Season 1 chapter 2
The Same Bench
The chaotic, petty energy instantly drained from Kniya's face. The argument about the leave record completely evaporated from his mind. He slowly lowered his smartphone, his eyes locked on the two boys.
"Malesh," Kniya asked quietly, his voice suddenly very still. "Can you see that?"
Malesh finally locked his phone and slipped it into his pocket. He turned his head, following Kniya's gaze across the park, watching the two boys in their school uniforms.
The cold, deadpan exhaustion on Malesh's face slowly melted away. The ambient noise of the heavy city traffic seemed to fade into the background. For the first time, a heavy, overwhelming sense of nostalgia settled into his dark eyes as he stared at the concrete bench they were sitting on.
"Kniya..." Malesh said softly, the weight of a lifetime bleeding into his voice. "It was the same bench. The one that started everything. It witnessed all of it, and everything around it changed... but the bench is still exactly the same."
The 1414 Baseline
The sleek glass buildings of the future were gone, completely replaced by heavy, soot-stained brickwork. The year was 1414.
The environment around the concrete bench was entirely different. The quiet commercial park did not exist here. Instead, the bench sat in the middle of a bustling, heavily industrialized square surrounded on all sides by imposing, blocky government offices. Across the street, directly in front of the bench, stood the massive iron gates of the KDC National Bank. The air smelled strongly of burning coal, and heavy steam-pressured cars chugged loudly down the cobblestone streets, leaving trails of dark smoke behind them.
Sitting on the exact same bench were two eleven-year-old boys in identical school uniforms.
The first boy slouched against the backrest. His uniform shirt was untucked, and his tie was loose, hanging messily around his collar.
The second boy sat rigidly straight. His uniform was flawless. His shirt was perfectly pressed, his tie was knotted with exact precision, and his standard-issue school shoes were polished well enough to reflect the dull sunlight.
The second boy stared blankly at the steam cars rolling past the bank.
"Well, you have bunked the school," he stated flatly.
The first boy crossed his arms, looking completely unbothered. "You bunked the school too. Do not try to teach me about things that you also didn't do."
"Kniya, I did it because the annual function was entirely boring," the second boy replied, his voice a perfect, exhausted monotone. "Who wants to act as a fucking woodcutter in a school play? If the administration wants to host a drama, it should be about drug smugglers. There should be a lot of gunfighting and massive blast scenes everywhere."
"Yeah, Malesh, you are really right about this," Kniya agreed, nodding slowly. "The teacher does not give a fuck about our creative ideas. He doesn't even care if we are sitting in the classroom or out here on the street."
The Economics of Drama
Malesh slowly adjusted his perfectly knotted tie.
"I think we should talk about something different," Malesh said. "I do not think we should talk about the annual function all the time. It is highly frustrating."
"Yeah," Kniya smirked. "We can talk about bribes. What do you think?"
"Bribes would be a great idea," Malesh agreed smoothly, not missing a beat. "The term 'bribe' is not very popular among kids our age, but it definitely should be. We should actively make it popular. I actually provided the teacher with a concept to write a drama about it. I told him it should be named Bribe: The Essential of Life. It would actively teach the students how they can work efficiently in government offices and get their official work done in absolutely no time."
Kniya let out a dry laugh. "That would be much better than a fucking woodcutter. I am incredibly tired of these poverty-stricken dramas."
The Lack of Structural Sense
Before they could continue their discussion on elementary school corruption, heavy footsteps echoed on the cobblestones.
Four tall, heavily built high schoolers walked up and stopped directly in front of the bench, completely blocking the view of the bank. The leader of the group, a highly arrogant senior with a smug expression, glared down at the two eleven-year-olds.
"Hey," the arrogant high schooler demanded roughly. "Move out of there. We want to pass."
Malesh didn't even flinch. He just looked up at the much taller teenager with a completely flat, emotionless expression.
"Do you have any kind of brain, or do you not?" Malesh asked mechanically. "Where exactly do you want to go? This is a literal bench. It is not a path. Do you have any kind of geographical sense? Do you want to step directly over this bench just to get to the other side? There is a literal paved walkway right next to us."
The senior sneered, stepping closer to try and intimidate them.
