked anyway.

"Biology, " Roxy said, stepping closer. "Or at least spare me a few minutes of your time? We could study after class, or I'm definitely failing the test."

She paused, looking at him as if he were her last hope. Johnny couldn't help but admire her effort. She was always like that—bright, sincere, a little naive. And that made her completely unsuitable for him. Her world was too simple, too bright.

"I'll just lend you a book," he replied, softening his rejection. "There's a good one that explains everything clearly. I'll bring it tomorrow."

For a moment, Roxy squinted, as if trying to figure out why he kept avoiding her attempts to get closer. But within seconds, her usual smile returned.

"Alright, savior. I won't forget your contribution when I win a Nobel Prize in Biology!" she said with mock indignation, though her voice still held a hint of hope.

Johnny nodded briefly, trying to end the conversation before guilt over his coldness could set in.

"She doesn't understand," he thought, watching her return to her group of cheerleaders. "Roxy is too... normal. Her world isn't for me."

---

After the second period, Johnny was in the gym. Boxing practice was where he felt, if not at ease, then at least on familiar ground. Here, he could channel his instincts while maintaining an appearance of control.

He stood in the ring's corner, lazily putting on his gloves. The coach, as usual, assigned pairs, giving newcomers a chance to learn from the more experienced. When Johnny's turn came, he gave a curt nod.

"Today your opponent is the new guy—don't disappoint me," the coach said with a note of pride in his voice.

Johnny glanced at the boy across from him. Skinny, with an awkward stance, he looked like he'd been dragged here against his will.

"I could knock him out in the first round," Johnny thought as he took his stance. "But then the coach won't want to train with me. Guess I'll have to hold back."

"Don't worry, I won't kill you," Johnny said flatly, dodging the boy's clumsy punches.

Johnny moved mechanically, practicing dodges and blocks. His punches were precise but restrained—just enough for the boy to feel his weak spots.

"Keep your elbows up," Johnny muttered, landing a light jab in the boy's exposed defense. "And cover your head."

The newcomer mumbled something but tried to follow instructions. Johnny continued the match on autopilot, his thoughts already far beyond the gym.

"I should be sparring with the coach by now. I need experience in real fights, not babysitting," he thought irritably, dodging another awkward attack.

After three rounds, the coach finally rang the bell.

"That's enough for the newbie's first day," the coach said with a satisfied smile, approaching Johnny's corner. "Kid, you're a natural fighter. Think I don't know you could've won anytime?"

"Then why'd you pair me with him?" Johnny asked calmly. "There are plenty of other fighters in the gym."

"Blaze, you're my best student. But what I value most isn't just your medals—it's this." The coach tapped his finger against Johnny's temple. "All your peers are full of testosterone, but you have remarkable self-control. It's like you're forty, not sixteen. You know when to use your strength. That's why you're the captain."

Johnny gave a slight nod, removing his gloves. He saw no value in the captaincy; it was just another title handed to him for his achievements. He had a different goal. Sports, school—all these accolades were mere stepping stones toward something greater.

The gym's noise abruptly turned to shouting. One of the boys had dropped a barbell on his foot, his face contorted in pain. Without hesitation, Johnny vaulted over the ring ropes and rushed to the injured student.

"Don't move!" he ordered, shoving aside the gawkers who were only getting in the way.

The coach fussed nearby, glaring at the empty nurse's office. "Where is she, for crying out loud?"

Johnny calmly opened a first-aid kit someone had brought over.

"We can't wait for the nurse," he said coolly, quickly examining the injury.

His movements were confident, almost mechanical. He numbed the pain, wrapped the wound, and stabilized the foot—all in under two minutes.

"Were you a Boy Scout or something?" the coach asked, astonished.

Johnny smirked faintly. "Something like that."

The attention annoyed him, but he didn't show it.

"You need to go to the hospital," he told the injured boy before standing up and wiping his hands.

