The next class began just as smoothly as the last—students shifting seats, opening notebooks, and the low hum of conversation filling the air. Ethan followed Peter out of chemistry, still processing how surprisingly… normal that felt.
They walked down the hallway together, Peter talking about the lab they'd get to do next week, when Ethan's phone buzzed.
Not a regular notification.
A silent vibration—one the system used.
Ethan slowed his steps, lifting the screen just enough to glance at it.
A faint, minimalistic message glowed across the display:
[Notice: Flash Thompson will attempt a confrontation after class.]
[Objective: Avoid defeat without direct physical engagement.]
[Suggested Tool: Skill — Alternative.]
Ethan's brows twitched.
Another confrontation? Already?
Peter noticed his distraction.
"You okay?"
"Yeah…" Ethan pocketed the phone. "Just… school stuff."
Peter snorted. "You've been here less than three hours. What school stuff?"
Ethan shrugged, forcing a neutral expression. "Just… assignments."
Peter accepted that without question.
Ethan appreciated that about him.
As they approached their next class—History—the hall around them started to fill with louder voices. A cluster of jocks walked by, Flash Thompson somewhere among them. He shot a glance at Peter, the usual mocking smirk ready… but his eyes drifted to Ethan.
Ethan didn't look away. He met Flash's gaze, unblinking.
Flash frowned, clearly not used to anyone holding eye contact with him.
Peter whispered, "Uh… maybe don't look at him like that."
"Why?"
"Because that's how you look at someone right before they become a physics experiment."
Ethan blinked. "I'm just looking."
"Yeah. That's the problem."
They stepped into class as the bell rang.
Mr. Roland stood at the front, already launching into a lecture about colonial-era New York.
Ethan opened his notebook, jotting down key points with mechanical precision. His pen moved almost automatically, guided by the rapid mental processing he now had constant access to.
But part of his brain was elsewhere.
The skill Alternative.
He'd tested it once.
It didn't show him the future.
It showed him possible solutions based on everything in his immediate environment.
Objects.
Angles.
Pathways.
Social dynamics.
All visualized in clean lines and subtle highlights.
He silently activated it under the desk.
A tiny ripple passed through his vision—barely noticeable.Desks, chairs, doors, students—all formed faint, geometric outlines for a split second before fading. The system quietly mapped out options around him, though the fight wasn't happening yet.
Just preparing.
He exhaled.
Flash wanted to "fight."
But the system wanted him to win without touching.
Outsmart him.
Fine.
He could do that.
The rest of the period unfolded like any other:
"—and the Dutch trading companies left a major economic imprint—"
Papers shuffled.
Pens scribbled.
Someone whispered too loudly in the back.
Peter leaned over at one point. "So… what do you think of Midtown so far?"
Ethan considered the question. "It's loud."
Peter laughed. "Welcome to the club."
Another student, a girl with dyed red tips, overheard. "Yeah, Midtown'll do that to you. The cafeteria's worse—don't get the lasagna."
"I'll keep that in mind," Ethan replied.
Books passed down rows.
Mr. Roland assigned a short reading.
Peter started doodling a random schematic beside his notes.
"Nice," Ethan commented quietly.
Peter shrugged. "Helps me think."
The class carried on normally—almost peaceful, even.
But the quiet buzz of the system warning stayed in the back of Ethan's mind.
Flash Thompson.
Confrontation.
Win without touching.
He tapped his pen rhythmically, thinking through possibilities.
Chair positioning.
Foot placement.
Crowd reaction.
Teacher proximity.
Hallway geometry.
Every option hinted at a different kind of solution.
No fighting.
No throwing punches.
No bruising.
Just intelligence.
Something he actually had control over.
As the bell rang, Ethan felt his phone buzz again.
A single line appeared across the darkened screen:
[Warning Active: Confrontation imminent after next period.]
Ethan rose from his seat calmly.
Alright.
If Flash wanted a fight…
He'd give him something else entirely.
Ethan stepped out into the hallway as the tide of students spilled from classrooms. Backpacks slung, chatter rising, lockers slamming—just the usual school chaos.
Except for the part where Flash Thompson was waiting.
Flash pushed off the wall the moment he saw him.His smirk widened, loud enough for a circle of his friends to hear, "Hey, new kid. Ethan, right? Heard you think you're smart."
Ethan didn't break stride. "I don't think I'm smart. I just am."
A few students nearby let out quiet "ooohh" sounds.
Flash's jaw tightened. "Funny. Let's see how smart you are when you're on the floor."
There it was.The confrontation.
Ethan felt the faint shift in his vision—the moment Alternative kicked in.
Every angle.Every object.Every possible movement Flash could make.
A tiny web of glowing pathway lines formed briefly over the scene and faded into instinct.
Ethan stopped, hands in his pockets. "If you want to embarrass yourself, go ahead."
Flash shoved forward. "Big talk!"
The punch came fast—Flash was a jock, after all.But Ethan didn't need speed.
He simply stepped one inch sideways.
Flash's fist cut through empty air.
Ethan raised an eyebrow."That was your warm-up swing? I thought you were Flash, not 'Lag.'"
Laughter erupted from the crowd forming around them.
Flash snarled and swung again—harder.
Alternative showed Ethan the most efficient movement.He leaned back half a step.
Flash's fist whiffed again—catching nothing but air.
Ethan clicked his tongue. "Two for two. At this rate, the air is going to sue you for harassment."
Another burst of laughter.Flash's face turned bright red.
"STAND STILL!" he roared, launching a wild punch.
Alternative lit up six potential options.Ethan picked the pettiest one.
He shifted his foot slightly.Flash's fist flew past him—and he overextended, stumbling forward.
Ethan casually stepped aside. Flash crashed right into a locker.
BANG.
The crowd winced.
Ethan spoke calmly."You should really check your brakes. You're drifting."
Flash spun, angrier than ever. "STOP DODGING!"
"That implies you ever had a chance of hitting me."
Another swing—a blind one.Alternative showed a path that would cause Flash to nearly fall.
Ethan took it.
He lowered his head a fraction of an inch, letting Flash's punch go over it—then lifted his foot just slightly, redirecting Flash's step.
Flash stumbled again, arms flailing, and smashed into another locker.
BAM.
Someone whispered, "Bro's fighting a ghost…"
Flash turned around, breath heaving.
"You little—just stand still and fight!"
Ethan tilted his head. "You keep asking me to help you look less stupid. That's not my job."
Flash roared and tried a tackle.
Alternative lit up a path behind Ethan.He pivoted.
Flash missed completely… and this time, tripped over a stray backpack on the floor.
The jock went down face-first.
THUD.
The hallway exploded in laughter.
Ethan crouched slightly, meeting Flash's furious eyes.
"You lost," he said quietly, "and I didn't even raise a hand."
Flash tried to get up, but Ethan straightened and stepped back before he could grab him.
He didn't need to touch him.Didn't need to throw a punch.
He just needed to be smarter.
And he was.
"You good?" Ethan asked with a perfectly polite smile. "Or do you want to try missing again?"
Flash pushed himself up, rage boiling—but the bell rang right then.
The crowd dispersed instantly.
Peter rushed over from the edge of the hallway, wide-eyed. "Dude… DUDE! He didn't touch you once!"
Ethan shrugged. "I know."
Peter stared like he was doing math in his head. "That was like… ultra instinct… but petty."
Ethan gave a tiny smirk. "I prefer 'efficient problem-solving.'"
Flash, battered and humiliated, stomped away with his bruised pride dragging behind him.
And Ethan continued down the hallway as if nothing had happened.