Ryan flicked the certificate with contempt.
“You really think printing something off the internet will fool people? Do I look that dumb?”
He whipped out a knife and sliced the certificate into shreds. “And this photo…” He scoffed, ripped it apart, and let the pieces scatter on the ground.
“Uniform photos? Every photo studio has props for that.”
My mind went blank.
Almost instinctively, I dropped to my knees, hands trembling as I tried to gather the torn fragments.
But the pieces were too tiny to piece back together.
Ryan looked down, his sneakers crushing the last remnants.
“You're pretty good at putting on a show. Too bad you couldn’t fool me.”
His tone turned cold, tinged with mock pity. “I got a tip last night and sent someone to the Office of Civil Administration to check. Your father’s name isn’t even in the martyrs’ registry.”
“After your secret got out, you and your mom dared to go to the archives and tamper with evidence.”
“Unbelievable.”
“Everyone here’s been grinding for three years straight—just for a shot at a few more points in the exam!”
“And people like you? You just cheat your way in with dirty tricks, snatching 20 points like it's nothing.”
“You’re spitting on the memory of true heroes and mocking our hard work!”
Eyes all around turned red with fury.
A girl suddenly screamed, hysterical, “I missed last year’s cutoff by just 3 points! THREE!”
Ryan sighed dramatically. “Fake martyr’s kid? What’s the worst that’ll happen? A few years in prison?”
“That’s way too easy.”
A boy charged out. “School Prince, they need to be taught a lesson!”
“Yeah! If they love pretending to be martyrs’ kids, then mark them—let everyone know who the fakes are!”
The crowd roared in agreement.
Ryan hesitated, hands raised as if to calm them, but their chants only grew louder.
Finally, he took the knife, feigning reluctance.
“Since everyone insists…”
He stepped forward and gripped Mom’s chin.
I was pinned to the ground just a few feet away—
helpless as he raised the blade toward her face.
Mom shrieked in agony as the blade tore through her skin, blood streaming down her chin and splattering the pavement.
Ryan looked satisfied, calm—
like he was putting the final strokes on a painting.
Cheers erupted around us.
Phones swarmed in, capturing every gruesome second.
“Nice one, School Prince! Teach these liars a lesson.”
“Pretending to be martyrs’ children? Those are titles bought with blood!”
“Where’s Pancake Brother? He’s the mastermind! Don’t let him off easy!”
Ryan stood back and admired his work.
“Hm, not bad… a few sloppy spots.”
He leaned down again, knife in hand, pressing the blade toward Mom’s torn flesh. My heart stopped.
In a split second, I tore myself from my captors and lunged forward, throwing myself between them.
My body slammed into him, knocking him backward.
The athlete beside him, furious that I dared to fight back, pummeled me with fists and kicks.
I held my mother close, wrapping my arms around her, shielding her with my own body.
“It’s okay, Mom… I’m here.”
“I’ll protect you.”
Suddenly—
“What is going on here!?”
The principal and several teachers came rushing in, alarmed by the commotion.
Ryan quickly fixed his shirt, putting on a calm front.
“Principal, it’s nothing. We were just having a little chat with our provincial top scorer.”
“But he lost it… attacked us without warning.”
The principal’s eyes moved between us, uncertainty flickering in his gaze.
