045 Trashy Trio - Part 1 - Mark’s POV

  Mirai stepped forward.

  "I'll stay back and hold Gwen down," she volunteered, standing tall despite the clear danger.

  I didn’t think so.

  Her luck was overpowered, sure. She had a decent chance of holding her own. But decent wasn’t good enough. Since we were already neck-deep in trouble, we might as well put 110% effort into seeing this through.

  I stepped in front of Mirai. "Go. I'll handle this."

  Karl raised an eyebrow. "You sure? You’re kinda weak."

  "Shut up and run."

  Gwendolyn scoffed. "You? Handle me?" She crossed her arms, crimson eyes gleaming with derision. "Alone?"

  I grinned, letting my stance loosen just enough to appear careless. "I’m too much for you already."

  Gwen's ESP revolved around blood manipulation—specifically her own. She had masterful control, allowing her to achieve superhuman feats with a thought.

  She moved.

  Fast.

  A fist aimed straight for my face—or at least, where my face was.

  But instead of impact, her knuckles sailed right through air.

  An afterimage.

  I couldn’t help but smile. My training was paying off. I had been refining my ability to switch on and off my cognitive perception so rapidly that it created a delayed visual effect.

  Her eyes widened—just for a second.

  That was all I needed.

  With a snap of my leg, I drove a kick toward her abdomen.

  She caught my leg.

  Of course, she did.

  But she didn’t expect Karl’s fist, wreathed in fire, barreling toward her face.

  She twisted, barely avoiding the burning punch, but the movement sent her stumbling—

  Right into Mirai’s knee.

  The sickening crunch of impact met my ears.

  Blood splattered from her nose.

  Gwen staggered, disoriented, and I took full advantage. A sweep to the back of her heel and she went down hard.

  Karl and Mirai didn’t waste time.

  They ran.

  Deep into White Tiger territory.

  I turned back to Gwen, who was already pushing herself up, nose bloody but eyes burning with fury.

  "See?" I taunted, tilting my head. "You wouldn’t be able to handle all three of us at once. How about you just be happy with me, sweetheart?"

  She froze.

  Then she laughed.

  Low and amused.

  "You’re smiling like a lunatic," she remarked, wiping the blood from her nose.

  I blinked.

  And then—realized.

  I was.

  My fingers brushed against my lips, feeling the unconscious, almost manic grin stretching across my face.

  I had seen this expression before.

  On Mom.

  I groaned internally.

  I needed to think of better lines in the future and stop copying Mom. Seriously, sweetheart? What was I even thinking? If I kept this up, I'd be giving Evelyn unnecessary hope that I was finally embracing my "villainous bloodline" or whatever nonsense she believed in.

  That wasn’t my biggest problem, though. My biggest problem was Gwen.

  I had no idea how to fight her exactly, but I knew what she could do. That made all the difference.

  She was stronger, faster, and had a supernatural mastery over her own blood. I couldn’t match her in a direct fight, and grappling was out of the question. If she got ahold of me, I’d be in for a world of hurt. My best bet was to avoid, counter, and delay.

  I shifted into a boxing stance—low, steady, and mobile. I wasn’t a boxer, but it was the best I could do under the circumstances. Gwen cracked her knuckles, her crimson eyes locked onto me with something between amusement and mild irritation.

  "You’re wasting my time," she said, rolling her shoulders. "I’ll beat you in under a minute and catch up to your classmates."

  I kept quiet. No need to give her the satisfaction of a response.

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  She moved.

  A hook flashed toward my temple—fast, precise. I activated my afterimage technique, making her punch phase through empty space.

  Her eyes widened slightly. She probably hadn’t expected to be fooled twice by the same technique..

  Then her expression sharpened. Thin, red veins stretched from the corners of her eyes, pulsing with a sickly glow. Probably enhancing her perception—tracking my real position.

  She kicked at my shin, aiming for where she thought I’d be. Unfortunately for her, she was still tracking an afterimage.