"I have sense, and I want to go over this bench," the older boy threatened aggressively. "So get the fuck out of here. I will pass over the bench. Don't even think about it."
Kniya and Malesh didn't look at each other. They didn't move a single muscle. Sitting perfectly still, they stared straight ahead and spoke in absolute synchronization.
"We will not move, you pig-faced idiot," they said in perfect unison.
The leader's face turned bright red. The second senior cracked his knuckles.
"You say too much," the second guy growled. "Now you are going to get beaten like shit."
"Yeah, definitely," the third guy added, stepping up beside his friends. "You are going to deeply regret what you just said."
"Definitely," the fourth guy agreed, glaring down at them. "These idiots. Kids have big mouths today. We really need to shut them up."
Kniya didn't show an ounce of fear. He stayed completely seated, his expression entirely calm, staring directly at the seniors with cold, aggressive defiance.
"Beat us if you can, you motherfuckers," Kniya challenged flatly. "You tall idiots don't even have the basic structural sense to walk around an object instead of jumping over it."
The Escalation
The leader of the towering upperclassmen completely lost whatever small amount of rationality he possessed. His face contorted, flushing a deep, furious red as the veins in his neck bulged heavily against his collar. He didn't just step forward; he lunged. His heavy, oversized hand clamped down on Kniya's loosely tied uniform collar, twisting the cheap fabric until it nearly choked him, and violently ripped the eleven-year-old right off the concrete bench.
Without a single second of hesitation, the senior pulled his arm back and drove a heavy, closed fist straight into Kniya's jaw. The sickening crack of bone against knuckles echoed sharply across the cobblestones, cutting clearly through the ambient noise of the chugging steam cars. The sheer physical force of the blow lifted Kniya off his feet, sending him crashing backward onto the hard, unforgiving street.
Before Malesh could even attempt to stand up to assist, the senior pivoted on his heavy leather boots. He swung his leg and delivered a brutal, sweeping kick directly into Malesh's stomach. All the oxygen violently left Malesh's lungs in a single gasp. He folded entirely in half, his perfectly ironed uniform crumpling as he collapsed into the dirt right next to his partner.
The Grin
The towering senior stood over them, his fists still securely clenched and his chest heaving with aggressive breaths. He looked down at the two small, defeated kids, fully expecting the natural reaction. He expected them to curl into a defensive ball. He expected the tears. He expected the desperate begging for mercy.
But that wasn't what happened.
Kniya lay flat on his back on the rough stones. He slowly turned his head and spat a thick wad of blood onto the street. He reached up, casually wiping the crimson stain from his split lip with the back of his dirt-covered hand. He slowly rolled his head to the side, looking over at Malesh.
Malesh was lying in the dirt, clutching his stomach, but his face remained entirely devoid of panic or fear. He looked back at Kniya.
In absolute, terrifying synchronization, a wide, highly arrogant, and completely unhinged grin spread across both of their bloodied faces. They weren't crying. They were highly amused.
Kniya slowly tilted his chin up to look at the furious upperclassman looming over them.
"Is that really all you got, bitch?" Kniya laughed weakly, his voice laced with pure, unfiltered mockery.
The Street Beating
That single, highly disrespectful question completely short-circuited the senior's brain.
"Get them!" he screamed at the top of his lungs.
It wasn't a fight; it was a unilateral street liquidation. All four of the heavily built upperclassmen descended on the two eleven-year-olds like a pack of rabid dogs. Heavy, thick-soled school shoes slammed directly into Kniya's ribs, making him gasp in sharp, sudden pain. Another senior grabbed Malesh by his perfectly knotted tie, dragging his upper body off the ground just to deliver two rapid, brutal punches directly to his nose before dropping him back onto the cobblestones.
They stomped on their legs. They kicked their shoulders. They delivered a massive, unregulated amount of physical damage, turning the clean school uniforms into shredded, blood-stained rags. Fresh red blood dripped onto the soot-covered stones.
Yet, through the entire horrific beating, neither Kniya nor Malesh screamed. They just took the hits, absorbing the damage with the stubborn, infuriating resilience of a bad corporate investment that simply refused to go bankrupt.