Chapter 9: Drama, Detention, and the D-Cup Disaster
Leon POV
Day 4 after the Great Harem Ambush.
Status: Emotionally compromised.
Mental health: Held together by sarcasm and cafeteria fries.
Current objective: Survive until 3:15 without committing social seppuku.
I thought signing the H.A.R.E.M. Charter would give me peace. Clarity. Maybe even a moment to breathe.
Spoiler alert: It didn't.
MJ's clinging to me like we've been married since preschool, Gwen keeps giving me that "you owe me everything" look, and Felicia—oh, Felicia—is whispering things that would make a demon blush. Liz? She's just here for the memes. I think. I hope.
But just when I thought things couldn't get worse…
A new girl transferred in.
Taller than me. Cooler than me. Probably has emotional stability and a skincare routine that doesn't involve sobbing in the shower.
And she's sitting next to me. Right now.
God help me if one more girl starts calling dibs, because my emotional hard drive is already full—and the next backup is scheduled never.
Also, Xander's plotting something. I can feel it in my overexposed protagonist aura.
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Hey guys... Leon here. I know I shouldn't be doing this, but let's just pray
Author Daddy doesn't see this.
I'm proud to announce the official start of the damn arc begins tomorrow. There's a few speculation of him taking away my Ballz and turning my character into an emotionless simp who secretly perverts for girl... Eww, I want women!
MILFS! GILFS!!
No room for discussion. Help me relay this information to him if you really love seeing me suffer more than to see me spend my life in enteral caves of pleasure.
*AHEM!* I had to pour my heart out here... Sorry, continue with the story.
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7:59 AM. Homeroom.
My plan was simple.
Step 1: Sit in the back.
Step 2: Hoodie up.
Step 3: Radiate "leave me alone" energy like a depressed cryptid.
Step 4: Avoid eye contact with all known harpies—I mean, girlfriends—I mean, threats—I mean, ladies.
Step 5: Survive.
So naturally, life decided to slap me in the face with a plot twist.
She walked in with a transfer slip and the kind of energy that screamed main character entrance. Long legs, black leather jacket, silver chain swinging from her hip, and eyes that scanned the room like she was picking targets in a battle royale.
She looked like she walked straight out of a Nectar Dating Show—with me being one of those NPC's battling for her approval—and I wasn't ready.
"Class," Mr. Harper said without looking up from his crossword. "This is our new student. Introduce yourself, new student."
The girl gave the room a once-over. Paused when her eyes met mine.
I panicked and looked at my pencil case like it held the secrets of the universe.
"Name's Roxy Night. I transferred from New York. Please don't talk to me unless you're hot or tragic."
The class collectively gasped. A few boys fell in love. One girl choked on her gum. I died a little.
Then, she walked.
No—strutted. Like a succubus ready to devour the less of heart.
Right to the empty seat next to me.
Not next to the window. Not near the jocks. Not near the other girls.
Next. To. Me.
"Yo," she said, dropping her bag with a thud that sounded like a death sentence. "You look tragic enough. What's your name?"
I blinked. "Uhh… I… uhh…"
"Leon," MJ said from ACROSS the room, her voice sweet like poisoned honey. "His name's Leon. My boyfriend, Leon."
Gwen looked up from her book with the calm intensity of a mafia boss deciding who gets to live.
Felicia smirked. "I give her a week before she joins the roster."
Liz, sipping her iced latte like a gossip columnist, muttered, "Plot development spotted." of course she gets to break the fourth wall with no repercussions.
Roxy glanced around, unimpressed. "Harem, huh?" She smirked. "Cute."
She turned to me again. "So, Tragic Leon. You gonna share your notes or just keep sweating?"
"I—uh—I don't even take notes, I'm not sweat! Your sweating!" I managed to stare her down in the eyes. Butt clenched like I was in a soccer penalty match_as the goalkeeper.
"Good. I hate nerds," she said, sliding her chair an inch closer. "You've got sad boy energy. I like that."
Damn... Not even a minute and she's spitting fire!
Instead, the bell rang.
And this was only first period.
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Totally uneventful Time skip (A few Crushing hours later)
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Still Chapter 9: But Now with Extra Servings Of Bitchiness
Leon POV
12:02 PM. Cafeteria.
By now, I'd accepted the fact that life had me on some kind of reality show. Maybe it was called "Pity the Protagonist", or "How Fast Can We Ruin This Boy's Reputation?" "Or maybe Too Hot To Handle!" Ha! Get it?
I just wanted to sit, eat my depression fries, and not get emotionally interrogated.
But nope. Today's special? Explosive jealousy with a side of leather and lipgloss.
I sat at the VIP table. MJ, Gwen, Felicia, and Liz had already claimed the best seats like they were queens of a petty kingdom. Gwen was poking at her salad like it owed her money. MJ was filing her nails aggressively. Felicia had her feet up on the table like a mob boss in leggings. Liz was doing a live commentary for TikTok.
I took my tray and said a prayer to whatever gods governing high school drama.
"Ladies," I greeted, voice stern like a substitute teacher. Outside, I struggled to maintain a blank expression, but fuck was I doing parkour inside.
Then the music stopped.
Not metaphorically.
The school's Spotify playlist literally cut out mid-"bad bitch anthem by the Mary Janes" as the doors opened.
Roxy.
She walked in like she was late to a knife fight and didn't care who she cut.
Heads turned. Jaws dropped. A freshman straight-up fainted.