  I flanked her from the opposite side and aimed a precise chop at her carotid artery. A clean strike there could knock someone unconscious.

  My aim was good. My speed was decent.

  But Gwen wasn’t second-year Rank One for nothing.

  An elbow struck my wrist before I could connect. Pain flared up my arm. Then she shifted her stance, her center of gravity lowering as her leg snapped out in a sweeping motion.

  I tensed. Thought fast.

  Then rolled.

  The moment my back hit the ground, a stomp crashed down where my ribs had been. The impact was powerful enough to send cracks through the pavement.

  If I had been half a second slower—if I hadn’t read the motion in time—I would’ve been coughing up blood.

  I scrambled to my feet. The White Tiger uniform was already a mess, torn at the sleeves and dirtied from my roll.

  Gwen tilted her head, her eyes gleaming with interest. "Not bad. You’re actually putting up a fight."

  I stretched one arm out, casually dangling a familiar piece of fabric between my fingers. Gwen’s suit jacket.

  She blinked, then looked down at herself—still clad in her blouse, but missing the jacket. Her crimson eyes snapped back to me, her brows furrowing slightly.

  "When—?"

  "During our little scuffle," I answered, twirling the jacket before letting it rest over my shoulder. "My ESP allows me to distort perception and muddle awareness. So while we were trading blows, I just… borrowed this."

  Gwen snorted, unimpressed. "So what?"

  I smirked, tossing the suit jacket off to the side. Then I lowered my posture, preparing to attack.

  "Mini-mini-minimo," I started, my voice light and teasing. "Which of your clothes should I strip first?"

  Gwen’s expression froze.

  "The blouse?" I mused aloud. "The skirt? Maybe your shoes? I could work my way up to the leggings."

  Her face turned a furious shade of red. Her entire posture tensed, and for the first time since this fight started, she actually looked caught off guard.

  "You—!" she sputtered, her voice a mixture of outrage and embarrassment.

  She took a step forward, probably to murder me.

  "Oh, don’t stop there," I continued, utterly enjoying myself. "Please, tell me how my Professor in Tactics & Theory would be proud of me."

  Gwen clenched her fists. "Your Professor in Tactics & Theory must be so damn proud of you right now."

  I shrugged nonchalantly. "Not really."

  Gwen inhaled sharply, regaining her composure. Her red eyes burned with restrained fury as she straightened her posture.

  "This is your last chance to surrender," she said, her voice ice-cold. "If you do, I might even put in a good word to the Student Council to make your punishment lighter."

  She punctuated her words with a series of lightning-fast punches. I barely dodged, each blow grazing the air dangerously close to my face.

  Yeah, no thanks.

  I locked in, shifting my focus. More afterimages—I needed to create more afterimages. If she wanted to track me, then I’d make it as miserable for her as possible. I let my mind flicker between full focus and feigned sluggishness, moving in just the right way to leave behind blurred illusions.

  At the same time, I let my words do their magic.

  "You know, for someone called the Bloody Queen, you sure seem a little…" I paused dramatically. "Flustered."

  Her jaw twitched, but she didn’t bite back. Good. That meant it was working.

  I channeled my inner-Greg.

  "Your ESP lets you control your blood, right?" I mused, narrowly avoiding a sharp jab to my ribs. "But what happens if your blood pressure is too high? If you get too angry? If you lose control?"

  Gwen’s fist sailed just past my nose.

  "You make mistakes," I answered my own question, ducking beneath her kick. "And then more mistakes. And then I see more openings."

  Her next punch was faster, sharper, but I had already committed to my plan.

  With the flick of my wrist, my butterfly knife slipped into my palm, hidden against my body. I snapped it open in a fluid motion—just for a moment—then pocketed it just as fast. No need for her to notice.

  Then, I moved.

  A feint to the right. A sprint to the side. A roll to the left.

  And then—

  Rip.

