The Bullied Prodigy

CHAPTER NINE

I could barely sleep. I lket wondering who sent the money and his they knew that I needed it. I shove my phone that kept making a funny sound in my face..

Ever since I left the grand hall of Crestwood. It has been tons of messages and friend request.

Most of the students wanted to know who I really am. Who my parents were? Amd most importantly why I had been hiding the fact that I was rich.

But the truth was that, I wasn't.

I was just some street rat whose blood was collected to be tested if I was the real deal.

My mind flashed back as I remembered what he said.

Was I the lost long kid afterall?

Or did he just took pity on me and sent me the money?

No one sends that amount of money except if only...I couldn't think strait.

I looked at my phone and saw the student forum had been blowned up with losts of pictures and video about what happened that day.

But why did Cindy bet on me?

Did she know something that I didn't?

Cindy was one of the richest kids in the school. Jordan wanted her but now, I think I was able to get her attention.

I dropped my phone to the table and walked to my grandmother's room. I drew the dulve over and patted her on her back.

She has been trying to know where the money came from but I had to be sure. " Good night, Grandma." I said slowly walking back to my bed.

I laid gently and shut my eyes.

I can't even think of what the following day would be like.

******************************************************************

I woke up and I saw a grand limousine car parked right in front of the house. Some bunch of men came down to the door and immediately grabbed my bagpack the moment I was out.

" Good morning, Master Eli." they bowed before opening the door. My grandmother looked at me.

I don't know if she understands or she was scared of what was happening. " I will explain when I get back." I said walking into the familiar car.

Not my rusty bicycle this time—but a sleek black.

Not yet.

Because when you’re offered power, you don’t ask why.

You learn how to use it.

The driver nodded as I stepped out. Crestwood’s massive gates loomed ahead, but this time, I didn’t feel small.

I adjusted my uniform blazer—tailored perfectly, a gift that had arrived in a box with no name but a card inside:

> “Presentation matters. - M.D.”

I stepped onto campus and the whispers began.

“Is that Eli Turner?”

“He looks... different.”

“That jacket? That’s not school-issued.”

“No way that’s the same guy from yesterday.”

Eyes followed me everywhere. And this time, they weren’t mocking. They weren’t full of pity. No—they were cautious. Measuring.

It was intoxicating.

I passed the main courtyard where just yesterday I’d been publicly humiliated. Now the same students who had bet ten grand I’d fail parted for me like I was royalty.

At the base of the stairs stood Jordan.

His eyes narrowed the moment he saw me. His lips twisted. He looked like he hadn’t slept. Dark circles clung under his eyes, and the bruise on his jaw was a blooming shadow that hadn’t faded.

“Enjoy your charity while it lasts,” he said, stepping into my path.

I didn’t even stop.

“I am,” I said simply, brushing past him.

The words hit him like a slap. But he didn’t follow. Not this time.

Because kings don’t chase after pawns.

Inside the main building, Dean Collings was already waiting.

“Mr. Turner,” he said, voice clipped. “Please follow me.”

Some students froze. Others exchanged looks. I could feel the weight of their curiosity pressing against my back as I followed him to the administrative wing. The last time I was here, they were discussing cutting my scholarship. The smell of waxed floors and expensive coffee was the same—but I wasn’t.

He led me into a glass-walled room where two other people waited: the finance director and Headmistress Lynn herself.

“Please, sit,” she said.

I did.

She laced her fingers. “You made quite the scene yesterday.”

“I was left with little choice.”

“Perhaps. But a hundred-thousand-dollar anonymous donation? That raises eyebrows.”

I nodded. “And?”

“We are more than happy I have you in our midst. Mr Eli turner."

“Pleasure is all mine."

She stared at me a moment longer, then exhaled. “Well, the transaction is clean. Money came from a verified trust. We’ve updated your status—no longer on scholarship. Full donor benefits apply.”

“Meaning?”

“Elite Hall access. VIP event invites. Boardroom luncheons. You’re officially a top-tier benefactor’s ward now, Mr. Turner.”

She stood. “You’ve risen high. I hope you’re ready for what that means.”

I smiled. “I’ve been ready my whole life.”

Third period was where the shockwaves truly hit.

Advanced Strategic Logic—a class filled with Crestwood’s brightest minds. Or at least, the wealthiest. Jordan’s favorite class. His personal stage.

Until today.

I walked in five minutes late.

Every eye turned. Even the teacher paused mid-sentence.

“Mr. Turner. You’re late.”

“Fashionably,” I said, heading to the back of the class—straight to the raised Elite Platform seats.

Normally, those seats were roped off. Today, there was a single plaque with my name: E. Turner.

Jordan’s mouth parted like he couldn’t believe it.

“Is this a joke?” he barked. “That’s the Elite section!”

I sat, crossed my legs, and smiled. “Talk to the finance office.”

A girl to my right—same one who bet for me yesterday—smirked. “I like this new version of you.”

“Same brain,” I said. “New budget.”

The teacher cleared his throat, clearly unsure of what to do. “Let’s begin.”

But no one was listening. Not really.

Because the balance had shifted.

And everyone felt it.

At lunch, it exploded.

The Crestwood cafeteria was divided by design. First-years on one side. Athletes and art kids in the middle. And at the far end—behind gold velvet ropes—sat the Elites. Politicians’ sons. Business heirs. Trust-fund legends.

No scholarship kid had ever stepped foot past that boundary.

Until now.

I approached slowly. A hush fell. Forks paused. Conversations froze.

The security guard—Paul, I remembered his name—stepped in front of me.

“You don’t have clearance for this area, son.”

I pulled out my school ID. Attached to it was a new tag: Donor Access Level: Gold.

He scanned it.

It beeped.

Green.

He stepped aside. “My apologies, sir.”

I walked in.

The table was long, polished wood. Silk runners. Real glassware. Food I hadn’t even seen on the regular menu.

I chose a seat directly across from Jordan.

He choked on his water. “You don’t belong here.”

“You don’t get to decide that anymore.”

“You think sitting here makes you one of us?”

“No,” I said calmly. “It makes me above you.”

Laughter broke out. One of the Elites, a tall girl with silver hoops and perfect posture, raised her glass.

“To the new king of Crestwood,” she said.

I raised mine. “Long may he reign.”

After school, I lingered by the main gate. The black town car was waiting—but I didn’t leave immediately.

Instead, I walked to the far end of the field.

Where she was waiting.

The girl from yesterday. The one who bet on me.

She stood under a tree, her hands in her pockets, eyes hidden behind dark glasses.

“You knew,” I said quietly.

She tilted her head. “Knew what?”

“That the money would come.”

She didn’t answer.

Instead, she pulled out a sleek card. Black and silver. A name embossed in cursive on the back: Veritas Group.

“What’s this?”

“Your new future. That man who gave you the money? M.D."

I stared. “What do they want from me?”

“You’ll find out. Soon.”

I turned the card in my hand. “Why me?”

“Because power always finds its next vessel.”

And just like that, she walked away.

That night, I sat at my desk, staring at the card. My grandmother was asleep. The house was quiet. But I wasn’t at peace.

My phone buzzed again.

And what I saw made me open my eyes in awe.