She made a beeline for our table and—before I could yell "DANGER ZONE"—she dropped her tray beside mine and sat down like she belonged.
"Yo. Hope y'all don't mind," she said, biting into an apple like it was someone's soul.
The entire table tensed like I brought a grenade to a tea party.
MJ leaned in, smiling like she was about to bite someone's throat out. "You're awfully comfortable for someone who doesn't go here."
"I do now. Tragic Boy here's my emotional support emo."
I choked on my juice. Since when do I become a supporting cast?
Felicia narrowed her eyes. "Cute. And how long have you known Tragic Boy?"
"Long enough to know he flinches every time a girl raises her eyebrow. Like this—" She lifted one brow. I blankly stared her down. You really thought I'd flinch from a look?
Think again!
Gwen sipped her water without blinking. "Interesting. Do you also know he cried during YOU?"
"That series was traumatic," I muttered.
Liz chimed in. "So what are you? Goth-lite? Punk alpha? Or just allergic to boundaries?"
Roxy smiled like she'd been waiting for that. "I'm the new chapter. You must be the insecure footnotes."
OH SHIT
The table went nuclear.
MJ stood. Gwen's jaw tensed. Felicia cracked her knuckles. Liz started filming in horizontal mode—this was serious.
"You do know he's taken, right?" MJ said sweetly, like a rose hiding a switchblade.
Roxy leaned into me. "Taken? Or surrounded?"
I was melting. This gurl was really spitting fire!! I'm not even sure if she's a heroine or not!
Then the final nail in the coffin—Roxy licked her spoon, tossed her hair, and winked at me.
"I like my boys complicated. And tragic. And maybe a little broken."
MJ: cracks neck
Gwen: loads sarcasm
Felicia: activates claws
Liz: hits record
Me: "Can I go home now?"
....
I don't remember who threw the first tater tot.
Maybe it was Gwen—her glare had reached nuclear levels.
Maybe it was MJ—she was gripping her fork like a dagger.
Or maybe it was Felicia—she did mention earlier she "lives for catfights and condiments."
But what I do remember... is this:
SPLAT.
Something creamy and suspiciously mayonnaise-based hit Felicia's chest. STRIKE!
She froze.
Roxy blinked.
"…Was that a weaponized egg salad?" she asked calmly.
Felicia stood. "Bitch. You just made me smell like expired Subway."
MJ was next. She launched a chicken nugget with Olympic precision—direct hit on Roxy's forehead.
Gwen grabbed a tray. "Defensive maneuver: Pastry Barrage!"
I ducked.
Too late.
A spoonful of mashed potatoes ricocheted off my face and hit Liz in the eye.
"MY LASHES!" Liz screamed.
And then the world burned.
Ketchup rained from the heavens.
Breadsticks flew like javelins.
Someone weaponized chocolate milk.
Someone else yelled, "FOR ASGARD!" and hurled a whole meatloaf.
Cafeteria status:
Trays = shields
Napkins = flags of surrender
Me = crawling under a table, begging the universe to take me back to bed. I can't take any hit from the souring mash potato abomination!
I saw Xander across the room, ducking behind a soda machine. "We're not done, Walter!" he shouted.
"NOW is not the time!" I yelled, dodging a yogurt grenade.
Coach Rodriguez ran in, blew his whistle so hard it snapped in half, and bellowed like a war general.
"EVERYONE! STOP!"
...Nobody did.
Until Principal Merton stormed in with two security guards and the janitor (who was crying softly).
"Everyone involved. Detention. After school. No excuses."
I opened my mouth to argue.
"Especially you, Leon Walter."
Of course.
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Cut to: Detention Room. 3:03 PM.
Room 117. Also known as Emotional Pressure Cooker HQ.
I sat at the front like a hostage. My hoodie was soaked in mystery sauces and public shame.
MJ sat two desks away, arms crossed, jaw clenched.
Gwen sat behind me, tapping her pencil loudly.
Felicia was chewing gum with murder in her eyes.
Liz was inspecting her eye makeup with a tiny mirror like she'd survived a war.
And Roxy?
Roxy looked smug.
Too smug.
Like she knew she just entered Chapter 9 and stole all the screentime.
Nobody spoke.
The tension?
Thicker than cafeteria pudding.
Then MJ broke the silence.
"So. Leon. How long have you known her?"
"Eight hours and twelve traumatic minutes," I answered instinctively.
"Cute," Gwen said flatly.
"I'm still processing the mayo trauma," Felicia muttered.
Roxy smiled sweetly. "Look, if y'all want a piece of the Sadboy Supreme, we can share. I'm very anti-monogamy."
"Don't test me," MJ snapped. "I invented possessive rage."
"Correction," Gwen added. "I did. You stole it."
"Girls," I whispered, "This feels like a horror movie where I'm the Final Girl."
Liz nodded. "You wish. You're the dumbass who dies first for having too much charisma."
They all glared at me.
I raised my hands. "Okay, listen. Let's all agree on one thing—none of this is normal. I didn't ask for this! I'm just a guy trying to survive puberty and public school!"
The room was silent again.
Then Felicia smirked. "You're lucky you're cute."
MJ rolled her eyes. "Let's make something clear. This isn't over."
Roxy raised her hand. "Do I get extra credit for starting the food war?"
Principal Merton's voice echoed from outside: "NO."
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The longest chapter I've ever written ever.
See y'all tomorrow folks!