Revenge Never Waits!

A long wooden staff whistled through the air, swinging with precise, relentless force as it descended upon the thug in front of him. Harry's strikes were quick and fluid, each swing landing with calculated accuracy. The man barely had a chance to react before his dagger was knocked from his grasp and he was sent staggering back, completely subdued.

In mere moments, Harry had disarmed and incapacitated every thug who dared to stand in his way. For him, it had hardly been a challenge.

Even in his new, less powerful form, the instincts and skills of his old self lingered. His body felt different, perhaps weaker in some ways, but his fighting technique, honed over years, was still there, guiding his movements with precision. He didn't need much strength against these opponents; they were just common street toughs, untrained and reckless.

Still, as he flexed his hand after the skirmish, Harry felt a strange sensation. During those brief moments of combat, it was as if a surge of his former power had returned, just for a heartbeat, a glimpse of his old strength. But just as quickly, the feeling faded, leaving him in deep thought.

"My body...what's going on?" he murmured, looking down at his hands, perplexed by the phantom strength he had just experienced.

Behind him, Louis, his friend and loyal companion, hurried over with a look of concern. "Harry, are you alright?" he asked, his voice laced with worry. "You're not hurt, are you?"

Harry shook his head, brushing off the concern. "I'm fine. Not even a scratch. Let's keep moving."

He turned his gaze toward the girl who had been standing nervously nearby, watching the fight unfold with wide eyes. She was young, perhaps a little younger than them, with a timid look that softened slightly as Harry addressed her.

"Are you coming with us?" he asked, offering her a small nod of encouragement.

The girl hesitated, biting her lip, glancing at Harry with a mixture of fear and relief. After a moment, she managed a quiet, "Yes...thank you."

And with that, the three of them set off together down the winding road, moving carefully through the uncertain terrain. Along the way, Harry and Louis learned that her name was Wendy. Like them, she attended Prayer Middle School, though she was a grade below.

Louis, ever the cautious one, gave her a gentle warning. "This road isn't safe, especially alone. There are plenty of dangers out here. You should try to stick with others."

Wendy nodded, glancing at him gratefully. "Can I...can I stay with you?" she asked in a soft voice, casting a hopeful look toward Harry.

"I don't mind," Harry replied with a slight smile. "Just be warned, I sometimes run late. But if you don't mind waiting, then yes, stay with us."

Wendy visibly relaxed, her shoulders loosening as she nodded in thanks. "I'll keep up. I promise."

Louis grinned and muttered, half-joking, "And don't slow us down." He shot a sly glance at Harry. "I didn't know you had skills like that, Harry. Guess I'll be sticking with you from now on too. No way am I letting you out of my sight!"

He recalled Harry's performance in the fight with clear admiration in his eyes. The way Harry had taken down those thugs so efficiently; it was almost like watching a master at work.

"That's fine with me," Harry replied, nodding casually. He didn't have strong feelings about adding two more people to their group; it seemed simple enough.

What weighed more heavily on his mind was the earlier confrontation.

The bell rang, signaling the end of class, and Harry stood up, gathering his things quietly. Just as he was about to slip out the door, a loud crash interrupted the moment.

Bang!

He looked up to see a group of burly figures swaggering through the entrance, their bare chests displaying tattoos that told stories of rebellion and toughness. Each man clutched a weapon; a long stick, a knife, a glint of menace in their hands, as they approached him with intimidating purpose.

"That's the guy!" A voice shouted from behind, cutting through the murmurs of confusion in the classroom. A familiar face emerged from the throng; someone with a bruised visage, his anger palpable.

Harry's heart sank. The leader of the group, a massive man named Jack, shot a fierce glare at him.

Bang!

Jack slammed his knife onto a nearby table, puncturing a textbook with a force that echoed in the now-silent room. "You're the one who beat up my cousin?" His voice was low and threatening.

The atmosphere shifted; students exchanged fearful glances, recognition dawning. "That's Jack! How could Zack mess with him?" one murmured, dread thick in the air.

In this world, gangs ruled the streets, and even the academy was not immune. Many students, lured by the allure of power and camaraderie, had joined the ranks of these thugs, abandoning their studies. Jack was one of them, a peripheral member of a local gang.

Louis, sensing the tension, slipped away unnoticed, casting a quick glance back at Harry that said it all: buy time.

Harry stood frozen, observing Jack and his gang. A sigh escaped his lips, he truly didn't want to stir up trouble, especially so soon after arriving. But trouble had a way of finding him regardless.

Before he could decide on a course of action, Louis was back, this time with their college mentor.

But as they entered the classroom, they were met with a shocking sight. The cramped space had transformed into a chaotic scene. A wide circle formed at the back, and in the center stood Harry, brandishing a bloodied staff. Around him lay several gang members, including Jack, moaning in pain, their bravado shattered.

Students huddled in corners, watching Harry with a mix of emotions; shock, excitement, and a hint of admiration glimmering in their eyes.

"So, you took care of these people by yourself?" their mentor asked, his voice a mixture of disbelief and respect. Harry simply nodded, still processing the whirlwind of events.

