THE classroom was chaotic. The buzzing sound of exhilarating students who hoped to excel or stay at the ranking gossips among each other, some are terrified, biting their nails, sweat dripping on their foreheads; silently praying to stay at their ranking or some just want to have a passing mark or else their fate will be served at their doorsteps: to take the heinous subject again and face the wrath of their parents. 

Some of them even started to do the sign of the cross as the ever frowning face of Mrs. Fhart, their homeroom teacher, and major scanned on her laptop. 

Any moment from now, the devil would call their names and they'll know their verdict. The punishment of not studying is whipping them hard. Should they just study and refrain from procrastinating, maybe their fates would be good. 

Apart from the frantic students are the students who don't care much, unresponsive to the commotion, doing their businesses; browsing over their social media accounts, playing music, casually conversing with one another, and even sleeping. 

Maybe they already accepted their fate, they just don't give a damn or they knew they did well. 

A student sitting in the back, near the curtained window, is one of those students. This particular man wore the standard school uniform: long-sleeved polo shirt, unbuttoned revealing his black shirt and a black pants—a perfect outfit color for the gloomy atmosphere of the classroom as if someone will be dead any minute but in contrast to the mood, this man's face registered no panic or terror as his eyes painted with pure determination as he goes over his notes, notes unconnected to his course but for his writing hobby and passion. 

Mumbling, his hands started to scribe his ideas on the pages for his fifteenth chapter. He joined his idea about a girl transforming plus the detective to create a new plot. 

He seems unperturbed even if his teacher started calling them one by one. 

"Rivera, Carlito Martin. . ." his teacher announced his nervous classmate's name but he just sat there, like someone who has his own world. 

Smiling smugly, he remembered how he was convinced—no, threatened his aunt to leave his home so that he could start writing again without a nuisance. It's hard to cook a plan to scare a person that looks more menacing and scary than an actual ghost. But he succeeded anyway. 

His aunt, who's deeply annoyed with cats , was chased away by a fake giant cat he made out of cardboard boxes, feathers, some spray paint, and latex gloves. He still remembers her sorry face as she frantically ran away, telling his house was haunted and even went overboard and called a priest to "exorcise" it. 

Suppressing his laughter, he covered his mouth with his hands and lightly stomped the floor. His classmates shake their heads as they stare at him like he's some sort of a lunatic or he's one of those psychotic killers circulating in the town. 

He knew that he shouldn't enjoy this, but revenge is indeed sweet but anyways. . .

He went over the next page and started to write the first draft of the fifteenth chapter. 

"It's really hard to develop a character when you can't develop yourself. " Stopping from writing, he rubbed his chin and started to think how his character, Willow, would react and change as she found out that her teacher, Mr. Oxford is the one who nearly killed her and he's one of Dr. Posh's evil underlings. 

How would someone react to a betrayal? 

If he was Willow, he'd just cry and do nothing. But Mr. So once said, "What the fuck is this trash? Do not create weaklings just like you! They can cry but they must move whether to improve or be their worst but not cower! " 

If there's anything positive Mr. So contributed to his life, it's this quote from him. 

Sighing, he wrote, "Willow, hurt because of her teacher's betrayal, started to become a more merciless foe to her enemies and shows no remorse that she had already forgotten why she became a magical girl detective, to solve crimes and give justice, not for revenge. " Stopping again, he slumped on his chair and messed up his already messy raven hair. 

"Should I consult Mr.So after this? " whispering to himself, he tapped his fingers continuously on his desk, contemplating whether he'll go to his agent or not. 

He got a coin in his pocket and decided to toss it to decide; heads if go, tails if not. As he was about to toss, an ear screeching voice entered his ears. 

"CARSON, ANTHONY ISSAIAH T! "

The voice of his teacher echoed in his ear, due to shock and panic he stood up and placed his right hand upward, signaling a present. "Yes ma'am! " 

His classmates started to laugh at his antics. 

He stood there, unresponsive despite him being a clown again. His teacher shook her head and smiled. 

"You're busy again with your novel? You can do it later but for now, I want to congratulate you on staying at top 1 with straight 1.00 grades, keep it up!" Clapping her hands, Anthony's lips formed a smile. 

If his classmates are the spawn of the devil, his teacher is the complete opposite. 

He could sense the envious stares from his classmates and he knew they were already talking about him behind his back. 

He smiled, even more, taunting them. "Thanks, ma'am. "

He felt his heart jump in pure bliss because of him being on top again. He's sure his sister would be very happy. With this, this is his redemption and path to his dreams. 

He tossed the coin as he grinned. It stopped at heads. "Guess, I'll go too. " He sat on his chair and continued writing, unaffected by the stares of hate from everyone who thought he's a clown.