The Cross of Vengeance felt cold against his skin, but fire raged in his chest. He had hoped the artifact would extinguish the bck sun within his ribs. Instead, it only made things worse. It pulsed like a second heart—the heart of a monster, desperate to break free.

  As far as he knew the history of his curse, everything was going as expected. His comic book counterpart had also suffered from Zarathos' influence since childhood. Comic Johnny spent his school years constantly fighting, getting expelled over and over. And when he resisted the heat, the fire would burst out—just like how Roxy’s mother burned in the comics.

  Believing himself to be wiser, Johnny had tried to control the curse by releasing the fire only during underground fights. Better for psychopaths and killers to die than his loved ones and innocent people.

  By his estimation, he had only a few days left before becoming the Ghost Rider.

  Trying to keep his sanity amidst the growing anxiety, Johnny patrolled the school hallways. Teachers nodded politely, and students straightened up, trying to behave properly.

  That was the natural reaction to the leader of the disciplinary committee. Johnny himself wasn’t thrilled about the extra responsibilities, but no one had asked for his opinion.

  It had all started years ago when he first enrolled in Maria Stark Academy. His father had met with the principal, and they had hit it off—perhaps a little too well. Over gsses of cognac, they decided it would be “cool” if Barton Bze’s son was in charge of discipline.

  The truth was, the disciplinary committee was created as nothing more than a publicity stunt to boost his father’s career and the school’s reputation.

  Johnny suppressed his irritation and accepted the role as a given. He couldn’t afford to throw a teenage tantrum.

  Still, he wouldn’t be Johnny Bze if he didn’t find a way to turn the situation to his advantage.

  A committee badge and a single warning were enough to provoke a school bully into a fight. It was nothing like underground matches—he wasn’t killing or maiming students, and they didn’t deserve that anyway. But even leaving a few bruises on a bully helped dim the bck sun, if only slightly.

  Of course, the fights had to be on a boxing ring—if they dared. Or outside school grounds, away from witnesses. Johnny couldn’t afford to damage his father’s reputation.

  He entered the disciplinary committee room, and immediately, all eyes turned to him. Exhausting.

  Johnny never wanted a team, never wanted to be anyone’s boss or any of that nonsense. He was just doing his own thing, but the other students saw something more in it.

  Ironically, most of the committee members were former bullies who had started seeing Johnny as a role model. They signed up for boxing, joined the committee, bought motorcycles…

  Right now, Johnny was looking at the former bullies, feeling an unpleasant sense of responsibility in his chest—like a pack of dirty stray puppies had followed him home. He hadn’t called for them, and their company annoyed him, but kicking them away felt wrong.

  [I just wanted to put out the fire in my bones! Stop seeing a superhero in me!]

  "All clear, leader!" his self-procimed deputy reported. "It’s Sam’s turn to patrol Sector Six, but I can join him to improve efficiency!"

  Johnny looked at his deputy’s responsible expression, then past him to the wall where a school map was neatly divided into perfectly organized sectors. Under each sector, the names of assigned patrols were listed, and every one of them carried out their duties with absolute precision.

  [How?] Johnny groaned internally. [How did a simple desire to beat up bad guys turn into a system of perfect order?]

  "Any incidents?" he asked, csping his hands together.

  The deputy’s grin widened to an absurd degree, his eyes gleaming with happiness—like a kid showing his dad a perfect report card. Damn it.

  "Twenty days without incidents!" the deputy announced proudly. "Under the committee’s supervision, the school’s discipline is fwless!"

  "...Nothing at all?" Johnny’s voice carried a hint of disappointment. He wouldn’t have minded dimming the bck sun just a little. "Not even a single curse word scribbled in the bathroom?"

  "Ever since you recruited Steve, no one dares enter the restroom with a marker."

  Johnny cursed mentally. He hadn’t recruited Steve! He had just caught him in the act of drawing genitals. A brawl in the school bathroom wasn’t exactly Johnny’s proudest victory. But as if that embarrassment wasn’t enough, Steve had taken his defeat as some kind of enlightenment, and now he followed Johnny around, guarding the toilets from other "artists."

  "Well..." The deputy hesitated, apparently noticing the slight gloom in Johnny’s eyes. "Actually, there was one incident this morning."

  "Go on." Johnny perked up slightly.

  "Some punks showed up in the parking lot—bsted 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 some student."

  Johnny nodded, pretending not to care.

  "Who’s the student?"

  "Some... scrawny kid with gsses."

  [So, a weakling. Which means they probably used him.]

  "I can ask around," the deputy continued. "There were a lot of witnesses in the parking lot. Someone’s bound to know who he is."

  "Alright." Johnny gnced out the window. "When you find him, bring him to me."

  He wasn’t expecting much from high school drama, but if trouble was knocking on his door, why not take advantage of the opportunity?

  ///

  Timanat Promrat, as he was called in his homend of Thaind, or simply Tim, as he was known in the U.S., stood in front of the disciplinary committee’s door, nervously fidgeting with the fabric of his shirt. His breathing quickened, and his palms grew sweaty. He didn’t know why he was summoned, but he had a guess.