  I twisted out of the roll, fabric clenched in my fist.

  Gwen’s eyes widened as she staggered back, her blouse now missing from her body. Pale, pristine white skin and a simple top underneath were now fully exposed to the open air.

  Silence.

  A slow blink.

  Then Gwen looked down.

  Then she looked at me.

  And then—

  "You little—!"

  I bolted.

  "You are a fucking trash!"

  That was Gwen’s lovely, heartfelt opinion of me.

  Objectively speaking? Fair.

  Actually, though—if we were talking about trash, Greg deserved that title.

  I knew that because I had read Mom’s journal. She had an entry dedicated to one of Greg’s fights, where he pulled the exact same tactic—stripping a girl mid-fight. And here I was, doing the same thing.

  Yeah, I knew I was being a hypocrite.

  But that wasn’t the point.

  I reached into my pocket and pulled out a very familiar flip phone.

  Karl’s flip phone.

  I swiped it from him back when we were all stuffed together in that tiny booth, practically suffocating each other. He didn’t even notice.

  "What the fuck—?" Gwen started.

  Click.

  I took a picture.

  Gwen, standing there in her top and underwear, still reeling from the shock of losing her blouse.

  Click.

  I took another.

  That did it.

  "What the fuck?!" she screeched, rage distorting her elegant face as she lunged for me.

  I dodged, rolling out of her path. And in the same motion—

  Rip.

  Her skirt joined her blouse in the realm of missing clothing.

  "FUCK YOU, ANIMAL!" she bellowed, face burning red.

  I grinned, flicking through Karl’s phone camera. Click. Click. Click.

  "You’re having way too much fun with this!" she accused.

  "I’m not," I replied, still taking pictures. "This is just work."

  Gwen’s hands twitched, and I could feel her about to explode.

  So I laid it out for her.

  "Now, here’s what’s going to happen," I said, casually flipping through Karl’s contacts. "You’re going to stay completely still, or I’m going to send these pictures to a number of Karl’s friends."

  That made her freeze.

  Karl was just a first-year, but he had raised enough of a ruckus that everyone knew his name. And what was the stereotype for someone with his reputation?

  Delinquent.

  And what kind of friends would a delinquent have?

  Exactly.

  Gwen’s face contorted with rage, realization, and just a tiny hint of panic.

  I tilted the phone slightly, showing her the screen.

  "So, what’s it gonna be, Bloody Queen?"

  A crimson streak shot through the air.

  Karl’s flip phone exploded into pieces, the remnants of its screen sizzling with the faint scent of burnt plastic.

  I slowly turned my gaze back to Gwen.

  Her index finger was still poised like a gun, a faint red glow fading from the tip.

  "You just lost your leverage," she said, her voice dripping with satisfaction.

  Internally?

  I was half panicking.

  Externally?

  I kept my poker face on.

  "Did I?" I asked smoothly, shoving my hands in my pockets like I wasn’t having a minor heart attack. "How do you know that for sure?"

  Her smug expression faltered just a fraction.

  I pressed forward.

  "Let me enlighten you," I continued, my voice taking on a casual, almost bored tone. "I just sent your risqué photos to an email. Set up in a way that if I don’t return with my friends in a set period of time, they’ll automatically upload to the internet."

  Gwen’s entire body tensed.

  I took a step forward, tilting my head. "You know, this is totally your fault. If you’d been cooperative from the start, you could’ve lived your days in blissful ignorance of just how nasty I could get."

  Her crimson eyes flickered with something dangerous, something unstable. But beneath that—

  Panic.

  "Do you really want to continue this fight?" I asked, my voice soft, almost coaxing.

  Gwen bit her lip, fists clenching at her sides.

  For a second, it looked like she was about to cry.

  Wasn’t she supposed to be my senior?

  I barely held back a sigh.

  Yep. I am definitely and certifiably trash.

  I just really hoped she was buying my bluff.