The Hell’s Kitchen Community School served every grade from first through twelfth.
Thirty-six classes.
More than a thousand students.
And somehow…
Alvin Satō was the principal.
The appointment had come about in a uniquely Hell’s Kitchen fashion.
He’d invited every major gang leader in the neighborhood to a meeting.
After several rounds of very “friendly” negotiations…
Followed by an extremely “fair” election…
Alvin had been unanimously chosen as principal.
As for whoever the Department of Education had officially appointed…
No one particularly cared.
The first thing Alvin did after taking the job was pay Wilson Fisk a visit.
“You call yourself the Kingpin of Hell’s Kitchen,” Alvin had told him.
“The least you can do is support education in your own neighborhood.” “And this isn’t a one-time donation.” “It’s a long-term commitment.” From that day forward, Fisk contributed five million dollars every year.
In return…
He was proudly listed as a member of the school’s board of directors.
Once funding was secured, attracting teachers became much easier.
Yes, it was Hell’s Kitchen.
But it was still a teaching job.
A recruiting firm located experienced educators who had recently lost their positions.
Each received a generous offer.
Competitive salary.
Room and board.
Benefits.
If Alvin’s name wasn’t convincing enough…
Wilson Fisk’s endorsement certainly was.
As for the students…
Alvin had once survived elementary school homework alongside his own son.
He knew exactly how a disciplined schedule should work.
Morning reading at 7:30.
Classes began at eight.
Lunch from noon until 1:30.
School ended at five.
Evening study sessions started at seven.
Attendance was technically “voluntary.” Anyone wishing to skip them merely had to obtain permission from Principal Alvin Satō.
Unless someone had died…
Or their house had burned down…
Permission was generally denied.
Fortunately for the students, Alvin wasn’t on campus every evening.
Standing outside the school entrance now, Alvin watched children creep toward the building like mice sneaking past a sleeping cat.
Beside him stood the school’s vice principal, Nelson Norris.
Until Alvin’s arrival…
He’d been the principal.
Now he enthusiastically praised every one of Alvin’s reforms.
Listening to him, Alvin couldn’t help smiling.
My son had to spend years getting up before sunrise and studying until night.
Why should you little troublemakers have it easier?
Welcome to school.
JJ stood nearby holding a shotgun over one shoulder.
Watching the students file through the gates, he silently offered them a moment of sympathy.
This didn’t feel like a school.
It felt like a boot camp for children.
Doom, meanwhile, loved school mornings.
He considered them endlessly entertaining.
Every arriving student had to pass an inspection.
Whenever Doom caught someone acting suspiciously, the giant wolf would tackle them to the ground, earning an impressive amount of terrified screaming.
Then came the search.
Within a short time, Doom had assembled an impressive pile of confiscated treasures.
Candy.
Toy slingshots.
Comic books.
And rather less innocent items.
Several students now stood in line holding the dangerous objects that had been discovered on them, waiting for the principal’s judgment.
Alvin picked up an unusually ornate butterfly knife and casually flipped it through his fingers.
He looked at the fourteen-year-old boy standing before him.
“Name?” “Class?” “And why exactly did you bring this to school?” The white teenager stubbornly lifted his chin.
“Philip.” “Ninth Grade, Class One.” “It’s for trimming my fingernails.” JJ burst out laughing.
“Sure.” “Because everyone trims their nails with a six-inch butterfly knife.” Alvin disliked one particular expression more than almost anything else.
Teenagers defiantly craning their necks while pretending to be fearless.
He reached out and smacked Philip lightly across the back of the neck.
“Ow!” The boy yelped, clutching his head as he crouched on the ground.
Even then, he glared stubbornly at Alvin.
That was even worse.
The kid was glaring at the principal.
“Two days in detention.” Alvin pointed toward the school.
“Vice Principal Norris.” “Give him a copy of the school code.” “I want it handwritten one hundred times.” If ordinary school discipline failed…
There were always other methods.
As JJ escorted the still-protesting Philip inside, the students waiting behind him suddenly became models of honesty.
One by one, they admitted what they’d done.
Their punishments ranged from copying school rules ten times…
To fifty.
Then came the last student.
A chubby Black boy in middle school.
Alvin frowned.
“What are you carrying?” The boy lowered his head.
“My name’s Lavon.” “Sixth Grade, Class Two.” “The marijuana…” “My dad told me to bring it.” Alvin blinked.
Then exploded.
“Your father told you to bring drugs to school?” Lavon shrank even further.
“My teacher…” “Mr.
Nathan…” “He gets headaches a lot.” “He’s always been nice to me.” “My dad heard about it.” “He said marijuana would help.” Silence.
Alvin stared at the child.
Then, in one violent motion…
He kicked a heavy steel trash can across the schoolyard.
The can tumbled end over end before crashing into a fence.
He honestly didn’t know what to feel.
The boy’s father was almost certainly a drug dealer.
And in his own twisted way…
The man had been trying to thank a teacher.
That was Hell’s Kitchen in a nutshell.
Alvin sighed.
He gently patted Lavon on the head.
“If your teacher has headaches…” “He goes to a doctor.” “Not to you.” He confiscated the package.
“And don’t ever bring marijuana to school again.” “Next time…” “You’ll end up in detention with Philip.” “Now get to class.” Lavon nodded frantically before sprinting into the building.
Nelson chuckled quietly.
“Honestly…” “This is already a miracle.” “A few years ago…” “This school was practically a recruitment center for local gangs.” He smiled ruefully.
“Can you believe students used to sell drugs openly in the hallways?” “What you’ve accomplished…” “Is beyond anything I imagined.” Alvin was silent for a moment.
Then he asked, “What happened with the land application?” “I want the student dormitories built as soon as possible.” “I want these kids living here instead of wandering the streets.” “I’m sending every one of them to college.” Nelson nodded.
“The city has almost approved it.” “There’s plenty of vacant land behind the school.” “Enough for two more classroom buildings.” “Two dormitories.” “And a residence for teachers.” He hesitated.
“There is one concern.” “The student rooms.” “Six students sharing thirty square meters…” “Don’t you think that’s a little cramped?” Alvin slowly turned his head.
His expression said everything.
You have absolutely no idea.
Compared to the crowded dormitories he’d seen in parts of his previous life…
This was practically luxury.
Hell’s Kitchen’s families were desperately poor.
The school charged no tuition.
The children would be safe.
Fed.
Educated.
What more could anyone reasonably expect?
Sensing danger, Nelson changed direction with remarkable speed.
“On the other hand…” He smiled warmly.
“The important thing is giving these children a safe place to learn.” “What you’ve done for this school…” “History will remember.” That was exactly the sort of sentence Alvin enjoyed hearing.
Grinning, he clapped the older man on the shoulder.
Nelson Norris had spent fifteen years running this school.
He wasn’t perfect.
But he understood education.
And he was exceptionally good at dealing with the Department of Education.
Future funding.
Equipment.
Government support.
All of that still depended on people like him.
Then an elderly voice thundered across the schoolyard.
“Alvin!” “You little bastard!” “What the hell have you done to my school?” Alvin rubbed the bridge of his nose.
Unlike Nelson…
The owner of that voice was considerably harder to appreciate.