My school, Ironvale Technical High, isn't some prestigious, clean-cut place with morning greetings and flower beds. It's a public tech school on the edge of town—half concrete, half rust. The name makes it sound more serious than it is. Ironvale Tech is a dumping ground. A place parents send their kids when there's nowhere else left to send them. "At least learn a trade," they probably think. Mechanics, basic electronics, graphic design. But most of us here don't give any damn about circuits or photoshop.

  The student is mostly boys. There are some girls, yeah, but they're grouped in those special classes—multimedia, design, fashion, the ones upstairs on the east wing. Most of them don't talk to us. Can't blame them.

  The rest of the school? It's pure factions.

  Some kids keep their heads down. Just wanna get through the day, or to put it more simply, cowards? i don't know either. But most of them are just madmen. You'll find this type everywhere—lingering in the hallways, napping on the stairs, hanging around the bike shed like wolves too lazy to hunt but too restless to stay still.

  We don't have school-wide chaos, not like those action manga people think about. There's no all-out war happening in the school. Just being jerk like delinquents always do, messing around anywhere they go. Those people always fought among themselves. Constantly.

  Not over anything big. Sometimes, just because someone stared too long. Or walked past the wrong spot. Carved-up territories, each group pretends they run something, but none of them are strong enough to run each other. Most days, fights happened outside school — behind the gym, alleys, the old bike sheds, old warehouse near train station or past the east wall. You might walk past a group and hear someone getting kicked. But no one stops it.

  The quiet ones like me, we stick to the corners—rooftops, back stairwells, the shady side of the vending machines. Every year there's a new name echoing through the halls. Some third-year who dropped two seniors. Some second-year who got suspended for bringing a box cutter.

  Not for power.

  Just boredom. Pride. Noise.

  The teachers don't step in unless it's between the school hours. Even then, they mostly just sigh and write it up. They know the kind of place this is. No fixing it.

  I sit through class, sometimes. Spent most breaks up top where the wind still feels like something real. No one bother. Maybe because I don't start shit. Well, sometimes i got hit here and there but that's just it.

  I wonder myself how could i ended up in this place anyway. Was it because it's the closest from home? Or was it simply I am no different. Not in a violent way. Just. Boredom.

  This place isn't a school. It's just a waiting room for boys who don't know where else to go.

  The bell rang—shrill and dry, like a warning more than a signal. It echoed down the halls and through the thin walls like a scratch in the air. Break time. Or whatever they wanted to call it.

  The hallway felt the same as always. Cold tiles. Crooked walls. Broken chairs left by the sides. Just a regular old building. It wasn't a place that scared you with noise. It wasn't the structure. It was the silence—thick and loaded. Like something was always about to happen, but never did right away.

  I walked through the hallway. A noise came from behind—not loud, just enough to reach me.

  A guy I vaguely remembered. We weren't friends, but I knew his face. I'd stepped in once when some punks were messing with him near the back of the gym.

  "Hey—Ash. How have you been?" with friendly tone.

  I smiled a little and answered, "Here I am."

  "Bahaha, I didn't expect that. I was wrong that I asked, considering much shits around us." he said jokingly.

  He seemed so spirited up. "Are you keeping up with the news lately? There’s a clash between Gifford's guys and those Naras behind the bike racks three days ago. Seems like Gifford's guys got outnumbered. I wonder how Gifford would react to this," he added, more to himself than to me.

  "You come up with a lot of stories to tell, seems like," I said with a smirk.

  He chuckled. "Man, I just hear things. This school’s always a little too loud when it comes to that."

  I nodded slightly, eyes forward. But he wasn’t done.

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  "Ah, theres also a new name came up. A new transferred kid from outside town. I heard he kicked that Trio’s asses on his first day."

  I raised an eyebrow. "That idiot Trio from 2-B?"

  He chuckled, looking somewhere past me. I could feel the buzz in his tone. I leaned back slightly, resting my shoulder on the wall. "So what? Some outsider just walks in and starts swinging?".

  "That's what they said. Didn't even flinch. Just walked through them like a wall." He grinned, almost in admiration.

  I shrugged. "Guess some people coming here for fights."

  "You don't seem too surprised." with curious tone.

  I tilted my head. "What's his name?"

  He paused, thinking. "I think it was Tarrant. Weird name, huh"

  The hallway went quiet for a second. Just distant footsteps and the creak of an old ceiling fan.

  Tarrant.

  I already didn't like the sound of it.

  “Anyway.” I pushed off the wall with a slight nod.

  “You heading up?” he asked.

  “Yeah.”

  “To the rooftop again?”

  I gave him a glance over my shoulder. “Place’s quieter than here.”

  He laughed, short and light. “Alright, man. See you around.”

  I took the steps to the other building—the one with the rooftop door no one really touched. Pushed it open with my shoulder. The metal hinges creaked like always. The afternoon sun already softening as the wind rolled in—steady and quiet.

