Scars before his crown

Chapter Five

The words hit Lewis like a tidal wave, leaving him shocked and struggling to breathe, and the jeers from his classmates only made the pain worse.

“Expelled? Finally!”

“Maybe now he’ll learn how to behave.”

Desperation etched on Lewis’s face as he pleaded, “Please, Mrs. Anita, I know I was late, but we have a test soon. If I miss this class, I’ll fail.”

But Mrs. Anita didn’t budge. Her face stayed firm. “I’ve made my decision, Lewis. You’ve caused enough trouble in this class.”

“Mrs. Anita, please, I’m begging you. I can’t afford to fail this test. I’ll do anything to make up for being late,” Lewis said, his voice shaking.

But Mrs. Anita stayed firm. “Your actions have consequences, Lewis. My decision stands.”

“I swear I won’t be late again,” he pleaded. “Just give me one more chance. Please.”

But Mrs. Anita didn’t budge. “Leave the class, Lewis,” she said firmly.

Seeing that his begging wasn’t working, Lewis became more desperate. “Please, Madam Anita, I’ll do anything. Give me any punishment, just don’t send me out.”

With an angry sigh, Mrs. Anita had enough. She grabbed him by the collar and started dragging him toward the door. Lewis resisted, but he knew there was nothing he could do.

The door closed behind Lewis. He stood outside, looking hurt and upset.

As students walked by, he heard a group of girls whispering.

"Hey, isn’t that the guy from last night?"

The other girl nodded, frowning. "Yeah, that’s him. So shameless.”

“It looks like he got thrown out of class,” the third girl said with a smirk. The others laughed.

Lewis shook his head and muttered, “It’s just because I’m poor. They treat me like I did something wrong. Since I’ve been kicked out anyway, I might as well leave and find a part-time job—maybe I can make a little money.”

With that thought, he left the campus and flagged down a taxi. When he got out, he went straight to a restaurant, hoping to find a part-time job. But the moment they saw his worn-out clothes, they turned him away.

For hours, Lewis walked from one place to another, seeking for work—any work at all. But no one gave him a chance.

His shirt was soaked with sweat, and his shoes were covered in dust. With the last of his change, he bought a slice of bread and kept moving. As the sun dipped low and the sky began to darken, he let out a heavy sigh.

“I’ve been walking since morning and still found nothing. Will life ever get better for me?” he muttered to himself. “Now that I’m broke, I need to hurry back to the dorm before they lock it,” he said, walking into Liberty Street.

Lewis had been walking for about an hour when a car suddenly pulled up beside him and stopped. The door opened, and five rough-looking guys got out. Some were smoking as they surrounded him.

With a worried frown, Lewis asked, “What’s going on? Who are you?”

One of the men blew smoke in his face and asked, “You’re Lewis Reynolds, right?”

Lewis nodded, his brow furrowing. "Yes, I am. What's going on?”

Without saying a word, the man raised his hand, ready to hit him.

In an instant, Lewis grabbed the man’s wrist and, with a quick move, and landed the first punch.

Bang!"

"What's going on? Who are you people?" Lewis demanded.

"Agh!" The man let out a guttural cry, spitting out a mix of saliva and blood as his cigarette dropped to the ground.

"You dare hit me?" he yelled.

Still frowning, Lewis shot back, "You were about to hit me, and I..."

Before he could finish, a blow from behind knocked him off balance. Surprised, he stumbled and fell. The assailants wasted no time, kicking him again and again, each blow made the pain worse.

Weak and in pain, Lewis winced, feeling his strength fade. They kept beating him relentlessly.

Finally, one of the men bent down, his voice a malicious whisper in Lewis's ear. "Next time, be careful when touching Larry Martin."

It was clear now—Larry had sent these men to get back at Lewis for the fight the day before.

Lewis, shocked and barely able to move, tried to speak, but all that came out was a cough of blood. His body felt weaker with every passing second. The men quickly retreated to their cars and sped off, leaving him alone in the street.

"Ah, God help me," Lewis groaned, still lying on the ground, wincing in pain. He reached for his phone, which was cracked and lying beside him. Slowly, he managed to get up, wiping the blood from his mouth. His movements were shaky, swaying as he tried to walk.

Suddenly, his phone began ringing. The cracked screen made it hard to see who was calling, but he didn’t care. With a sigh, he declined the call.

The phone rang again, and this time, Lewis's pateince snapped. "Who keeps calling me over and over?" he thought angrily. Without checking, he turned the phone off and shoved it into his pocket, continuing to walk.

His vision was blurry, and he felt both hungry and weak. As he neared the crosswalk to the next junction, a car sped toward him, swerving dangerously close. The driver slammed on the brakes just in time, but the car still touched him slightly.

Lewis was so weak that even though the car barely touched him, he fell to the ground. His vision blurred, and soon, everything went black.

The door of a sleek Bugatti Chiron opened, and a woman in her 40s stepped out. She looked well-kept and elegant, with a gold necklace that screamed wealth.

Two bodyguards followed her out of another car, quickly rushing toward Lewis. The driver, a man in his 30s, also stepped out and jogged toward them.

Seeing Lewis on the ground with bloodstains on his shirt, the woman panicked a bit. She turned angrily toward the driver.

"Couldn't you see the road? You hit someone! Do you want to cause me problems?"

"I'm sorry, madam," he stammered. "He crossed the road, but I don’t think I hit him. It was just a scratch."

"You..." The woman gritted her teeth in frustration. She turned to the two bodyguards. "Quickly, get him inside. You, hurry and drive us home.”