Fights at Crestwood High didn't start with words. They started with silence.The kind that weighed in the air, thick and waiting—before the first punch cracked through it like a gunshot.
The golden gates of Crestwood High stood tall, their polished metal dulled under the heavy clouds. The late-morning sun was hidden behind a thick, overcast sky, casting a muted, grayish hue over the campus. The school's architecture was breathtaking-pristine white walls, wide staircases, and glass-paneled buildings stretching across the vast grounds. A beacon of prestige.
But the first thing anyone would notice wasn't the school itself.
It was the students.
The courtyard was alive-not with excitement, but with something quieter, heavier. Small groups gathered, some sitting on benches, others leaning against pillars, their voices hushed. They weren't just here to start a new year.
They were watching.
A cold wind swept through, carrying the faint scent of rain, making students pull their jackets a little tighter. The sky threatened a storm, but the real tension was already on the ground.
At first, no one noticed them.
Five figures stepped onto Crestwood grounds, blending in just enough to be overlooked. No flashy entrances. No loud conversations. Just students among students.
But if anyone had really looked-
They would have noticed something off.
These five weren't lost. They weren't gawking at the size of the campus or admiring the school's architecture like the other newcomers.
They observed.
Eyes scanning. Ears picking up conversations. Movements precise, unhurried-like they were piecing together a puzzle.
One walked slightly ahead. His dark hair was neatly trimmed-sharp, but not severe-framing a face as cold as the sky above. His eyes, dark and unreadable, held the same weight as the clouds that loomed overhead. Athletic, balanced in his movements, he didn't force his presence. He didn't need to. His gaze flickered across the courtyard, taking in the way students gathered-not with casual chatter, but with an unspoken tension.
To his right, a lean-built guy with wavy brown hair smirked at something the shortest one muttered under his breath. Liam. His posture was relaxed, but his eyes missed nothing.
The shortest, slightly smaller in frame but carrying himself with effortless confidence, walked with a casual rhythm-hands in pockets, tie loose like the school's rules were just a suggestion. Theo. He didn't just move through the space. He owned the steps he took.
Behind them, the tallest among them had the most imposing presence. Marcus. Broad-shouldered, built like a wall, his uniform was crisp, his tie perfectly in place. Yet, he was the most unreadable of the five. His silence wasn't reserved-it was calculating.
Beside him, the last of the group moved with quiet detachment. Riley. Sharper in features, movements smooth but distant. He scanned the crowd, but never lingered too long. As if already categorizing the people around him.
A distant rumble of thunder rolled across the sky.
"Hey, Marcus," Liam muttered. "What do you think?"
Marcus exhaled, the cold air visible in his breath. "Doesn't feel like a school."
"Why? Because no one looks like a student?" Theo asked.
Liam's gaze shifted to the groups scattered around. The way they stood, the way they watched.
This wasn't just a school courtyard.
It was a waiting ground.
And it didn't take long to see what they were waiting for.
A sudden clatter-metal scraping against pavement.
Every head turned toward the center of the courtyard.
Two groups stood facing off.
A silence fell over the area, but it was the kind of silence that felt loud.
No punches were thrown yet. No one moved. But the tension was thick enough that it felt like the whole school was holding its breath.
The five newcomers weren't the only ones watching.
Students whispered, some backing away, others inching forward, murmurs cutting through the air.
"This early? They haven't even made it inside the building."
"Figures. They all wanna prove something."
"It's not a real fight. No one's that stupid, not with Daniel around."
That last line lingered.
Liam glanced at the guy who said it-a second-year with a worn-out uniform and a confident smirk.
"He's not even here," Liam said.
The guy only shrugged. "Doesn't matter. His name alone is enough. Last time someone ignored that... they didn't last the week."
That was when Liam realized-this wasn't just a fight.
It was a statement.
They weren't fighting for revenge or out of anger. They were fighting for relevance.
Because Crestwood wasn't just a school anymore.
It was a proving ground.
A shove. Then another.
Someone grabbed the collar of a shirt.
A moment of hesitation.
Then-
The schoolyard felt like a battlefield waiting for the first shot.
Two groups stood on either side of the courtyard with armbands-red and black, their glares locked like drawn swords. The tension was a living thing, pressing down on the students gathered around them. Words had already been exchanged-enough to make fists curl, enough to make the next move inevitable.
And then-
A sharp motion.
A red-band student lunged, his fist cutting through the air like a bullet-
Only to stop.
