Another afternoon passed, and school was finally over.
Barry was free at last from the day’s torture.
Alex had already left—her gymnastics club was preparing for the upcoming graduation ceremony.
That left Barry and Iris walking side by side toward the bus stop.
“Finals are coming soon, and I still haven’t opened my books,” Iris whined dramatically, dragging her feet a little while sneaking a glance at Barry out of the corner of her eye.
“Fine, you can have my notes,” Barry sighed, giving in at last.
He had tried countless times to make her study on her own, but Iris always found a way to wriggle out of it.
“Yes!
I know you’re the best!” Iris squealed, throwing her arms around him in a sudden hug.
Barry stiffened slightly at the sudden contact, then gave a small, helpless smile.
His notes were known for being precise and easy to understand.
And Iris wasn’t dumb—far from it—she just happened to be surrounded by people who were extremely smart.
They were nearing the bus stop when a police car pulled up beside them.
The passenger door opened, and a familiar man stepped out.
“Dad!” Iris beamed, her face lighting up as she rushed forward to hug him.
The man, dressed in uniform, immediately softened.
His stern features melted into warmth as he embraced her tightly.
“My sweet baby girl.”
“Hi, Uncle Joe,” Barry greeted with a polite nod, his posture straightening.
“Hey, Barr,” Joe West—cop, and Iris’s father—smiled at him.
“Thanks for looking out for Iris.” He knew Barry well; Iris never stopped talking about him at home.
“Dad, how come you’re here this early?” Iris asked, tilting her head curiously.
His job usually meant long shifts and late nights.
“Well,” Joe chuckled, ruffling her hair, “I wanted to see my little princess.
Thought I’d pick you up—and maybe we could grab some ice cream on the way.”
“Thanks, Dad!” Iris’s eyes sparkled with excitement.
Joe glanced at Barry.
“What about you, Barr?
I could drop you off.”
“It’s fine, Joe.
You two spend time together.
I can make my way home.” Barry shook his head gently, though his tone was grateful.
He knew how rare Joe’s free time was.
“Come on, Barry, you should come with us,” Iris pressed, grabbing at his sleeve.
Barry gave her a small smile.
“Did you forget we have exams coming up?”
“As if you need to study…” Iris muttered under her breath, puffing out her cheeks.
She knew he was dodging.
“I still need to revise.
Here, take this.” Barry handed her one of his notebooks.
“Barry—” Before she could protest, he was already jogging off, waving back.
Joe caught the whole exchange with interest, watching the faint pout on his daughter’s face.
“What’s that, baby?”
“His notes, probably…” Iris clutched the notebook to her chest with a small smile.
“Dad, did you know he can always guess the exam questions?”
Joe raised an eyebrow, slipping back into his stern dad voice.
“Honey, we need to have a talk about your study habits.”
“Come on, Dad—not you too!” Iris groaned.
Chuckling, Joe guided her toward the car, while Barry disappeared into the distance.
Since he was alone, Barry decided against the bus.
He loosened his bag, stretched his legs, and ran instead, his movements effortless and practiced.
Sweat trickled lightly down his temple, so when he reached the market, he stopped to buy something to rehydrate.
As he handed the money to the shopkeeper, he suddenly froze mid-motion.
His instincts prickled.
Something felt… off.
Barry casually adjusted his bag strap and glanced around.
A flicker of movement in his peripheral vision confirmed it—someone was following him.
Keeping his expression neutral, he paid for his drink, thanked the shopkeeper, and walked out as if nothing were wrong.
Instead of heading home directly, he turned into a narrow alley and came to a stop, his eyes narrowing slightly.
“Someone’s following me…” he murmured under his breath, his grip tightening around the bottle.
“You can come out now,” Barry called out to his lousy trackers.
“Gotta say, Allen, you’ve got some guts.
I thought you’d be running away.”
It was Tony, flanked by a bunch of other kids from school.
“Is this the punk you wanted us to take care of?
He looks weak,” said a tall Black boy who seemed older than the rest.
“Yeah, he’s the one.
I want him to regret crossing me,” Tony snarled, eyes full of rage.
Barry, still composed, only made him angrier.
“This delicate little lamb… well, it doesn’t matter as long as I get my cash.” The boy cracked his knuckles.
“Sorry, kid.
Nothing personal.”
Barry watched the scene with mild interest.
Tony had tried cornering him before, but Barry always slipped away.
Now Tony was being reckless, and that was… interesting.
The tall boy threw a punch at Barry’s face.
Barry sidestepped easily.
Another punch came, but Barry dodged again.
“Other than running, what can you even do?” the boy taunted.
He charged forward, hoping to throw Barry off balance, but Barry tripped him, sending him face-first into the dirt.
“Pretty pathetic for someone so cocky.” Barry’s tone was flat, unimpressed.
“Is this the best you’ve got, Tony?”
Tony froze, dumbfounded.
“G-Get him!” he barked.
He and two other boys rushed Barry, trying to overpower him.
Tony swung a kick, but Barry caught his ankle and yanked, sending him off balance.
The other two swung at Barry from behind, but Barry ducked.
Their fists whiffed through the air, and Barry grabbed them by the necks, slamming their heads together with a sickening crack.
Both collapsed instantly.
The tall boy staggered back to his feet, this time pulling out a knife.
“You bastard!
Here—have a piece of this!” He lunged, stabbing Barry’s chest.
Barry caught his wrist mid-thrust.
The boy strained to push forward, but it was like his hand was clamped in iron.
“I’ve been playing with knives since I was five,” Barry said coldly.
He squeezed harder, forcing the boy’s grip to fail.
The knife clattered to the ground.
“I think I’ve had enough fun… let’s end this.”
Barry’s fist shot forward, slamming into the boy’s face.
