In the infamous corridors of Columbus High School, very few know the truth that brews beneath its disciplined surface. Behind the iron gates, gangs are born, deals are struck, and a million-rupee underworld thrives in silence.
Among these, one gang stands out: 80517, a faction of shadows formed by three enigmatic students. One of them, known only by the codename King, hides a man's mind inside a boy's frame.
After the Bell Rings
In the dimly lit, abandoned chemistry storeroom, three demons sat across from each other. The air was thick with tension.
The Admirals.
King, the mastermind, the architect of EL_DORADO, and the Admiral of Tech.
Whinsmoker, chaos incarnate, the Admiral of Enforcement, collector of unpaid debts, and shatterer of resistance.
Escobar, the silent switchblade, expert in smuggling and identity wipes, the Admiral of Smuggling.
They were just Class 8 minors, yet they ran an illegal empire like it was a game. Earning lakhs per month, joking between crimes, laughing over law. But above them stood one ghostly figure: the mysterious Dark, the face of the gang, its highest connection, the one worth 10 lakhs. Unseen, untouched, and unchallenged.
The three admirals were rarely serious. But now, in the silence of the storeroom, something was different. King had summoned them for an emergency.
His eyes gleamed, not normal eyes, but Trinetra, a mental force. Eyes that cut through lies, illusions, and fear.
Breaking the silence, King's voice rang low and cold:
"So listen, our gang is now fully built; we have business of 1 lakh per month, and this is possible because of our point organization."
Whinsmoker scoffed.
"And we already know this. What is the
King narrowed his eyes.
"Black Knuckles… They are continuously attacking us. But do not know about our point system currently."
Escobar grinned darkly.
"So why worry? We recently received a new stock of thread bombs. We can easily blast those rascals."
But the king raised his hand.
"No, I have a plan. Some of their members have broken into our territory, so we will go and beat them and ask them, 'Where is their leader?'
All three nodded.
The monsters were now unleashed.
One Hour Later
The alley near the school's rear wall was littered with groaning bodies.
King's fists moved like controlled detonations—fluid MMA strikes breaking jaws and ribs.
Whinsmoker's Jeet Kune Do was chaos incarnate—elbows, knees, and spinning kicks.
Escobar's systema was surgical—every motion designed to incapacitate and vanish.
Among the collapsed Class 10 thugs, one senior lay broken beneath King's foot. Blood trickled from his mouth as he looked up, shivering, into the boy's eyes.
Eyes not of rage—but of cold, ancient void.
"Your eyes, that darkness. Who are you?"
And King leaned forward, a crooked grin on his face.
"My name is King. And, Mister Intruder, if you want to go home, kindly tell me where your leader's hideout is."
"Ok, his hideout is behind the old sports room where the koi pond is; please let me go. the slayer of the worst generation," said the senior with a scared voice and wide eyes as he glared at the swambhu ring of the king.
"Oh, I almost forgot that nickname of yours," said the whinsmoker with a smile. "Who knows, maybe I will be able to forget it," King replied, "but for now let's focus on Black Knuckles." They all laughed there, but it was not hollow; that was real joy that the admirals had by being together.