  At school, the rumors about Johnny Bze were… mixed. Everyone knew whose son he was. Tim himself was subscribed to Barton Bze’s YouTube channel. He liked motorcycle stunts, and once, he had even seen the New York legend stop a criminal in Manhattan.

  Johnny himself was just as honest and fair. They had never spoken personally, but from what Tim had seen, Johnny seemed like a good guy. But there were two things about him that were frightening. In the boxing ring, he had earned the nickname "Demon" for a series of rapid knockouts. And rumors said he had no problem using his fists outside the ring, especially against those who broke school rules.

  They also said Johnny had gathered an entire committee of discipline demons.

  Tim flinched when he saw one of them standing by the door—a big guy zily peeling a scab off his knuckle while keeping his eyes locked on Tim.

  [He wouldn’t hit me at school, would he?] Tim thought, swallowing nervously. [I hope not.]

  "You Tim?" the enforcer asked gruffly.

  Tim nodded silently.

  "Go in," the guy said, nodding toward the door. "The leader's waiting for you."

  Gathering all his courage, Tim pushed open the door and stepped inside.

  The office was spacious and well-kept—not at all a den of demons. A rge wooden desk stood at the center of the room, covered neatly with papers, notebooks, and a few biology books.

  Johnny was studying at the desk alongside the cheerleading captain. Finding them together wasn’t surprising. The whole school whispered about his retionship with Roxy.

  "That’s enough for today," Johnny closed his textbook. "We’ll continue on Friday."

  "Will you take me home on your bike?" she asked, her voice slightly flirtatious. "I even have my own helmet!"

  "Maybe another time. As you can see," Johnny gestured ironically toward Tim, "I have business to attend to."

  "It’s always like this," she sighed, pouting slightly. "You’re always busy. And you never have time for your best friend..."

  "Well, I made time for studying together, didn’t I?" he smiled slightly. "And I’ll make time for a ride too."

  "Now that's the right answer!" she beamed. "I won’t bother you, boys!"

  Tim watched her leave, imagining what he would do if a girl like that ever asked him for a favor.

  [I’d take her to Aska if she wanted. But girls like her don’t even look at guys like me.]

  As Roxy left, the atmosphere changed sharply. Tim was now alone with the Demon.

  Johnny brought him back to reality with his cold voice.

  "Your button is missing," he said, inspecting Tim’s shirt closely. "That’s not good."

  "Yes, Mr. Bze," Tim responded quickly. "I just… got caught on something."

  "Don’t lie," Johnny’s voice hardened, though he didn’t raise it. "We know there was a fight in the parking lot. That kind of behavior is unacceptable."

  The air in the office grew tense. Johnny slowly stood up, his tall frame looming over Tim. The boy’s heart pounded. He was sure punishment was coming.

  But Johnny didn’t rush. He walked over to the window and gazed out at the schoolyard. His voice was steady, almost thoughtful:

  "Do you know why I’m here? Because I took on the responsibility of protecting this school. And kids like you. But for that, I need the truth."

  Tim swallowed nervously, feeling a shiver run through him.

  "If you lie to me, I’ll write up a report beling you as a problem student, and the principal will expel you," Johnny said without even looking at him. "You know Lopez, the guy who sells towels outside the school? He used to study here… until he pissed me off."

  Those words seemed to break through Tim’s defenses. Unable to hold it in, he spilled everything:

  "They… they’re my cousins. Immigrants from Thaind, just like me. They want me to… start selling drugs at school. I refused, but today they came to pressure me. I didn’t do anything, I swear!"

  Tim spoke for a long time. About how his mom had moved them to the U.S. through the lottery program. How she had to work three jobs just to afford rent in a crappy apartment and give her son a chance at education. How Tim studied te into the night to make her efforts worthwhile. How things got worse when his cousins started meddling in his life. How he tried to tell his mom, but she told him that conflicts should be solved with words. How he did try, and they tore his clothes. How he started fearing walking alone—afraid they might grab him and take him away.

  Tim couldn’t expin why he was telling all this to someone he had just met. Johnny wasn’t even looking at him. But something about him—the terrifying aura, the sense of reliability—made it feel like he could actually do something no one else would.

  Johnny listened in silence, his gaze fixed on the schoolyard. When Tim finished, the silence in the office became unbearable.

  "Am I getting expelled?" Tim asked timidly.

  "No," Johnny finally turned away from the window. "I saw your report card. You’re a good student. You even got a schorship to Maria Stark’s school. Your mother must be proud of you."

  "Uh… yeah," Tim mumbled.

  "Then don’t disappoint her—whether it’s with torn clothes or selling drugs. That will get you expelled."

  "As if I don’t know that…" he muttered. "But my cousins are in a gang. I’ve seen their knives… My mom doesn’t want to go to the police because they’re family… What can I even do?"

  "You can fight," Johnny met his eyes. "Tomorrow, you’ll bring your cousins here after school."

  "For what?" Tim asked, surprised.

  "To solve the problem."

  ///

  Tim barely forced himself to show up after school the next day.