Inside the office, the instructor, Marry, regarded Harry with a mix of disbelief and curiosity. She studied him closely, noting his thin frame and seemingly frail appearance. To her, he didn't look like a fighter at all. Yet, just moments ago, he had taken down seven or eight burly men with ease, leaving them too battered to even muster a response.

"I've already heard about what happened," Marry began, her tone softening. "And I want you to know; it's not your fault."

She took a deep breath, recalling the accounts she'd gathered before their meeting. "From what I gather, this was completely unprovoked. You didn't start this fight; you were simply defending yourself. And you did it without seriously hurting anyone. No one was left disabled, even."

Her words hung in the air, leaving her momentarily at a loss.

"Now, I need you to do something for me," she continued, her expression firming. "Go home and write a 3,000-word self-reflection on the incident. After that, this matter will be put to rest."

Marry leaned forward, concern etched on her face. "But I also need to know, what are your plans moving forward? These people can be very vindictive. If you hurt one of them, they won't just let it go. They'll come after you again."

Harry let out a weary sigh, the weight of the situation pressing down on him. "Honestly, I don't have many choices right now."

Marry's expression shifted slightly as she hesitated. "There might be a way to help you," she said slowly. "I know someone who could assist in resolving this situation. But I can't promise anything."

"A friend of yours?" Harry asked, intrigued.

"Yes, they're willing to help you if you're open to it."

"Then I'm willing to give it a try," Harry replied with a tentative smile. "What do I have to lose?"

Marry smiled back, a flicker of relief crossing her face. "That's the spirit. Just make sure to keep up with your studies and don't let this setback derail you."

"I won't," Harry assured her, nodding as he stood to leave.

As he stepped out of the office, he spotted Louis and Wendy waiting anxiously in the hallway.

"How did it go?" Louis asked, his voice laced with urgency.

"Not bad," Harry replied, the tension in his shoulders easing a bit. "Teacher Marry said she'll help me sort things out. We'll see what happens next."

"That's a relief!" Louis exclaimed, visibly relaxing. "Gang members are tough not just because they're violent, but because of the networks backing them. If you mess with one, you might be provoking a whole group."

Harry nodded, understanding the gravity of the situation. "Exactly. I just want to keep my head down and focus on my studies. I can't afford any more trouble."

Wendy stepped closer, her eyes wide with concern. "Do you really think they'll leave you alone now?"

"I hope so," Harry replied, determination flickering in his gaze. "But I'll be ready just in case."

Just like the situation Harry faced earlier, trouble was knocking on his door again.

That morning, he had dealt with the younger brother; now, the older one had come to settle the score. It was becoming quite a hassle.

"Look, if Mr. Marry says he can handle it for you, then I wouldn't worry too much," Louis reassured him, trying to lighten the mood. "This should blow over soon enough."

"Maybe," Harry replied, his mind still racing with possibilities. "But I need to ask you something important."

Louis raised an eyebrow, curious. "What's on your mind?"

"Can you find out where Jack lives?"

Louis was taken aback for a moment, surprised by the request. But he quickly gathered himself, contemplating the implications. "That's a bold move. But yeah, I can do that. It shouldn't be too hard."

"People know his address. Just ask around," Harry said, determination in his eyes.

"Leave it to me," Louis agreed, nodding with newfound resolve. Harry's proactive attitude inspired him. Instead of waiting for trouble to find him, he was taking the reins.

Later that night, as the city of Malian settled into a hushed darkness, Harry slipped out of his house. The streets were deceptively peaceful, but beneath that calm surface, the night buzzed with life. If you listened closely, you could hear the distant sounds of revelry, the occasional shout from a scuffle, and the laughter of those unwinding after a long day. Most folks, however, were tucked away, enjoying the rare tranquility of their homes.

Meanwhile, Jack was anything but calm.

"Damn it! That little punk!" he roared, slamming his fist on a massive wooden table. His muscles tensed, and he paced like a caged animal. "How dare he lay a finger on me!"

His older brother, nursing bruises that marred his face, looked on with concern. "Jack, we can't take him on alone. He's too strong."

"Strong? That's what you think?" Jack scoffed, shaking his head. "If we can't take him down with a stick, then we'll just use a knife! We have to show him who's boss."

His brother frowned. "But he's just one guy! Can he really fight off an entire gang?"

Jack's expression twisted into a sinister grin. "I'll chop him into bits and feed him to the dogs! He won't see it coming."

He exuded a terrifying confidence, hardened by experience. Though young, he had already taken lives, and the weight of that didn't seem to burden him at all.

Suddenly, a loud thud echoed in the room as a dog's corpse was thrown onto the floor, landing with a heavy thump.

"Sorry to interrupt your little reminiscing session," a new voice cut through the tension. A figure stepped forward from the shadows, a faint smile playing on his lips. "But you won't have a tomorrow to plan for."

Jack's eyes widened as he turned to face the newcomer, surprise quickly morphing into fury. "Who the hell are you?"

The night was about to take a dangerous turn, and Harry was ready to face whatever awaited him.