051 Detention - Part 2 - Mark’s POV

  What the hell was Mom doing here?

  Was helping Karl the wrong move after all? Did I trigger some doom flag where she had to personally step in?

  "Back to your seats!" Mom shouted, tucking her handgun back into her coat like she didn’t just unload an entire clip of rubber bullets at Greg.

  She clapped her hands together, smiling like she was having the time of her life. "Before detention officially starts, we’re waiting for someone."

  Waiting? Like this was some class?

  I hesitated before sitting back down. Karl dropped into his chair with a grunt, while Greg dragged his battered body closer to us, plopping himself into the seat directly next to me.

  While waiting, I checked my smartwatch.

  7:00 PM.

  Great. Prime dinner time.

  I leaned toward Karl, lowering my voice. “Hey, can you ask my Mom how long detention takes and why we’re waiting for someone?”

  Karl just stared at me like I was a complete idiot. "Ask her yourself."

  “It’s my Mom!” I hissed back.

  Karl still wasn’t impressed.

  Mirai, sitting on my other side, furrowed her brows. “What’s the problem? Why are you two whispering?”

  Before I could answer, Greg leaned in, grinning ear to ear.

  “They’re making gay plans. For a gay wedding. And gay goals.”

  I turned my head so slowly toward him, my face an expressionless void of disappointment.

  “…What the hell?”

  Mirai snorted, covering her mouth, while Karl just buried his face in his hands.

  And then my eyes drifted to Mom.

  She wasn’t even paying attention to us.

  Instead, she was sitting at her desk, leaning back in her chair, playing a handheld Gameboy. The nostalgic chiptune music of PokeCrypt played softly from the speakers.

  …What the hell kind of detention was this?

  A polite knock sounded at the door.

  "Come in," Mom said, still tapping away at her Gameboy.

  The door opened, and in walked Shirley and Cox—Mom’s subordinates.

  Cox was dragging a very confused Elena into the room.

  Elena was in her cute pajamas, complete with little frills on the collar. She still had mascara on, making it look like she had just woken up from either a nap or a cry session. Cox removed what I assumed to be Anti-ESP handcuffs from her wrists.

  Shirley gave Mom a small nod. “We’ll be going now.”

  Cox walked off without a word, followed by Shirley, who closed the door behind them.

  Mom clapped her hands together. "Okay! We’re complete!"

  Elena’s calm expression slowly twisted into rage.

  “DO YOU HAVE ANY IDEA WHO I AM?!” she roared. “THIS IS KIDNAPPING!”

  She then unleashed a full verbal assault on my Mom, words so venomous that even Karl and I exchanged wary glances.

  “You absolute degenerate! What kind of psycho—?! You’re deranged! Completely, utterly, INSANE! Do you have a death wish?! I swear on my—!”

  Elena didn’t get to finish.

  Mom sighed and pulled out her handgun.

  Then another handgun.

  Then she dual-wielded them like some video game character and opened fire.

  Rubber bullets rained down on Elena like a divine punishment.

  THWACK! THWACK! THWACK!

  Elena screamed in pain, stumbling back. She tried to summon her shadow demon, but Mom’s godly aim was too fast.

  THWACK!

  The shadow demon barely had time to manifest before it got sniped right out of existence.

  Greg, from his seat, cheered like this was a pay-per-view event. "Yeah, yeah! Get her!"

  Elena’s strategy immediately changed. She spun toward us, diving behind our chairs for cover.

  “YOU FOOLS. DON’T RUN FROM ME! HELP ME—!”

  Mom didn’t care.

  She kept firing.

  Chairs overturned. We ran for our lives.

  Elena screamed. Greg screamed. Karl cursed. Mirai panicked.

  "AH—NO!" Greg yelped as Mom redirected fire onto him.

  THWACK!

  "WHY ME?! I WAS ON YOUR SIDE!"

  I lost count of how many times I’d been shot. At least a dozen.

  Mom still wasn’t stopping.

  Mirai yelped as a stray bullet grazed her shoulder. "EVIL! SHE'S EVIL!"

  Karl dove behind a flipped table. "WHAT THE HELL IS THIS DETENTION?!"

  I just curled up on the floor, hands over my head, accepting my fate.

  God help us all.

  Unauthorized use: this story is on Amazon without permission from the author. Report any sightings.

  "THE DOOR!" Mirai shouted.

  Greg, through gritted teeth, stumbled toward it. Pain was written all over his face, but he kept pushing through.

  He grabbed the handle. Twisted. Pulled. Rattled it violently.

  Nothing.

  “It’s LOCKED!” he cursed.

  Karl, still dodging bullets, let out a frustrated growl. Then—he snapped.

  He threw out his arm—flames igniting at his fingertips.

  Mom turned on him instantly.

  THWACK. THWACK. THWACK.

  Karl barely dodged the incoming shots, rolling to the side.

  Every time he tried to use his ESP, Mom would shoot him.

  …Yeah. This was a problem.