  Behind him, ughing and chatting loudly, were two guys whose distinct features immediately marked them as Thai.

  Convincing his cousins to come wasn’t hard—but it was painful. The moment they heard that "some school nerd was telling their precious cousin not to sell drugs," they ughed, smacked Tim around a few times for being weak, and ordered him to lead them to the idiot who thought he could tell them what to do.

  "You’re finally getting it, little bro," said the cousin with a full-face tattoo. "We’re your family, got it? We’ll always have your back!"

  [Yeah, such a caring family…] Tim thought bitterly. [Mom worked three jobs, and none of you lifted a finger to help. But the moment I got into a rich kids’ school, you all showed up.]

  "Why the long face?" the other cousin cpped him on the shoulder. "You scared of some school nerd? Forget about him. Only losers care about school. Books won’t get you anywhere. Real money is out there."

  [Selling drugs.] Tim groaned internally. [Easy for them to say. When I get caught dealing, I’ll get expelled—or worse, thrown in jail. But nothing will happen to them.]

  "How much longer?" the tattooed cousin whined.

  Tim flinched and signaled that they were almost there. By now, the school was closed, but Johnny had pointed out a loophole—at 5:00 PM, the janitor arrived and left the service door open while working.

  The moment they stepped inside, they saw Johnny waiting. His presence alone radiated hostility.

  "That’s him," Tim whispered to his cousins before quickly stepping aside.

  The cousins exchanged gnces. They had expected someone weaker—someone like Tim. But after gncing around the empty hallways and confirming that Johnny was alone, their confidence returned.

  "Hey, nerd!" One of them grabbed Johnny by the colr of his bzer.

  Johnny instantly knocked his hand away and struck him in the jaw. The cousin colpsed to the floor like a felled tree. Just one second. That was the Demon’s signature knockout.

  "What the hell did you do?!" the second cousin roared, pulling out a knife. "I’ll kill you!"

  Without changing his expression, Johnny kicked the weapon from his hand and, without stopping, drove his heel into his forehead. The second cousin also dropped loudly to the floor. This wasn’t boxing anymore, but it was still impressive.

  Tim stared at his fallen cousins, unsure of what to do. He had expected a fight, but he hadn’t thought it would end this quickly.

  "Police?" Johnny was speaking on the phone with a stony face. "My name is Jonathan Bze. I’d like to report an attack at the school."

  Everything after that felt like a blur. Tim remembered teachers rushing in at the noise, the police arriving soon after, his heart pounding as the questioning began…

  ///

  The next day, Johnny leaned back in his chair, examining the highest JROTC award. To earn it, all he had to do was make a citizen’s arrest of two robbers who had broken into the school.

  Whether it was his age or just because he was a Bze, the interrogation had gone smoothly. Johnny simply told the truth—how he had stayed te for his biology elective, since he was preparing to become a doctor. How he had been about to leave when he spotted suspicious individuals. How they attacked first, and how he quickly neutralized them. The security camera footage, which conveniently captured everything, backed up his story.

  The detained cousins cimed that Johnny had invited them for some kind of gang showdown. What a joke. Too bad they were caught carrying knives and drugs onto school grounds. Their statements were recorded for protocol, but the detectives were skeptical.

  They were much more receptive to Tim’s testimony, in which he showed his bruises and expined how his cousins had forced him to bring them into the school to steal equipment.

  Barton was thrilled that his son was making headlines, and during a family dinner, he shared that the detained cousins had their visas revoked and were set to be deported to Thaind any day now.

  Easy game. Johnny smiled as he tucked away the medal.

  Unfortunately, two punches to a couple of low-level dealers weren’t enough to snuff out the bck sun. It wanted more sinners, and it was ready to explode.

  A knock on the door.

  Johnny immediately wiped all traces of concern from his face.

  Tim entered the disciplinary committee’s office. Expected, but Johnny had hoped he’d come ter.

  "Did you need something?" Johnny asked indifferently.

  "Mr. Bze, thank you," Tim said, bowing slightly. "It really worked. I had already lost hope that I could get rid of them."

  Johnny simply nodded. Hitting people was not only possible but sometimes necessary—you just had to know where and when. If you hit someone in the middle of a crime, it wasn’t an attack. It was a citizen’s arrest.

  Being a cop’s son, you learn a lot about legal loopholes.

  "How’s your mom?" Johnny asked when he realized his guest wasn’t leaving. "Mad that you turned against family?"

  "She yelled, of course," Tim looked away. "But not as loudly as when my cousins tore my clothes. So… maybe that’s a win." He hesitated. "Thanks again, Mr. Bze."

  "You did well yourself. If you hadn’t agreed to my pn, none of this would have worked."

  Johnny returned to his paperwork, signaling that the conversation was over, but Tim didn’t leave. His eyes shone with exhausting gratitude.

  "You literally saved my life," Tim continued, his voice filled with enthusiasm. "I want to be useful—sign me up for the disciplinary committee. I know I’m not strong, but I want to change! Sign me up for the boxing club!"

  Johnny barely stopped himself from rolling his eyes.

  [Another one for my fan club…]