Chapter 6 : Punishment

It took everyone by surprise—shock rippled through the crowd like a sudden crack in glass. No one had seen it coming.

In MAD's long, intimidating history, the police had never been involved. Whatever darkness crept through the university’s polished walls always stayed inside—silent, unspoken. Principal Vishal Motwani had every intention of keeping it that way. He wouldn't break the tradition under his watch, at least.

The sirens were getting louder.

Panic broke out like wildfire—silent but deadly. Eyes darted across the field. The once-powerful Ruthless crew now looked like a group of students scrambling to keep their kingdom intact. They had the most to lose. And no one knew that better than Neil.

“REMOVE THE BANNERS. FAST!” Neil’s voice cut through the air like a whip.

Everyone jumped into action. Posters were torn down, spray cans hidden, and markings scrubbed away from backs. Even the red crosses vanished in seconds as jackets were thrown on and the center stage was cleared like nothing had ever happened. It was the cleanest cover-up in MAD’s messy history.

Neil stormed through the chaos “If anyone opens their mouth, I swear, your MAD career is over. I’ll make sure of it,” he growled, his voice low but cold enough to send a chill down spines.

Malang stood to the side, frozen in place, his heart thudding painfully in his chest. The Ruthless confidence from moments ago had shattered, replaced by a quiet desperation. He couldn’t believe how fast the truth was being buried. His fists clenched at his sides, nails digging into his skin.

He’d never seen power used like this before—so clean, so manipulative.

And yet, the worst part wasn’t Neil’s threats. It was Vishal Sir.

As six officers marched into the campus ground, all stern and purposeful, the Principal moved quickly. With a warm, rehearsed smile plastered across his face, he stepped forward and reached out to the leading officer as if greeting an old friend.

“Hello, Inspector Shekhawat. What brings you to my university? How may I help you?” he asked, tone light and pleasant—too pleasant.

The inspector didn’t shake back. He looked at Vishal straight in the eyes and said, “We got a call that ragging is going on here.”

Vishal gave a polite chuckle. “Ragging? In our university, juniors and seniors live amicably. And moreover—”

“It’s not about seniors and juniors,” Shekhawat interrupted sharply. “I think even you know that, sir. We received reports of harassment linked to the welfare program. And photos. Welfare students being bullied. Anything you want to add, Mr. Motwani?”

Vishal’s smile tightened but didn’t drop. “False information. What’s happening here is orientation—creative, expressive orientation. Surely, you understand, Inspector. For the University of Movement and Dance, the reputation of our welfare program is very important. We believe in growth and equal opportunity for all.”

His voice rose on that last line, clearly for the benefit of the students still standing tensely nearby.

“Ragging doesn’t happen here. And as the Principal, I am firmly against it. If you’d like to check, go ahead.”

Inspector Shekhawat took a step toward the students, scanning their faces for a reaction. Malang felt a flicker of hope—but before the officer could speak to anyone, Vishal Sir’s voice rang out again, casual but heavy with meaning:

“By the way, DCP Chandrashekhar is a good friend of mine. If you want, you can call him and ask him about us. I’m sure he’d have something to say once he knows why you’re here.”

The threat was silent, but it was real. Everyone heard it.

The Inspector’s face stiffened. “No need to trouble DCP sir for a trivial matter. We’re just leaving.”

“Yes,” Vishal Sir replied smoothly. “I agree. It must have been a prank call. You know how children are these days. I deeply apologize on behalf of MAD.”

The officers turned and left, heads low, backs stiff. And just like that, the storm passed without a drop of truth falling out.

A breath of relief escaped Rihanna’s lips. “Thank God Vishal sir was here to save us.”

She was right. He’d saved them. But not because he believed in them. He had simply chosen to protect the legacy MAD had built—the one Ruthless represented. No matter how ugly it got underneath.

Malang watched him in silence, his heart conflicted. He had seen enough to know the truth, but he didn’t know if he dared to say it. His father’s words echoed again in his mind: “A boy who won’t stand up for himself becomes a man who can’t stand up to anything.”

The voice felt louder now.

As the officers left campus, Vishal Sir turned around sharply. His mask of calm had dropped. “In my office. Right now.”

Ruthless followed him, heads bowed—but not from shame. It was the walk of the privileged, scolded but untouchable.

And Malang stood there, stuck between two worlds—one of silence, and one of truth.

The hallway outside the Director’s office felt like it belonged to a different world. It was unusually silent—like the calm before a storm. Students gathered in hushed clumps, glancing at the closed wooden door every few seconds as if it might swing open and reveal something terrible.