  I snuck toward the door.

  Quietly. Carefully. With my ESP.

  Took out my lockpick.

  Just a few seconds, and—

  THWACK.

  I flinched. A rubber bullet ricocheted right off my arm.

  "Agh—!"

  Mom’s ESP awareness was a nightmare.

  Mirai tried to act as a distraction, shouting and waving her arms.

  Didn’t work.

  The bullets bounced and hit their marks—no pun intended.

  Karl, still hissing in pain, clenched his fists. "There’s FIVE of us! We should ATTACK her!"

  Mom laughed.

  "It’s not that simple, sweetheart."

  Then—she tilted her head, smirking.

  "You wouldn’t be so lucky like your fight with Carl, you know?"

  …Damn it. She had a point.

  Elena and Mirai tried to sneak up on her.

  No good.

  Mom’s reflexes were ridiculous. She dodged without even looking.

  Karl, now beyond pissed, turned back to the door. Ignited his fists.

  SLAM.

  Nothing.

  SLAM.

  Still nothing.

  …This door was built different.

  Then, out of nowhere—Greg ran up to me.

  His expression was serious.

  That… wasn’t a good sign.

  "Play along," he whispered.

  Before I could even ask what the hell he was talking about, Greg took out something from under his sleeve.

  A barbed plant-like thing.

  …What.

  He grabbed me, yanking me toward him.

  "LET US GO, OR I KILL HIM!"

  …Oh.

  Oh, we were doing this.

  Mom blinked.

  Then—

  She laughed.

  THWACK.

  "AGH—!"

  I hit the floor, clutching my stomach.

  That… that freaking HURT.

  Greg, now wide-eyed, stared in horror.

  Mom spun her gun in her hand, smirking.

  "Nice try, sweetie. But next time? Pick a better hostage."

  Greg, still holding the barbed plant, gawked at Mom like she was insane.

  "And who the hell would be a better hostage than your own son?!"

  Mom tilted her head, thoughtful.

  Then, she snapped her fingers.

  "Mirai."

  "WHAT?!" Mirai yelped.

  Mom pointed her gun at her. "Yeah. Definitely Mirai."

  Mirai staggered back. "WHY ME?!"

  Mom shrugged. "You’re more dramatic. If you got hurt, Mark would actually freak out."

  I gritted my teeth, still clutching my stomach. "I’M FREAKING OUT RIGHT NOW!"

  Mom ignored me.

  Greg, now recalculating his entire life, slowly lowered the barbed plant.

  "...So what you’re saying is… if I actually want to threaten you, I should've taken Mirai hostage instead?"

  Mom nodded.

  "Exactly!"

  Mirai looked at me, horrified. "Mark, your mom’s crazy!"

  "WELCOME TO MY LIFE!" I wheezed.

  Greg didn’t hesitate.

  He lunged at Mirai, wrapping an arm around her neck and pressing the barbed plant to her cheek.

  “Alright, plan B! Give us a way out, or the heroine gets it!”

  Mirai gasped, clutching at Greg’s arm like a proper damsel in distress. “Ahh! No! Help me, Mark!”

  …She was actually playing along.

  I wasn’t sure if I should admire the commitment or be concerned.

  Mom didn’t even blink.

  She raised her gun.

  THWACK. THWACK. THWACK.

  Rubber bullets drilled into Mirai’s stomach.

  She let out an unholy shriek, doubling over. “GAAHH—YOU SHOT ME, YOU MANIAC?!”

  Greg let go of her like she was radioactive. “WHAT THE HELL?! YOU SAID YOU’D CARE IF SHE WAS HOSTAGE!”

  Mom shrugged. "I lied."

  Greg sputtered, dodging a ricocheting bullet.

  “HOW DO YOU SLEEP AT NIGHT?!”

  “Like a baby.”

  Then she kept shooting.

  Greg ran for his life.

  —

  Fifteen minutes of hell later, we were all tied up with rope, some of us more bruised than others.

  I glared at Mom, exasperated. “So this is what you do, huh? You specialize in beating up people weaker than you?”

  Mom grinned, unbothered. “Exactly.”

  I groaned. “At least Carl has to hold back so he doesn’t accidentally kill us. You just don’t care!”

  "Correct again." Mom nodded. “That’s why I am so good on beating people up, because I don’t have to hold back. Awesome, right?

  Karl, who had been unusually quiet, finally sighed. “Alright. We get it. You’re strong. Now what?”

  Mom clapped her hands. “Glad you asked. This is where detention officially begins.”

  Elena, who was tied up next to me, scowled.

  “Why am I even here?! I didn’t do anything wrong!”

  Mom waved a hand dismissively. “It’s fine. You’re here for participation.”

  “WHAT?!”

  Greg laughed weakly from the floor.

  “Damn, Mark. Your mom’s crazy.”

  I sighed. “Yeah. I noticed.”

  Greg stared at me, deadpan.

  "No, Mark. Like, I’m crazy. But your mom? She’s on another level."

