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The cafeteria at Lincoln High School in Chicago was alive with chatter as students crowded around for their morning drinks and bagels. Among them was Marcus Johnson, a sixteen-year-old new arrival from Atlanta. Marcus was tall, lean, and carried himself with quiet confidence. He had moved in with his aunt after his mother accepted a demanding nursing job that kept her traveling across the country. While Marcus was no stranger to switching schools, he knew all too well that being the “new kid” often meant attracting the wrong kind of attention.
With a carton of milk and a small breakfast sandwich balanced on his tray, Marcus was making his way through the bustling cafeteria when a voice cut through the noise.
“Well, well, look who’s here—the new guy,” sneered Tyler Brooks, a notorious troublemaker known for tormenting anyone who didn’t fit his idea of “cool.” Flanked by two friends, Tyler strutted toward Marcus with a steaming cup of coffee in hand.
Marcus kept walking, choosing not to engage. But Tyler wasn’t the type to be ignored. As Marcus reached a nearby table, Tyler stepped in front of him, blocking his way.
“You think you can just walk in here like you own the place? Nah, man. We run things here,” Tyler mocked, his friends chuckling behind him.
Marcus’s calm brown eyes met Tyler’s, but he didn’t say a word. That silence only infuriated Tyler more. Then, in a flash meant to embarrass, Tyler tipped the coffee cup and dumped it all over Marcus’s shirt.
The room fell silent for a moment. Gasps broke out. Students stared, unsure whether to laugh or look away. The hot liquid soaked through Marcus’s clothes, dripping onto the floor beneath him.
“Welcome to Lincoln High, rookie,” Tyler said with a smirk, tossing the empty cup aside.
Marcus clenched his fists, feeling the burn on his chest. Every instinct screamed at him to retaliate, but years of discipline held him back. Eight years of Taekwondo training had taught him more than just how to fight. He was a black belt, a regional champion. And above all, his coach had drilled one lesson into him: Taekwondo is for self-defense, never for re:ve:nge.
He took a deep breath, wiped at the front of his shirt, and walked away—silent, but burning inside.
As he left the cafeteria, one thought rang through his mind: This isn’t the end of it.
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