Max trailed Ko and his cronies as they strolled out of the cafeteria, still laughing, still joking around like nothing had happened.
Like humiliating someone was just part of their routine. His footsteps quickened. His fists were clenched tight, knuckles straining with each step.
I don't get it, Max, he thought, the frustration boiling inside him. If this was your daily life… why didn't you do something? Why didn't you transfer? Fight back? Pay someone off—anything?
He remembered the video.
You said you were going to fight back.
Were those bruises from that? Did you finally snap? Was that what landed you in the hospital?
Max's jaw tightened.
I'm sorry, Max Stern. If this is the life you lived, I respect you… but this isn't the life I can live for you. I can't just sit back and take it.
Up ahead, Ko and his friends were just passing through the double doors. Max pushed forward, his vision narrowing as he locked onto Ko's back.
Closer.
His hand shot out, ready to grab him, but just as his fingers brushed Ko's shoulder—
Someone grabbed his wrist from behind. Firm. Stopping him cold.
He felt himself yanked backward. Then, before he could react, he was pulled into one of the nearby classrooms. Empty. The door slammed shut behind them.
All Max could see at first was the back of a girl's head—her long hair swaying slightly as she let go of his arm with a sharp flick.
That hair… she looks familiar…
She turned around, arms crossed tightly across her chest, eyebrows furrowed.
"What the hell was that back there?" she demanded.
And the moment Max saw her face, it all clicked.
Sheri Curts.
The name hit him like a cold splash of water.
Right. Aron told me about her—my ex-fiancée. From a wealthy family that's now… crumbling. She was at the Stern party too. Guess things really are bad if she ended up in this school.
"What are you talking about?" Max asked, keeping his tone calm.
"I'm talking about whatever you were just about to do in the hallway," Sheri said. "You think confronting Ko is going to fix anything?"
Her glare sharpened.
"If you go up against him, all you're going to do is get humiliated. Again. And when that happens, it reflects on me too."
"Is it?" Max replied, raising an eyebrow. "Far as I know, the two of us don't have a relationship anymore."
At that, Sheri turned her head away.
Max couldn't see her expression, but when she finally looked back, her face was just as tense—eyes narrowed, jaw tight.
"This is humiliating," she snapped. "All of it. What happened in the cafeteria? Watching you get treated like some stray dog? Do you even realize how that reflects on me?"
She threw her hands up in frustration.
"I was engaged to you, remember? If that ever got out—if people found out I was connected to this version of you?" She cut herself off with a growl, then turned on her heel and stormed out of the room.
Max let out a quiet laugh once she was gone.
"She stopped me because she thought she knew what I was about to do. Like she was worried I'd get hurt or something." He shook his head. "She has no idea who I really am. Even in this body… I could flatten Ko and his goons without breaking a sweat."
Still, something about the way Sheri had acted lingered in his mind.
She hadn't seemed like she hated him—not completely.
They went to the same school. She had to know about the fake name. And yet… she hadn't said anything.
We were engaged, so how close were we really?
She could've been the perfect person to ask about his old life—if only she wasn't such a pain to talk to.
Her name wasn't on the video… not on the list either.
Maybe that's a good sign.
As Max stepped out of the empty classroom, he realized most of his anger had faded.
Charging after Ko and his goons in the hallway would've been reckless. No plan, no backup, and nothing to gain except attention—and that was the last thing he needed right now.
There was still only one person from the list he'd identified. And as far as the video hinted, not even the real Max had figured out who was ultimately responsible for everything.
One name down. A bunch to go. And still no clue who the real threat is.
He continued walking, trying to clear his thoughts, when suddenly—
A girl stepped directly into his path.
She had a high ponytail, big anxious eyes, and a stack of books pressed to her chest.
"Uh… Max," she said softly, glancing nervously over her shoulder. "Can we talk?"
Max blinked.
Not good. Not good at all. Another person who knows Max, and I have zero idea who she is.
"Uh, actually—I'm kinda in a rush. Need to get back to class," he said, trying to sidestep her.
And seriously, what is with girls just randomly showing up in my life? Was Max secretly a magnet or something?
"I just… I'm really worried about you," she said.
Max's eyes dropped to the top textbook in her stack. Scribbled in neat handwriting across the front: Abby.
Okay. Name locked in. Now… who the hell is Abby?
"I mean… you ended up in the hospital," Abby said, her voice barely above a whisper. "It had to be because of them, right? Things have just been getting worse for you. I saw what happened in the cafeteria—"
Her words started to shake, her eyes glassy.
"I'm scared, Max. If they keep pushing you like this… If they push you too far…"
A tear slipped down her cheek.
Max just stared at her for a second.
How… how did the original Max manage this?
Despite the crap life he lived, somehow he had a girl like Abby who genuinely cared about him.
Were they together? Did they used to be? Did he reject her?
Wouldn't Aron have told me something like that?
Abby wiped her face with the sleeve of her cardigan, then stepped a little closer.
"I just—if something had happened to you, and I never got to see you again…" Her voice cracked. "Why won't you let me help you? Why don't you ever talk to me?"
She clutched her books tighter to her chest. "If you ever need anything… anything at all, just ask me, okay?"
Max swallowed hard.
The problem is, dear Abby… I don't even know who you are.
He offered a soft, awkward smile. The kind that said thanks, without revealing the truth he was dying to hide.
-----
The underworld had its own way of keeping connected.
News in this world didn't spread through headlines or press conferences—it passed in whispers, texts, and fear. Long before anything hit the public, those in the game already knew.
And lately, one piece of news had been echoing through the shadows.
The White Tiger was dead.
"The White Tiger's gone? That's not possible—how could anyone take him out?"
"I'm serious! I heard he once took down a hundred guys by himself."
"Pfft. That has to be an exaggeration."
"No, man—bare fists. The rest had weapons. Every gang's heard the story."
"Even if that's blown out of proportion, you can't deny the other stuff. There's talk he was betrayed. Stabbed in the back."
"That's what's scary. If he could get taken out like that…"
"I'm telling you, if the White Tiger was still breathing, just his presence would be enough to tear down every gang out there."
"There's not a single soul in the underworld who'd dare cross him. I've seen what he's like when he snaps. And trust me—no one wants to be near when that happens."