  This place had always felt like mine. No one said it was mine, but no one came up here much either. Maybe because the stairs were much of a pain. Or maybe no one gives a damn.

  The old sofa near the edge hadn’t moved in over a year. Lopsided. One of its legs was busted, so it tilted when you sat down. I dropped into it, lit a cigarette, and leaned back. Didn’t look at anything in particular. Just sky. Rooftops. A water tank off in the distance.

  Ten minutes passed. Maybe more.

  I had a great nap. My shirt stuck to the back of my neck. Rubbed my face and leaned against the chain-link fence, arms crossed, eyes half-closed. Just watching the clouds fade behind that rust-colored skyline.

  Then—bang. The rooftop door slammed open like someone kicked it.

  “Yo, this the smoke deck?” a voice barked, loud, shameless.

  I didn’t even bother turning my head. Just stared ahead and blinked slow. I could hear the footsteps—heavy, casual, like they belonged here. Then the guy dropped down beside me on the crooked armrest like he'd been doing it all year.

  “Not bad up here. Wind’s good. View’s alright. Place smells like shit, though. You live here or something?”

  “No signs on the door.” I muttered.

  The guy laughed. Low and rough. “Fair enough.”

  He sat down in the couch like he owned the place. Pulled out his pack of cigarette. The kind with that imported logo I couldn’t afford. Lit one. Didn’t even offer.

  I glanced at him—and something stuck. Tall. Lean. Jaw like someone carved it out of stone and didn’t bother smoothing the edges. School blazer half-off, shirt untucked. That dumb confidence in the way he sat, like the world owed him nothing and he still walked like it did.

  I narrowed my eyes.

  Because I remembered him.

  That guy... slouched next to a trash can, bruised lip and bloody knuckles, cigarette burning slow in his hand like he had all the time in the world to bleed. That day I passed by without a word. The one who stared back at me without flinching.

  “So you’re Tarrant,” I said.

  He turned to me, amused. “Words spread fast. I didn't ask for it though, they came up themself. That was funny.” said with low laughs.

  I didn’t say anything afterwards. Didn't call him out. Didn't ask if he remembered that narrow road, that moment our eyes met without introduction.

  I just took a drag, let the smoke coat my lungs, and looked away.

  In an abandoned building near the old warehouse across the school, a different kind of tension hung in the air. Not the kind that ends in punches—but in planning.

  It's the guys from Knox's faction. Lounged on broken chairs and upside-down buckets, the windows blocked with taped-up newspapers. The air was dusty, quiet except for the occasional creak of the floorboards.

  Someone scratched his neck and leaned forward.

  "Yo... what's up with those Sylvancrest guys lately?" he muttered. "Heard they've been messing with more of our spots. Not even low-key anymore."

  A lanky kid leaning near the boarded window finally spoke up. "Never thought they would come bluntly and messed with our students in broad daylight. A clear provocation towards us.”

  “They did. Heard there’s a new leader pulling the strings now. Whole damn school—united under one name. Quiet type. Dangerous, from what they say.”

  The others shifted in their seats, a rustle of denim and cigarette packs.

  “Another outsider?” someone said from the back, half-laughing, half-bitter. “First that Tarrant guy. Now Sylvan’s growing balls?”

  One of them scoffed. "Acting like they own the damn district. Walking around like kings while we sit here twiddling our thumbs and fought among ourselves."

  Another one cracked his knuckles. "Tch. Maybe it's time we play with them a bit. See if they're all bark."

  They all looked to the one sitting against the far wall—legs crossed, hands behind his head, staring at the ceiling.

  A third year. Knox himself.

  Calm. Clean-cut. Not flashy. Not loud. He blinked once. Let out a small laugh through his nose.

  "Haha... that guy wouldn't even care. Why would I?" he said half-lazily.

  Silence fell. No one argued.

  Back on the rooftop, Ash and Tarrant sat in near silence.

  The wind moved slow. Like the day hadn’t fully woken up yet.

  He flicked ashes toward the ledge, eyes on the horizon.

  “Yo. You always hang up here like some rooftop ghost?”

  I didn’t answer right away. Just watched the smoke rise and fade into a sky so pale even the clouds looked worn out.

  “Most days,” I finally said.

  He nodded, like that was all he needed.

  “Guess we’ll be seeing more of each other, then.”

  I glanced over. “Hmm?”

  He smirked. “I liked it here.”

  I scoffed without meaning to. Not loud. Just under my breath. Just enough for the smoke to carry it away.

  "Great," I muttered. "Even this place isn’t safe anymore."

  He didn’t say anything after that. Sat down opposite me, legs stretched out, face turned to the sky. Didn’t ask for permission. Didn’t make a sound. No more questions. No words. Like he already knew I wouldn’t tell him to leave.

  Just sat there.

  Like the rooftop always had room for two.