Chapter 154: The Passport to the Past 2

She turned another page.

Grade Four.

The paper in her hands felt thinner somehow—fragile, like the memory itself might tear if she held it too tightly.

Except it wasn’t whole.

The edges were jagged, as if someone had ripped it apart in anger. Ink bled across the page in violent strokes of red—thick, aggressive, merciless.

A man loomed beside the desk, close to her younger self. Far too close.

His shadow swallowed the small figure seated in the chair, his finger stabbing down toward the page as if he were pinning her in place.

Her classmate had taken that photo and circulated it in the school’s forum to shame her.

For many envied her because of her beauty.

Lara looking at the photo recalled the incident.

…

“Well?” His teacher’s voice cut through the classroom, sharp and accusing. “Are you going to deny it?”

Ten-year-old Lara didn’t look up.

Her hands were clenched on her lap, knuckles pale, shoulders stiff. Frozen.

“I didn’t write that,” she said for what felt like the hundredth time, her voice small—but steady. “That’s not my notebook. It was her!”

She pointed at the principal’s daughter.

The girl looked horrified, then she feigned a gasp.

“It is not mine. The notebook has her name on it, not mine!” The girl was obviously trying to control the narrative.

Snickers rippled from the back of the room.

Giggles and whispers that fueled the fire.

“Yes, Lara is lying.”

“I saw her put it in the teacher’s drawer.”

“She’s obsessed.”

Children’s voices—careless, cruel in the way only children can be when they sense blood in the water, drowned the room.

The teacher didn’t question them. Instead, he believed all their accusations.

He did not hesitate and didn’t intend to investigate.

His verdict had already been passed the moment the accusation was spoken.

“I have already confirmed this,” he said coldly. “You think you’re clever? Writing love poems to your teacher?” His lip curled slightly. “Shameless.”

Lara’s fingers tightened.

“I have proof,” she said, forcing the words out. “The handwriting doesn’t match mine. The paper—”

“Enough.”

The word cracked like a slap.

Her voice died instantly.

Because in that room, truth didn’t matter.

Only authority did.

…

The classroom emptied slowly that afternoon.

Chairs scraped. Bags zipped. Laughter faded into the distance.

And only Lara stayed.

“Since you want to create trouble,” the teacher said casually, locking the door with a soft click that echoed too loudly in the quiet room, “you can make up for it by cleaning the classroom.”

Her younger self nodded. She looked timid and obedient.

Because that was what she had been taught to be.

The sound of the lock settling into place felt… wrong.

Lara—felt it instantly.

Danger!

The air shifted. Heavy. Suffocating.

She remembered this moment.

Every detail. Every second.

The teacher’s footsteps were slow as he approached her again—no longer the sharp, authoritative strides from earlier, but something else now.

Something deliberate.

Predatory.

“You know,” he said, voice lowering, losing its edge of discipline and gaining something far uglier, “you’ve already been accused of something like this.”

Lara’s younger self stiffened.

She took a step back. Then another. Until her back met the wall.

There was no escape.

His hand shot out—grabbing her wrist in a vise.

“You should at least take responsibility for what you started.”

That was when fear truly set in.

Raw. Cold. Real.

Lara was still only a child after all.

Only ten.

It was also her first time encountering a wolf in a sheep’s clothing, a scourge of the school.

“Let go,” she said, struggling now, panic creeping into her voice.

But he didn’t. Instead, he tightened his grip on Lara’s wrist.

His other hand reached for her collar. And pulled. The fabric of her uniform strained and tore.

Something snapped. Not fear. Not panic, but something deeper and colder.

Her instinct and training kicked in.

Her body moved before her mind could catch up.

A sharp twist of her wrist—precise, controlled.

His grip broke.

A step forward instead of back.

Her elbow drove hard into his ribs.

Crack!

Air burst from his lungs in a choked gasp.

He staggered. Shocked.

He hadn’t expected resistance. She was just a child. And he learned kick boxing.

The next strike came faster and cleaner.

A pivot—low and brutal.

Her foot slammed into his knee.

Another crack.

This time, he screamed aloud. Panic gripped him.

Realizing—too late—that he had made a catastrophic mistake.

“Y-you—!”

He didn’t finish his words.

A punch snapped his head to the side.

Then another. And another.

They were not wild and desperate but controlled and systematic.

Every movement precise—like she had done this before.

Like she knew exactly how to dismantle a target.

Blood splattered across the floor.

Across the desk.

Across the red-marked notebook that had started it all.

He tried to crawl. To beg. To escape.

She didn’t let him.

The final blow came without hesitation.

A sharp, merciless kick—

Straight to his groin.

The scream that followed tore through the building.

Raw.

Animalistic.

It carried past the classroom walls, down the corridors, all the way to the school gates.

That was how the security guards found him.

Curled on the floor. Broken. Unrecognizable.

“Attempted murder!”

The accusation came quickly.

Loudly and desperately.

The guards looked at the teacher incredulously. How could a big man be beaten by a little girl?

Then their gazes shifted to the little girl.

Lara was standing there. Breathing steadily.

Eyes clear. Unshaken.

“He colluded with someone to beat me.” The teacher lied.

Because a man like him could not afford to be seen as weak.

“He is lying. There is no one. I was only defending myself,” Lara said simply.

She was calm and unpanicked. She was just saying the truth.

But just like before—

Truth didn’t matter.

Not when it came from her.

The verdict was swift.

She was expelled from school. There was no investigation.

There was no justice for her but the unjust received it. Silence wrapped in authority.

…

Lara closed the book.

It was slow, deliberate, and careful.

As if sealing that memory back where it belonged.

But her fingers lingered on the edge of the page.

She closed her eyes as if reliving the past.

Because that day—

Wasn’t the day she was broken.

But It was the day they learned…

She couldn’t be.

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