No impact. No recoil. Just a hand.
Fingers wrapped effortlessly around his knuckles, halting the strike mid-flight. It wasn't violent. It wasn't crushing. Yet, it carried something undeniable.
Power.
The air was thick, humid-heavy with the scent of damp pavement. A slow drizzle had begun, barely noticeable, but present. The sky loomed gray, clouds hanging low as if pressing down on the schoolyard. A storm hadn't started yet, but it was there-waiting.
The attacker's breath hitched. The moment stretched, and for the first time, he seemed to realize-he wasn't in control anymore.
The guy who had caught his fist wasn't part of either group. Yet, the way he stood-centered, calm, unshaken-made it feel like he had always been there, like this moment had already been decided before it even began.
He wasn't massive, but his presence was weighty, the kind that didn't need exaggeration. His grip was firm yet measured, sending a message without force.
His expression?
Still. Unreadable.
Not smug. Not irritated. His eyes, framed by long strands of black hair with crimson-dyed ends, held nothing-no interest, no amusement, just a quiet understanding of the situation, as if he had seen this play out a hundred times before.
A soft gust of wind rolled through the courtyard, cool and damp, carrying the faintest scent of rain.
For a second, he just watched. Observing. Studying.
Then, he exhaled. A slow, measured breath.
When he spoke, his voice cut through the murmurs like a cold wind before a storm.
"You're not thinking this through."
The attacker swallowed, his body tense.
"This is your first day. Fighting here already?"
His tone wasn't mocking-just observant, like he was pointing out something obvious.
And then, the real shift-
"He doesn't like fights here."
That one sentence hit differently.
It wasn't a warning. It wasn't a threat.
It was a fact.
A distant rumble echoed across the sky. The clouds above darkened by degrees, but no downpour came-just a quiet, lingering pressure, the kind that made people uneasy without knowing why.
And from the way people reacted-the small flinch in the red-band student's posture, the murmurs rippling through the crowd-everyone knew exactly who 'he' was.
Daniel Carter.
There were only rumors, but they were solid enough to draw outsiders to Crestwood High, hoping to catch a glimpse of him.
A first-year student at the top of Black Legion, the gang that ruled Brookhaven. Some claimed James, the founder of Black Legion, had passed his legacy to Daniel. Others whispered something even crazier-that Daniel had defeated James to take the throne himself.
Either way, it was insane.
If the first rumor was true, then James, the man who crushed crews across the city with nothing but a small gang, had chosen Daniel as his successor. But if the second rumor was true... then Daniel Carter wasn't just strong-he was a monster.
The one name that had turned from rumor to reality.
The attacker clenched his jaw, trying to shake off the pressure. His pride wouldn't let him back down so easily.
"They provoked us first." His voice was steady, but there was hesitation now. "We can't just let that slide. That's how groups work."
The hand holding his fist loosened. Not as an act of surrender-but as something worse.
Indifference.
The guy smirked slightly, stepping back, as if he had already lost interest.
"Do as you think."
That was all.
And just like that-the fight exploded.
The courtyard erupted into chaos.
Fists met flesh.
Shoes scraped against wet pavement.
Shouts and gasps tangled into the thick air.
Some students cheered.
Some whispered.
Some just watched.
Then-
A shift.
It wasn't a sound.
It wasn't a shout.
It was just there.
A slow, invisible pull. The kind that made people hesitate without knowing why.
Murmurs thinned. Movements stalled.
The space between students widened-not because someone forced it to, but because they didn't want to be in the way.
And then-he appeared.
Daniel Carter.
Raindrops clung to his hair, darkening the strands that fell over his eyes. His two-block cut framed his face like a shadow cutting through the dim light.
Brown eyes, empty of emotion, swept over the scene.
No anger. No amusement. Just nothing.
His steps were slow, unhurried.
No rush. No interest.
As if this entire thing-the fight, the crowd, the noise-was a mild inconvenience.
That was the part that unsettled them.
The fight slowed.
Then stopped.
Because they already knew.
This was him.
The reason behind all of this.
A red-band student, emboldened by excitement, took a step forward. His voice carried an eagerness that clashed against the silence.
"Are you Daniel? We're here to join the crew and follow-"
The sentence never finished.
Daniel moved.
No sound. No warning.
In the next instant, his fingers had wrapped around the guy's collar, pulling him forward with controlled force.
It wasn't violent. It didn't need to be.
Their eyes locked.
Daniel's gaze-cold, dissecting, distant.