  Mom reached under the desk.

  I half-expected another gun.

  Instead, she pulled out a projector.

  Then a laptop.

  Then, to my absolute horror, she booted up a PowerPoint presentation.

  The screen flickered on, displaying a dramatic title in bold white letters:

  “Dungeons, ESP, and the Price of Power”

  Karl groaned. "No way. No way in hell."

  Elena, tied up beside me, narrowed her eyes. “Is this… a lecture?”

  Mom smiled brightly. “Of course! What else would a guidance counselor do?”

  I stared at her.

  "I don't know. Counsel, maybe?”

  —

  Despite our collective suffering, Mom launched into the lesson like she was giving a TED Talk.

  "Dungeons appeared in the 1800s, at the height of the Industrial Revolution. At the time, monarchies were already crumbling, societies were in upheaval, and then—BOOM! Out of nowhere, dungeons appeared across the world.”

  She clicked the remote.

  The slide changed, showing grainy, old photographs of ruins and strange creatures.

  "Humanity panicked. Wars broke out. Countries fell. But then… we discovered something new. Our own power. The ability to fight back."

  She flipped to another slide, displaying the words in bold red letters:

  EXTRASENSORY PERCEPTION.

  "ESP. The power that allowed humanity to rise from the ashes."

  The presentation went on for another few minutes, touching on the emergence of ESPers, how nations restructured themselves around dungeon economies, and how power dictated survival.

  Elena huffed, finally breaking the silence.

  “Okay, and? What’s the point of this history lesson?”

  Mom grinned.

  Then, with a cheerful, almost smug tone, she said:

  "Your punishment."

  I felt my stomach drop.

  "…What?"

  “For the next week, all of you will be acting as bodyguards for a person of interest to the academy.”

  "HUH?!"

  The room erupted.

  Karl looked like he wanted to flip his chair over. “That’s not how the academy dishes out punishments!”

  Mom shrugged, unbothered. "New guidance counselor, new rules."

  Greg, who had somehow managed to untangle his arms from the rope, rubbed his wrists thoughtfully.

  “Alright, but how about the academy? I mean, I’ve done bodyguard work before.”

  That caught my attention.

  I nodded. “Yeah. Same here. Is this gonna be a five-to-nine job, or a twenty-four-hour thing?”

  Because if it was the latter, we were in trouble.

  Bodyguard duty was rarely part-time. If the client valued trust, they'd expect bodyguards who respected their privacy and actually had their loyalty.

  That meant long hours.

  Especially when dealing with ESPers.

  Mom tapped her clicker.

  The slide changed.

  On the screen appeared a young woman with gray hair and piercing blue eyes.

  She had a sharp, confident gaze, like she had already seen everything the world had to offer.

  “This,” Mom began, “is Ash Enoch. Nineteen years old. And in need of bodyguards.”

  I blinked.

  Karl frowned. “Never heard of her.”

  Mom smirked. “Of course not. But she’s a historical figure.”

  That made no sense.

  “She’s nineteen,” I said flatly. “How can she be a historical figure?”

  Mom pressed the clicker again.

  Another photo appeared.

  The same gray-haired woman.

  But this time, the picture looked old—grainy, yellowed with time, like it was taken decades ago.

  Then another.

  And another.

  Each one from a different time period, but always the same face.

  Mirai whispered under her breath. “No way…”

  Mom nodded. “ESP has always been weird. Some people gain super strength. Some people read minds. And then, there’s people like her.”

  She gestured at the screen.

  “Ash Enoch’s ESP allows her to reincarnate.”

  The room fell silent.

  Elena crossed her arms, still tied up. “And this is relevant to us how?”

  Mom ignored her.

  “She has reportedly reincarnated seven times, each time retaining her knowledge. Her contributions to the scientific community have been immense. Her research on ESP, dungeons, and cryptids has pushed human understanding forward for over a century.”

  Elena scowled. “That still doesn’t explain why I’m here. I didn’t even do anything wrong.”

  Mom gave her a pointed look. "Consider it participation points."

  Greg shrugged. “I’m in. Let’s get this over with.”

  Mom pouted dramatically. “Aww… you don’t want to hear the rest of the mission debriefing?”

  She clutched her chest like he’d mortally wounded her. “I worked so hard on making these slides…”

  Greg didn’t look moved. “And yet, I don’t care.”

  Mom sighed and shut the laptop. “Fine, fine. Let’s go.”

  She stood up, stretching. “An airship is waiting for you kids just outside. Can’t keep them waiting, right?”

  I froze.

  “Wait. What?”

  Karl stared at her. “We’re leaving now?”

  Mom grinned. “Yup. No time like the present.”

  Mirai looked concerned. “But we don’t have any supplies—”

  “Already packed,” Mom cut in. “You’ll find your luggage on the ship.”

  Elena exhaled sharply. “This is ridiculous.”

  Greg nudged me. “Yo, I hope you got your will written.”

  “Shut up, Greg.”