Every head turned to the sound of the door. Two boys were confidently dragging a body into the chapel. His face, bloodied sand bruised—probably from the chase—made the students shiver in fear. An example of when someone takes it too far.
Father Jacob looked on as they slumped him down before him. He looked at him with a pitiful gaze, then attended to the audience who were very quiet.
"Kids, this is an example of taking things too far. This is Boris-Fritz Williams, or as a lot of people like to call him, 'Bo'."
Almost everyone knew Bo, a big, burly ginger boy who was unconcerned about anyone or anything. There was even a legend that he nearly hit the Archbishop once simply for telling him off about talking to the nuns suggestively.
"Hmmph. Should've seen it coming, brat," one of the Fathers muttered gruffly.
Bo—still alive, by the way—looked up at Father Jacob, grinning from ear-to-ear even as blood oozed out of his nose.
"The cleaner enjoyed it, though. Heh. Should've seen the look on your faces when you caught us—"
Bo was suddenly cut off when a hand connected to his cheek, the sound of the slap echoing in the room. Gasps followed, then murmurs. Everyone was locked in to see where this goes next.
"Shut up," Father Jacob said coldly, "Unless you want to go back to the slums."
Bo went quiet after that. Even the boy was taken aback by his cold tone.
The Archbishop stood up. "Jacob, that's enough. He's already hurt. No need to hurt him more."
Father Jacob looked at him, frowning. After some time, he let out a scoff of exasperation and stood back, allowing him to take over. The Archbishop looked at Bo, his face contorting in shame and disappointment.
"You have failed me, Bo. All the times I've caught you, all the advice I've given you, and for what? For you to fuck a cleaner? Is that it?"
Bo struggled to get up, clutching his arm as he did so. From the corner, the boy winced as he let out pained sounds. He was starting to feel sorry for him, even after he'd beaten him to something he hasn't done yet.
"I just want to live a little. Ever thought of that? Huh?"
The Archbishop shook his head, clearly annoyed by his stubbornness.
"Oh, you will live, alright. You'll live while you clean all the bathrooms and prune the hedges when you recover."
Bo's face went pale. The cold response from him gave him the clear message that he's beyond cooked. His face contorted into fear, rage, and finally, reluctant acceptance. He went down in a bow, and his voice was quiet, devoid of the defiant edge in his tone.
"Y-y-yes, Archbishop," he muttered, his arm throbbing in pain.
He nodded, then gestured for the two boys to take him away. They obeyed, whisking him away to the infirmary, amidst the pained looks and quiet murmurs from the student body.
"Okay... so now that's settled, let's continue, shall we?," he asked the students.
"Yes, Father," they responded curtly.
"Good," he replied, then continued, "St. Louis Monastery is not only a place for us Fathers and Nuns, it's also a school for you all, for you to learn the way of life of a Catholic. We hope you'll all cooperate and help us accomplish this mission of producing the finest priests and nuns, will you?"
"Yes, Father!," they boomed in response.
"Good," he replied. "Now... let's really begin."
...
After the orientation, he found himself at a corner of the place, his head leaning against a wall. There was nothing to do in the monastery other than to just sit there and wait for something, anything to happen. But he was there, like a decaying chicken, with no one to attend to.
And also, the monastery was boring as hell! Internally, he wished the ban on relationships were lifted. That could've made a turnaround in his gloomy, depressing life, but living in these four walls proved to him that a church is more depressing than a funeral. And he had no way out for three more years, according to Father Jacob.
He also tried to make friends. That was another mistake he made. Once, he tried talking to someone, and he suddenly paled and ran away. The other one was a bully, stuffing another boy in a garbage can. The moment their eyes met, he, too, did same as the previous student.
'Another arrow to the knee,' he thought.
Now, there he was, regretting every decision he's made till now.
That was until...
His ears suddenly caught the sound of shouts and cheers in the distance. His legs were feeling lazy, but breaking all limits he's made on himself, he got up and walked to the source of the noise.
What he saw when he reached there was a spectacle. Two boys were in the middle of a makeshift arena, fighting their hearts out. Students surrounding them, cheered them on, shouting and ululating. No Father, no hall monitor to find this wannabe Fight Club, and the boy was secretly enjoying this, although his face gave nothing away.
"Hey... what's happening?", he asked one student, who was holding a girl from behind, enjoying the show.
"Oh, this? These fuckers are fighting to check who's supreme," he replied.
"Babe, that's not true. They're fighting over a girl," the girl corrected him.
Wait, a girl?!
"Heh. Fight Club type shit," another boy said, "Who knows the first rule?"
They all responded, "We do not talk about Fight Club."
"Heh. That's right," he replied with a grin.
The two boys looked like they weren't stopping anytime soon. One tried to land a punch, but the other one was quick, countering with a fist to the belly. He staggered back, but regained his composure and rebounded with a kick. The big luckily caught his leg and jabbed his kneecap, making him howl in pain as he hopped on one foot.
"You... bastard!"
He tried lunging forward again, but the other boy took the advantage and collided with him, pushing him to the ground. Grabbing his collar, his face shone with victory as he was about to land the final blow.
"Any last words, Beck?", he asked with a sharp grin.
"Piss off," the boy—Beck—hissed, spitting on his face. That angered the boy, and was about to punch him when a cold voice spoke amidst the noise:
"Enough."