Blood sprayed as the boy crashed to the ground, nose broken, sprawled on his back.
Tony saw it all.
His stomach dropped, and fear took over.
When he tried to run, his legs gave out and he stumbled to the ground.
“D-don’t come near me… I-I’m sorry!
This won’t happen again… I swear, I’ll never bother you again!” Tony’s voice cracked.
His eyes were wide, trembling as he looked up at Barry—the nerd he had always mocked.
The one he thought only knew how to run.
But Barry had crushed them.
All of them.
And he hadn’t even broken a sweat.
Barry stepped closer, his shadow looming over Tony.
For a moment, Tony thought the beating wasn’t over.
But Barry just stared down at him, calm and unshaken.
“Last warning, Tony,” Barry said, voice low and steady.
“Keep away from me and my friends.”
Then he turned his back and walked away, leaving Tony frozen on the ground, too afraid to move.
Barry’s eyes lingered on Tony for only a moment longer.
He didn’t feel anger, satisfaction, or even triumph—only a dull sense of inevitability.
With nothing more to say, he turned and walked away, his steps steady, leaving Tony and the others broken on the ground.
As he headed home, the evening air cooled the heat of the fight.
Barry replayed it in his head, not with excitement, but with the same analytical detachment he used when solving math problems.
Tony was sloppy.
Too much rage, not enough thought.
His lackeys weren’t any better—they attacked in patterns so obvious I could read them before they moved.
Even the one with the knife… predictable.
Fighting them was less a challenge, more… of a nuisance.
People who shout the loudest are often the easiest to silence.
Barry concluded
By the time he reached his house, the fight was already behind him.
Inside, the smell of food lingered in the air.
His mother, Nora, greeted him at the door.
“There you are, Barry.”
He gave a small smile, setting his bag down.
“Hey, Mom.”
“How was the day?
Did you have fun?”
“Boring, as always.”
“Well, at least you didn’t skip halfway.” Her tone carried a teasing edge.
“Come on, Mom, that was a long time ago.” Barry was embarrassed.
Two years ago, he had often skipped school.
When his dad caught him, both parents had been furious.
At that time, he was restless, bored, and fascinated by the outside world, so he snuck out of class with ease.
He wandered through playgrounds, markets—he even slipped into local bars, driven purely by curiosity.
When his parents finally discovered the reason, they had begun taking him on trips around the city and outside it, so he wouldn’t feel trapped.
Still, it had become a sort of “dark history” for him, one his mom never hesitated to tease him about.
As Barry ate, chatting about his day, Nora noticed something.
She didn’t interrupt, but she had noticed something off.
“Barry,” she asked evenly, “did something happen today?”
He paused, then continued eating as if nothing had changed.
“Nothing major.” To him, the ‘incident’ was no more than exercise.
“Barry,” Nora said again, softer but steady, “I’m your mother.
Even if you don’t show it, I can tell.
Did you get into a fight?”
His eyes followed hers down to the faint streak of blood on his sleeve.
It wasn’t his—he remembered it came from the boy with the knife.
He met her gaze calmly.
“It’s not mine,” he explained.
“It came from someone else.”
Nora’s brows tightened.
“Still—blood on your clothes isn’t something to brush off.”
She knew her son was different—stronger, faster, healthier than most kids his age.
Henry, her husband, had checked countless times and assured her it wasn’t illness but a sign of an unusually strong constitution.
“Who started it?” she asked finally.
“It wasn’t me,” Barry said evenly.
“They came looking for trouble.
I just didn’t let them have their way.”
There was no arrogance in his tone—just quiet certainty.
Nora sighed, setting down the plate she was drying.
“That sounds like you.
Just don’t go looking for fights yourself, Barry.
You don’t need to prove anything.”
“I know,” he replied.
“I don’t get into pointless fights.”
“Good.” She gave a small nod, practical as always, then reached over and brushed his sleeve as if to erase the last of the stain.
“Wash up when you’re done eating.”
Barry allowed himself a small smile at that, and the conversation drifted back toward lighter things.
Soon, his father came through the door.
“Honey, welcome back,” Nora greeted warmly, stepping over to take his coat from his shoulders.
“Just in time.”
Henry gave her a kiss, loosening his tie.
“Evening”
“Evening, Dad,” Barry said from the table
“Evening, Barr.” Henry’s eyes softened as he glanced at his son, the weariness of the day easing slightly.
“How was the day?”
Barry shrugged lightly, “As usual.”
Dinner had been calm.
His father, Henry, told him about his day.
Barry listened quietly, responding here and there, while Nora kept the rhythm of conversation steady.
They didn’t press him about school, nor about the scuffle earlier—Barry could tell his mom hadn’t told his dad, at least not yet.
Later that evening, Barry sat at his desk, the soft hum of his new computer filling the quiet room.
It was the latest model for his time, powered by an Intel Pentium III, something he’d managed to buy with the prize money from his recent awards.
More than just a machine, it felt like an investment in his curiosity.
On the screen, a simple text window was open, lines of code appearing as his fingers tapped steadily across the keyboard.
Beside him lay a toy car he had taken apart earlier in the day, its tiny screws and wires neatly arranged.
It wasn’t broken—he just wanted to see if he could make it do something new once he figured out the right program.
Barry leaned back in his chair, eyes flicking between the glowing screen and the scattered parts.
To anyone else, it might have looked like pointless tinkering, but to him, it was practice—his way of testing how things worked and how far he could push them.
As the evening wore on, the last light outside faded.
“It’s been a long day… I can finish the rest tomorrow” Barry stretched his back
Barry shut the computer down, Started another round of high intensity exercise.
After taking a bath, he finally slipped under the covers, the half-finished code and the toy car remained on his desk, waiting for a new day.