Malang leaned against the cold concrete pillar beside Amit. His hands were jammed deep into his hoodie pockets. He tried to appear detached, but nothing could steady the tightness gripping his chest. It was impossible to pretend everything was fine—not after what had happened in the orientation earlier that day.

Behind the closed door, the storm had begun.

Vishal sir’s voice exploded. “Cops. Police. They have dared to step into the premises today and question me! All because of you people!”

Gasps rippled through the students outside.

Malang’s jaw tightened. Beside him, Amit muttered under his breath, “Shit.”

“The welfare program is not my rule,” Vishal sir’s voice roared. “It’s the top bosses’ rule. Every year, this is the same issue. Why? Why? What you’ve done today is unpardonable! I’m sick- sick of this anti-welfare nonsense. Economically, it’s a simple way to provide equal opportunity to underprivileged students!”

Neil didn’t flinch.

“Not my problem, sir,” he said, voice steady. “Since our childhood, we were trained to win. If they can’t afford to dance at our level, they should have a separate stage.”

Outside, Malang’s throat ran dry. He felt the heat rise to his ears. Amit looked over at him, eyes wide. “He actually said that?”

A crack of thunder followed. “Are you even listening to yourself?!” Vishal sir’s voice roared in disbelief.

“Of course,” came Rihanna’s voice. “We’re not denying anything. But let’s not pretend this welfare thing is fair. It gives preference to average talent just because of the background. That’s not what MAD stands for.”

“You people are talking rubbish!” Vishal sir shot back. “You know MAD does not tolerate any form of discrimination or ragging. And still, you planned a protest behind our backs. Duped your teachers. For what? To make a statement? Some twisted sense of justice?”

“This was arrogance,” Vishal sir continued. “Power. Noncompliance. All because you think you’re invincible. Because you have the backing of your rich parents!”

“Sir,” Neil’s snapped, “we’ll find out who called the cops. And they better be ready.”

Malang blinked. He knew Neil’s voice better than anyone else did. That was a threat. Not a bluff.

“How dare you!” Vishal sir screamed.

“I haven’t dared yet, sir,” Neil answered, eyes unwavering. Cold. Calm. Dangerous.

Then, silence.

Neil could feel his throat tightening but refused to lower his gaze. His pride burned in his chest like a dying fire refusing to go out.

A thick, terrifying silence fell over both sides of the door. Inside the office, no one moved. Outside, no one breathed. Even the ceiling fans seemed to hesitate.

Minutes passed.

Then, Vishal sir’s voice returned, now composed—eerily so.

“You will all bear the consequences.”

The words dropped like a guillotine.

“From this moment, Ruthless is banned.”

Whispers broke out outside like thunder. Malang’s breath caught. Amit swore under his breath. A sound somewhere between a gasp and a sob escaped from one of the juniors outside.

“Demoted to beginner level,” Vishal sir continued, almost gently. “For three months. Your academic grades will drop. Extra classes. Mandatory. And your international trip this year? Cancelled.”

“That’s not fair,” Rihanna said sharply.

“We’ve trained for months,” Figo added, his voice shaking.

“You can’t do this!” Sam’s voice was raw.

But Vishal sir wasn’t hearing any of it.

Vishal sir didn’t yell this time.

He just smiled.

“I love you guys. Now... please get out.”

A beat.

Then came the final, brutal scream: “GET OUT!”

The door creaked open.

One by one, Ruthless stepped into the corridor. Heads high. Shoulders straight. No tears. No apologies.

But rage?

Rage clung to them like a second skin.

They moved like royalty stripped of their crowns—dignified in disgrace, silent in rage. Each step echoed in the hallway like a war drum.

They stopped. Face-to-face with the rest of the student body.

Malang met their gaze. A storm brewed behind Neil’s eyes as he scanned the crowd. He wasn’t looking for forgiveness.

Everyone knew. Somewhere in that crowd was the one who had dared. The one who called the cops. The one who brought this shame down on MAD’s most elite crew.

And Ruthless would not forget. Not today. Not ever.

Unknown to others, glances were exchanged between two students in the back. The glance of acknowledgment and an unknown appreciation.

Unnoticed by others but couldn't escape Neil's quick keen eyes. His eyes caught the flicker between them. His head tilted the barest inch, eyes narrowing.

And they had been seen. Not just as a suspect. But as a target.

He knew exactly who it was. A familiar face that he can't forget. 

A slow, cruel smile spread across his face.

And the hall knew at that moment that this wasn’t over.

Not by a long shot.

***Download NovelToon to enjoy a better reading experience!***