William had been kneeling on the ground, wailing theatrically without shedding a single real tear. When he finally accepted that the infuriating short president wasn't going to budge — not even a crack in her expression, not a single word of concession — he gave up the act entirely.
He shoved his way through the crowd of onlookers, shot a long, venomous glare at Maya's retreating back, then stalked wordlessly through the school gate.
Maya, her back already turned, could sense that stare perfectly well. She didn't care. Did William Baker seriously think he'd dare come after her again? Please. Two years ago — when Maya was barely ten — she'd made the fourteen-year-old brute cry using nothing but speed, agility, and sharp eyes. Back then she only knew her family's throwing technique, and even that had been enough to toy with William like he was a clumsy bear. Now, with chakra behind her, she could take him head-on without blinking.
After the bag check, Student Council President Maya didn't bother going to class. Her credits were already more than enough to graduate from eighth grade.
The student council didn't have much for her to do either — especially in this final semester before graduation. She'd long since handed most of the day-to-day tasks to the more ambitious junior officers.
Every year Maya had been at this school, she'd won the student council presidency by a landslide — no effort required. But next semester, those same junior officers would be competing against each other for her spot.
For now, President Maya settled into a chair in the library and opened the latest issues of Science and Nature, which had just arrived. This week's Science featured a cover photo of a devastatingly handsome young man with a smug grin. If his name hadn't been printed in large letters beside him — Tony Stark — anyone who'd just arrived in this world wouldn't have believed this baby-faced playboy could become the future Iron Man.
And yes, young Tony was genuinely good-looking. Maya felt a pang — not attraction, exactly, more like envy. Not only was he absurdly handsome and swimming in talent and money, but most importantly: he was a man. A man.
She had just gotten absorbed in Stark's paper — "Analysis of the Feasibility of Miniaturizing Chain Reaction Systems" — when Nana, a chubby girl about 170 cm tall, jogged up to her side and said breathlessly, "President! Something's wrong — something happened!"
Maya looked up, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. "Nana. Weren't you prepping for the spring sports festival? What could possibly be that serious?"
Nana's expression grew urgent. "It's not about the sports festival — it's Matthew! Matthew!!"
Maya rolled her large green eyes. "Matthew who?"
"Maya!" Nana looked personally offended. "I've told you I like Matthew — I've pointed him out to you multiple times! And now you're saying you don't know who he is? So I really don't matter to you at all, do I?!" She turned her head away in a huff.
Maya pressed a hand to her temple and thought for a moment. "Oh — is that the pale redheaded kid who's always getting pushed around?"
Nana forgot to stay upset. "Matthew is bright and handsome, and he's on the baseball team, and his grades are great — how is he a pushover?!"
"Every time I've seen him, someone was bullying him," Maya said flatly. "You've had to use the student council's name to bail him out more than once. A guy who can't even defend himself — I honestly don't see what you like about him."
"Matthew's dad is a boxer, and Matthew trains too — he just doesn't believe in using violence unless he has to—"
"Whatever, I don't care about Matthew's philosophy." Maya cut her off. "You ran all the way here — what happened? Did you try to confess and it went badly?"
"C-confess?! Oh my God, that's so embarrassing! No! It's — Matthew hasn't come to school in a week!"
"Have you called his house?"
"Yes. No one picked up. I'm really worried. Can you come with me to check on him after school?"
"Mm." Maya rested her chin on her left hand, her slender fingers tapping lightly on the table.
"Alright — we'll conduct an official student council home visit for Matthew Murdock."
She'd thought it over. By every account she could remember, Matthew cared deeply about school. He had good grades. He wouldn't miss a week without so much as a note unless something had gone seriously wrong. Whether as student council president or as Nana's best friend, Maya decided this was worth looking into.
Back in the council office, she logged the home visit to Matthew Murdock in the student council logbook.
They ate lunch in the school cafeteria, then skipped the afternoon extracurriculars entirely and headed out of the school gates. Matthew's place was also in Hell's Kitchen — just on the opposite end from Maya's. Her family was up north, near the Hudson River; Matthew lived south, closer to inner Manhattan.
The reason Maya didn't wait for the afternoon school bus was simple: as a Hell's Kitchen local, she knew better. This neighborhood was two completely different places depending on the time of day. In daylight you could almost convince yourself you were in a normal New York City borough. After dark, you understood exactly why New York had another name — Gotham. It was a nickname, like "the Big Apple" — and the Hell's Kitchen nights made that meaning very clear.
Maya led Nana through the streets, ignoring every unfriendly stare that followed them. She wore her student council president badge on her chest like a shield and went building by building, checking apartment numbers. It took a while, but they eventually found Matthew's door in a crumbling old tenement with peeling walls.
Maya watched Nana bolt toward the door with barely-contained excitement, and her expression shifted — thoughtful, almost careful.
Knock knock knock. Nothing. Nana knocked again, harder. BANG BANG BANG.
"Nana. Stop. Someone's coming."
Maya had already sensed it — the moment Nana first knocked, someone had slowly climbed out of bed and started shuffling toward the front door.
The door opened.
"Matthew — what happened to your eyes?! What happened?!" Nana's voice broke immediately, eyes already red.
Matthew looked awful. His thick red hair was a matted, greasy, unwashed mess. Both eyes were wrapped in bandages that had gone yellow-brown with old stains. His cheeks were hollow, his face the color of wax, his lips bloodless. Over his clearly-unwashed pajamas he'd thrown on a leather jacket with fraying cuffs.
"Who... who are you?" Matthew's voice came out hoarse, confused.
"Matthew, it's me — it's Nana! We've met, remember — that time you were—"