"Do you actually believe you can stand beside me?"
The guy-who had been so sure of himself just seconds ago-couldn't answer.
Silence.
Daniel let go-not throwing him, not shoving. Just releasing.
Even then, the student staggered, barely catching himself.
Daniel's gaze shifted toward the black-band leader. He looked at him-for just a second.
Then-he exhaled.
And walked away.
No final words. No threats.
Just a departure that left behind something heavier than any fight.
The crowd didn't move. Didn't breathe.
A raindrop hit the pavement. Then another.
They had heard of him before.
But now-
"So this is Daniel."
The name carried differently now.
It wasn't just a rumor anymore.
It was real.
The weight in the air didn't lift, even as Daniel turned away.
The fight had stopped. The crowd had fallen into an uneasy stillness.
But something still lingered.
Raindrops pattered lightly against the pavement, soft but unceasing. The overcast sky pressed down on the courtyard, its dull gray hue mirroring the growing realization in the freshers' eyes. Water pooled in the cracks of the pavement, reflecting the scattered silhouettes of students who still stood frozen, their breaths misting in the cold air.
Then-
A smirk.
The guy who had stopped the first punch took a slow step forward, the rhythm of his movements effortlessly syncing with the steady drizzle-unhurried, unbothered. His hands remained tucked in his pockets, undisturbed by the weather. As he moved, the space around him shifted, as if people instinctively knew to part for him.
Lucian Steele.
His gaze swept over the two groups-not with hostility, but with amusement. Like he was watching children struggle with a game they didn't understand. A small chuckle escaped his lips, barely audible over the rain.
"You puny brats..." His voice was casual, almost lazy, yet the weight behind it made the freshers stiffen. A few shivered-not just from the cold.
"...You actually think you can stand with him?"
No answer. Just the sound of raindrops tapping against jackets, soaking into their collars.
Lucian let the silence stretch, watching their expressions shift-hesitation, frustration, barely masked embarrassment. Then, he let out a small sigh, his breath visible in the chilled air.
"You're far under the bottom of the realm to even think that."
The words cut deeper than any blow. A few of them clenched their fists, knuckles whitening against the damp, cold air-but none dared to move.
"You should be thankful you're in school," Lucian continued, tone light yet laced with something sharper. "If not, you wouldn't have walked away from this."
A faint gust of wind carried his words through the courtyard, blending with the fading murmurs of the crowd. Somewhere in the distance, water dripped from the school's gutters, the slow and steady rhythm amplifying the silence.
Lucian glanced at them for a moment longer, then shook his head slightly, as if they weren't even worth the effort.
"I could've handled you all alone." His voice wasn't boasting. Just stating a fact. "But I wanted to show you reality."
And then, for the first time, his words weren't just for the fighters.
They were for everyone.
"This is a school. Whatever reason you came here for, understand this-"
He paused. The whispers in the crowd quieted, the rain filling the spaces between them.
"Anyone caught fighting or pulling stupid stunts will be personally dealt with by the 5th Faction."
A ripple went through the students. Some freshers froze in confusion, while a few older ones exchanged glances.
The 5th Faction.
The words carried weight. Even the sound of rain couldn't drown out the shift in atmosphere.
Then, Lucian's tone dropped slightly, something colder lurking beneath his usual amusement.
"As the Captain of the 5th Faction of the Black Legion, I can assure you of one thing-"
His gaze darkened.
"No one present here is good enough to be part of it."
The freshers stood rigid, cold droplets rolling down their faces, indistinguishable from sweat.
"So it would be better," Lucian continued, voice quiet yet absolute, "if you all forget these things-forget fighting, forget delusions of strength-and live your lives in school."
He shifted his gaze toward the pillars, where a few figures had been watching-silent, unnoticed by most.
Their presence wasn't ordinary.
For a moment, Lucian said nothing, but his stare carried a silent message.
Even you.
The ones behind the pillar exchanged glances.
Then-without hesitation, without a word-they turned and walked away.
Not in a hurry.
Not hesitating.
Just as if they had no reason to be there anymore.
The drizzle continued, quiet yet persistent, washing away the remnants of the tension that had once gripped the courtyard.
One by one, the crowd dissolved, but for those who had truly been paying attention-
Lucian's message had been clear.
And those who understood it knew-
They weren't even close to being in Daniel Carter's league.
----------------------------------
BEHIND THE CHAPTER
Black Legion is not just a gang. It's something deeper. You'll see what I mean as the story unfolds.