CHAPTER TEN
Michael was a botanist, and the only thing he loved more than his plants was his family. He often said plants were simpler—they didn't talk back, didn't judge, and only needed light, water, and a little jazz to thrive. Every day, he'd retreat into his greenhouse, where sunlight filtered through glass panes like a blessing, and the air smelled of damp earth and chlorophyll. His son, Victor, was often dragged along—unwillingly.
Victor didn't hate plants. He just didn't love them. In fact, sometimes, he was convinced his father cared more about the photosynthetic creatures than him. Michael would play Coltrane or Davis and smile to himself, lost in the rhythm. Then, he'd turn to Victor, eyes gleaming.
"You know music helps them grow, right?"
"You've said that like… a hundred times," Victor replied, flatly.
Michael would chuckle, ignoring the sarcasm. "Well, it's true."
"Can I go now, Dad?"
But Michael never answered that question. He'd wave Victor over with some new "fascinating" plant discovery—another lecture, another leaf, another reason to stay. So even though Victor rolled his eyes, sighed, and dreamed of escape, he grew up steeped in the language of roots, resilience, and silent growth. Lessons that would matter more than he could ever imagine.
Present Day
"You all seriously need to get checked. For real," Emilia said, crossing her arms, eyes narrowed.
Stephen bristled. "You—"
"Let me handle this," Kelvin interrupted, stepping forward, his voice calm but firm.
"Oh, look at that—the new guy's barking orders now?" the Red Hood leader sneered, arms wide in mock surprise. His voice carried the confidence of someone who knew more than everyone else in the room.
Kelvin's eyes narrowed. "What should I call you—'Red Hood'? 'Psychopath'? Honestly, I can't imagine why anyone in their right mind would serve something as twisted as Mr. Smile."
"You're young," the leader said coolly. "There's a lot you don't understand. You only transferred here this semester, right? Let me give you some advice. Don't dangle your legs in waters you don't understand… unless you're ready for the sharks."
Victor had heard enough. "Screw this." He lunged forward.
But the Red Hood leader simply raised a hand—and suddenly, they were all paralyzed. Everyone except Kelvin.
The leader tilted his head. "Ah. So that's why he's leading. The new guy's got some bite." He grinned. "I'll admit, I thought you lot were amateurs. But you've… grown."
Kelvin stepped forward, calm and unbothered. "I didn't come here to fight petty schoolyard bullies with a god complex. I came to fight monsters. And you? You don't even qualify. I would've let you walk away… but like they say—you can't unring a bell."
He reached for the Book, and raised his necklace. In a flash of light, it transformed into a gleaming sword.
"You want the book?" Kelvin said, his voice low and cold. "Come get it."
"Get him," the Red Hood leader snapped.
What followed was a blur of motion and steel. It was like watching an ancient warrior reborn—Kelvin moved with lethal grace, dispatching the Red Hood initiates one after the other while holding the book with one hand. No wasted effort. No mercy. A master swordsman cloaked in teenage skin.
The Red Hood leader clapped slowly. "Impressive. You've earned my respect. So I'll tell you my name before I kill you."
He pulled back his hood, revealing a familiar face.
"I'm Hakeem," he said. "Head Boy of Haloville… and the Headmaster's son."
Kelvin blinked. "If someone had told me Haloville was this full of secrets, I would've come here years ago."
Pieces were starting to click together. "It makes sense now. The cover-ups. The deaths. Why you've kept us here. But why Stephen? Why make him the Librarian?"
Hakeem shrugged. "You were all insignificant. Background noise. We didn't care."
"Until we found the book" Kelvin said, calmly "You couldn't find the Book. So you made us pawns in your search. "
Hakeem smiled coldly. "Alright, let's make this fun. We're both cursed, clearly. Let's spar. First one to draw blood three times—"
A sharp wind cut him off. Literally.
A sudden blur. A flash of silver.
Blood.
Hakeem touched his cheek. It came away red. He grinned.
"I'm nothing like you, if anything, I'm blessed"
Then they clashed—Kelvin's glowing blade against Hakeem's conjured sword. Sparks flew, steel screamed. But Hakeem soon realized the truth—Kelvin wasn't just good.
He was terrifying.
And then it happened.
Hakeem's head flew clean off. Silence. Horror. Gasps.
But Kelvin hadn't killed anyone else. His sword vanished, and he stepped back, breathing hard, horrified.
Then the unthinkable.
Hakeem's body stood up, bent down, picked up his head, and reattached it like putting on a helmet, he had been holding back and now Kelvin's sword was gone.
"Now," Hakeem growled, "I'm pissed."