"Blaze, I used to think those rumors about you becoming a doctor were absurd, but now..." The coach trailed off as if reaching a decision. "Your fists aren't just for the ring; they're for helping people. Maybe you should consider volunteering at a hospital. I know someone who could help. It'd look great on your med school application. You'll be Dr. Blaze."

Johnny didn't respond. Internally, he scoffed:

"Dr. Blaze—that sounds ridiculous. I learned first aid to patch myself up after fights."

---

After practice and half a day of classes, Johnny strode quickly through the school corridors. Luckily, Roxy wasn't around—she was busy with cheerleading practice. She was a good, kind girl, but her constant presence was starting to wear on him. Especially now, when he was tired of playing the role of the good guy. The darkness inside demanded to be unleashed, and in school, there was only one place to do that.

The tension in the disciplinary committee office thickened as Johnny entered. His cold, piercing gaze froze everyone in place, like soldiers awaiting orders from a general.

The corners of Johnny's lips lifted slightly. He remembered how it all started. When he transferred to high school, he himself requested that the principal establish a disciplinary committee. At first, he was the only member, and that suited him just fine. Naturally, his dark soul wasn't satisfied with the mundane duties of patrolling hallways. From the first day he wore the badge, Johnny headed straight to the lairs of the school's bullies.

There, he indulged his darker passions fully: beating up thugs daily and bringing order to chaos were the highlights of his high school life.

Sometimes it hurt, and he had to lie to his parents, claiming fresh bruises were from boxing practice. But the victories far outweighed the defeat—daily training and military strategies ensured the success of his missions.

Within six months, Johnny had won the school war against bullies. No one dared sell contraband in the parking lot anymore; everyone was polite in the hallways, and the bathrooms were used solely for their intended purposes.

Defeated bullies wiped their bloody noses and left school to make a living on the streets. Those who had nowhere else to go ended up following Johnny. They joined the disciplinary committee, patrolling the hallways, and spent their free time boxing under his guidance. If they could follow him home, they probably would.

Now, as Johnny looked at his former foes, he felt an unpleasant pang of responsibility, like stray puppies clinging to him on the street. He hadn't invited them, and their company annoyed him, but kicking them aside wouldn't feel right either.

"I just wanted to let out my darkness and knock a few teeth out of some thugs," Johnny mentally grumbled. "Stop seeing me as some spotless knight of justice!"

"All clear, boss!" reported the self-proclaimed deputy, his voice brimming with enthusiasm. "It's Sam's turn to patrol the sixth sector, but I can join him to boost efficiency!"

Johnny glanced at the deputy's eager face and then at the wall with the school map, divided into perfectly organized sectors. Below each sector were the names of the responsible patrols, all of whom dutifully performed their roles.

"How?" Johnny inwardly groaned. "How did a simple desire to beat up some bad guys without getting expelled turn into a system of perfect order?"

"Any incidents?" he asked, lacing his fingers together.

The deputy's smile widened to an almost obscene degree, his eyes gleaming with happiness, like a child showing off a perfect report card to their dad. Damn it.

"Twenty days without incidents!" the deputy exclaimed proudly. "Under the committee's watch, the school's discipline is flawless!"

"Nothing at all?" Johnny's voice carried a hint of despair. "Not even a single swear word scribbled in the bathroom?"

"After you broke Steve's fingers, no one dares bring a marker into the bathroom anymore."

Johnny mentally cursed when he saw Steve's name listed under bathroom patrol. Now Steve was a committee member, diligently guarding against rogue artists.

"Well," the deputy began hesitantly, noticing the faint disappointment in Johnny's eyes, "there was one thing this morning."

"Go on." Johnny's tone perked up slightly.

"Some punks showed up in the parking lot. Blared music, drank beer, harassed the cheerleaders."

"Who were they? Where can I find them?"

"They weren't from our school," the deputy shrugged. "They came to see one of our students—some scrawny kid with glasses. Talked to him for a bit and then left."

"Even so, they're criminals who trespassed on school grounds. Looks like our committee needs to expand its jurisdiction." Johnny's voice was cold, but inside, he felt the darkness within him begin to stir. "Find that student and bring him to me."