Chapter 84: THE LIST

Kai returned to class with neat clothes—a clean shirt he kept in the infirmary cabinet, a tie tied with the correct knot, and shoes of the same color on both feet. His students were still smiling when he entered, but no one laughed anymore. They just stared at him with slightly raised corners of their lips, like they were storing something they would remember for a long time. Kai ignored it. He walked to the teacher’s desk, placed his textbook down, and started the class as usual.

He explained linear equations in a flat voice—writing on the blackboard with chalk that occasionally broke, erasing with measured movements, pointing at numbers with his fingertips. His nine students took notes, asked questions, and occasionally glanced toward him, like they were making sure the man in front of them was the same teacher as the man who had entered earlier with mismatched shoes. Mira wrote quickly, occasionally biting the tip of her pen. Rin tapped the desk with her fingers. Ella took notes neatly, occasionally raising her hand to ask. Luna stared at the blackboard with half-closed eyes. Nora sat upright, arms crossed over her chest. Iris smiled faintly throughout the lesson. Eve had already opened her laptop, taking notes at an impressive speed. Aria bit her nails, but her eyes were focused on the blackboard. Fay drew something in her notebook—not lesson notes, but abstract scribbles only she understood.

When the break bell rang, Kai closed his book and placed it on the desk. He walked out of the class, down the corridor that was starting to fill with students pouring out—some running to the cafeteria, some walking casually while chatting, some sitting on corridor benches reading. Kai passed them without slowing his steps. He entered the teachers’ room, placed his teaching equipment on his desk—book, attendance sheet, pen, the remaining chalk in his pocket—and turned to leave. But before he could reach the door, Leina’s voice called him from the neighboring desk.

"Mr. Kai."

Kai stopped. He turned. Leina sat at her desk with the attendance book open in front of her—its pages full of signatures and small notes—but her eyes weren’t on the book. Her eyes were on Kai. From top to bottom. With a calm but thorough gaze, like a teacher inspecting a student’s work.

"You changed clothes," Leina said. Her voice wasn’t accusing. Just observing.

"Yes," Kai answered. He stood at the threshold, with his bag on his shoulder and his hand on the door handle. "I always carry spare clothes. For emergencies." ℯℯ𝑙.

Leina nodded slightly. She closed her attendance book with measured movements and leaned back in her chair. The chair creaked softly beneath her. "You know," she said, "this morning you were supposed to be on duty with me. At the gate. From six-thirty to seven. But you didn’t come."

Kai was silent for a moment. He had prepared an excuse—a simple one, one that wouldn’t raise further questions. "I overslept," he said. "I stayed up late watching a midnight show on TV."

Leina looked at him. Her eyes didn’t blink. "Hmm," she said. Her voice showed nothing—not belief, not disbelief. Just hmm. She pointed at Kai’s hand—the hand now wrapped in a thin bandage, which he had put on himself in the infirmary earlier. "Does the wound on your hand also have something to do with staying up late?"

Kai lifted his hand briefly, stared at the bandage, then lowered it again. "That’s because I was rushing to get ready for school," he said. "I woke up late. When I was putting on my shoes, my hand hit the rack."

Leina raised her eyebrows. She opened her mouth to ask again, but Kai was faster. He stepped back toward the door and said in a calm but firm voice, "Sorry, Ms. Leina. I have matters with my students. I have to go."

He turned and walked out of the teachers’ room before Leina could say anything. He didn’t look back. He just walked quickly down the corridor, passing several students who greeted him, and stopped at the end of the corridor, near the window overlooking the school field. The field was empty. Kai stood there for a moment, placed his bag on the floor, and let out a long breath.

The class bell rang. Kai returned to the teachers’ room, grabbed his bag, and walked to class. He taught as usual until dismissal time arrived. He ended the lesson, said his farewell, and walked out of the class without waiting for his students to leave. He walked down the corridor, passed the school gate, and walked home. He didn’t run. He wasn’t in a hurry. He just walked, with his bag on his shoulder and his hand in his pocket, along the sidewalk that was starting to empty.

He arrived at his apartment when the sun was starting to set—the sky golden orange, with the shadows of trees stretching long across the asphalt. He opened the door with the worn key, and he wasn’t surprised to see Leonhard already sitting on his sofa. Legs crossed. His worn leather jacket still the same. In his hand were two cans of soda, one of which he placed on the table, on the side where Kai usually sat.

Kai closed the door. He removed his shoes and walked to the sofa. He took that can without saying thank you, because Leonhard wasn’t a guest. He sat in the chair across, opened his can, and took a gulp. He looked at Leonhard. "What did you come for?"

Leonhard took a gulp of his own drink before answering. He reached into his jacket pocket and took out a piece of paper—paper that had been folded twice, with neat handwriting. He placed it on the table, beside Kai’s can. "A list," he said.

Kai put down his can. He took the paper and unfolded it. For a moment, he didn’t move. On that paper were several names—names he recognized, names he had seen in the news, in newspapers, on television. Government officials. Members of parliament. A judge. A general. A businessman whose photo often appeared in business magazines. And below those names, there were small notes in the same ink: Present at the arena tonight.

Kai lifted his head. "Where did you get this?"

Leonhard took a gulp of his drink. "I have a spy inside that syndicate," he said. "For a long time. Before you came to this city. I’ve been gathering information to make future decisions."

Kai stared at the paper again. He read every name—slowly, with eyes moving from left to right. He recognized several guests who had been at the arena that night. The man in the suit sitting on the balcony. The woman in the red dress who left without looking back. The man who stopped placing bets in the corner of the stands. They were all on this list.

He placed the paper on the table. He took his can, took another gulp, and looked at Leonhard. "Tonight I’ll make my move."

Leonhard looked at him. "You just got in as a door guard. You don’t have access to anything yet."

"I’ll get access."

"You could get it a better way than just being a door guard."

Kai was silent. He took another gulp of his drink until his can was empty, then placed it on the table. He just sat there, silent, with his hands on his knees and his eyes staring blankly at the wall.

Leonhard waited a few seconds. But Kai didn’t say anything. Leonhard stood. He finished his drink, placed the empty can on the table, and walked to the door. He opened the door, then stopped at the threshold. He turned back—and for the first time that night, he looked at Kai with a different gaze. Not the gaze of a commander. Not the gaze of someone watching. A heavier gaze, like something he had held back for a long time.

"Kai," he said. "There’s one thing you don’t know yet."

Kai lifted his head.

Leonhard took a breath. "You remember two years ago," he said. "There was one fighter you were supposed to kill. You failed. He escaped. You said you would never forget him."

Kai looked at him. His face didn’t change. But his hand—the hand still holding the empty can—tightened slightly.

"That fighter," Leonhard continued. "He’s at the arena tonight. He’s the one running your match. Not Nolan. Nolan is just the bookmaker running the show. The one actually controlling—the one actually deciding who fights, who wins, who dies—is the man you should have killed two years ago."

Kai didn’t move. He didn’t say anything. But his eyes—usually flat, usually empty—for a moment showed something. Not anger. Not surprise. Something deeper. Something he had buried for a long time.

Leonhard didn’t wait for an answer. He closed the door softly and his footsteps disappeared down the stairs. Kai sat alone in his chair. With an empty can in his hand. With the paper on the table still folded—a list of names he had to memorize, a list of names he had to remember. And in his head, one name that wasn’t on that list—a name he had never forgotten, a name he thought was already dead—resurfaced from the deepest place.

The fighter he should have killed two years ago.