It sounded like paper being balled up. Massive amounts of paper.
Ren backed away slowly, stepping into the center of the court.
"Hello?"
A PA system crackled to life. It screamed with feedback before settling into a bored, monotone voice.
"Welcome to the Remedial Zone. Running is prohibited. Bleeding is discouraged. Survival is mandatory for a passing grade."
Click.
From the darkness under the bleachers, something moved.
It stepped into the flickering light.
It wasn't a ghost. It wasn't a demon.
It was a wolf. Or at least, the shape of a wolf.
But it was made entirely of crumpled paper. Thousands of rejected forms, failed tests, and denied applications were matted together to form muscle and bone. Ink dripped from its jaws like black saliva. Its eyes were two red thumbtacks pushed deep into the paper skull.
It growled—the sound of tearing cardboard.
Then another one stepped out. And another.
A pack.
Ren counted four. They circled him, their paper paws making soft shush-shush sounds on the wood.
"Failed paperwork," Ren muttered. "Of course hell runs on forms."
The alpha—the biggest pile of trash—lunged.
It moved with terrifying speed for something made of stationery.
Ren didn't think. He reacted.
He thrust his palm forward.
PUSH.
The Force exploded from his hand.
BOOM.
The alpha was blasted backward. It exploded mid-air, scattering hundreds of sheets of paper across the gym.
Ren smiled grimly. "Easy."
Then the papers stopped moving.
They trembled. They slid across the floor. They knit themselves back together.
In three seconds, the wolf was whole again. It shook itself, ink flying, and snarled.
"Correction," the PA system droned. "Brute force is not a valid answer. Please show your work."
Ren cursed. "Show my work? I don't know the formula!"
The pack lunged together.
Ren scrambled back, slipping on the wet floor. He rolled, narrowly avoiding a snap of paper jaws that sounded like a staple gun firing.
He scrambled up the bleachers, his shoulder screaming in protest. The wolves leaped after him, tearing chunks out of the wooden seats.
Think, Ren told himself. The Professor said I was leaking. I was too loud. Too big.
He vaulted over a railing, landing on the upper walkway.
The wolves were climbing the stands, relentless. They didn't tire. They didn't feel pain. They were rejections; they just kept coming back.
Compress, Ren thought. I need to compress.
He held out his hand again. The alpha wolf was mid-air, jaws open.
Ren didn't push.
He grabbed.
Not with his fingers, but with his mind. He visualized the Force not as a cannon, but as a trash compactor.
He seized the space around the wolf and crushed it inward, like crumpling a soda can with invisible hands.
The air distorted. The wolf froze mid-leap.
It whined—a high-pitched sound of paper straining.
"Small," Ren gritted out through clenched teeth. Blood began to drip from his nose. "Be... small."
He crushed his fist closed.
CRUNCH.
The wolf imploded.
It didn't scatter this time. It was crushed inward, folded and refolded a thousand times in a millisecond, until it was nothing more than a dense, heavy ball of paper the size of a marble.
The marble dropped to the floor with a heavy thud. It didn't move.
Ren gasped, leaning against the railing. His vision swam. That took more energy than the blast. Much more.
The other three wolves stopped. They looked at the marble. Then at Ren.
They hesitated.
Scrape.
A sound from the far end of the walkway.
Ren turned.
Someone was huddled in the corner, hiding behind a stack of gym mats.
A boy in a hoodie.
Ren's heart skipped a beat.
"Evan?"
The figure flinched. He looked up.
It was Evan Morales. But he was fading. His edges were blurry, like a watercolor painting left in the rain. His eyes were wide, terrified, and flickering between brown and static.
"Don't," Evan whispered, his voice sounding like it was coming through a bad radio. "Don't say my name. It hurts."
Ren ignored the wolves. He ran to Evan.
"I found you," Ren said, kneeling beside him. "Ms. Kline said you were pending. I didn't think you'd be here."
"I failed," Evan wept, looking at his own translucent hands. "I tried to answer the roll call, but I failed. I'm being erased, Ren. I can feel the eraser scraping."
The three remaining wolves lost interest in the marble. They turned their red-tack eyes toward Evan.
He was weaker prey. Easier to file.
They growled, stalking up the stairs.
Ren stood up. He placed himself between Evan and the pack.
"You're not being erased," Ren said, wiping the blood from his nose. "You're just in detention."
Ren raised his hand. His head pounded. His shoulder was on fire. He had enough energy for maybe two more compressions before he passed out.
There were three wolves.
"Evan," Ren said calmly. "Cover your ears."
"Why?"
"Because," Ren said, staring at the alpha, "I'm about to file a complaint."
The wolves charged.
Ren didn't push. He didn't compress.
He pulled.
He grabbed the heavy, swaying light fixture hanging above the wolves. He wrapped his will around the rusted chain and yanked down with everything he had left.
SCREEE-SNAP.
The chain broke.
The massive caged light, heavy with iron and glass, plummeted.
CRASH.
It smashed directly onto the pack. Glass exploded. Sparks showered the bleachers. The heavy iron cage pinned the paper beasts to the stairs, crushing them under raw, physical weight.
They thrashed and tore, but the iron held.
Ren fell to his knees, exhausted.
The PA system chimed.
"Creative problem solving accepted. Minimal mana expenditure noted."
The bell rang.
RIIING.
It was the most beautiful sound Ren had ever heard.
The door at the top of the bleachers clicked open. Light—real, fluorescent hallway light—spilled in.
"Class dismissed," Ren whispered.
He grabbed Evan's fading arm. "Come on. We're leaving."
Evan looked at the door, then at Ren. "I can't. I don't have a pass."
"I am the pass," Ren said, his voice hard.
He hauled Evan up. Together, they limped toward the light.
Ren didn't look back at the crushed wolves. He didn't check his shadow.
He just walked out of detention, dragging a ghost back into the world of the living.