Bully Lord

Part-3

Dread pooled in James' stomach as he rounded the corner on his way home. There, illuminated by a flickering streetlamp, was a scene straight out of his nightmares. The familiar group of bullies, led by the hulking Lemon, had cornered Emdad in a dingy alleyway. Emdad, his new iPhone clutched protectively to his chest, cowered under Lemon's menacing glare.

"Hand it over, fatty," Lemon sneered, his voice dripping with malice. "That phone practically screams for an upgrade."

James' heart hammered against his ribs. He knew he should turn back, disappear into the shadows and pretend he hadn't seen anything. But the image of Emdad, his usually boisterous personality reduced to a whimper, sparked a flicker of defiance within James. He couldn't just stand by.

Taking a deep breath he made a phone call to certain someone, then James stepped forward, his voice surprisingly steady despite his racing pulse. "Hey! What's going on here?"

All heads turned towards him. Lemon, towering over James by a good six inches, narrowed his eyes. A cruel smile stretched across his face. "Who are you, twerp? This ain't your business."

James squared his shoulders, trying to project an air of confidence he didn't entirely feel. "It becomes my business when you're picking on someone," he retorted. "Leave him alone."

The other bullies snickered, a chorus of jeers erupting from the group. James felt a bead of sweat trickle down his temple. He knew this was a mistake, but there was no turning back now.

Lemon's amusement faded, replaced by a cold fury. "Listen here, pipsqueak," he growled, taking a menacing step towards James. "This is between me and Fatty here. You better scram before you get hurt."

Adrenaline surged through James, momentarily drowning out the tremor in his voice. "No," he insisted, surprising even himself with his resolve. "You're picking on him because he's easy prey. That's not okay. And what about the girls yesterday? Were they easy prey too?"

Lemon's eyes narrowed. "What are you yapping about, nerd?" he snarled.

"You think you can just walk around, taking whatever you want?" James continued, his voice gaining strength with each word. "This isn't some kind of video game where you get points for bullying people. This is real life, and it hurts."

One of Lemon's cronies, a skinny boy with a cruel glint in his eye, piped up. "Yeah, what are you gonna do about it, twerp?"

James met his gaze. "I'm going to stand up for what's right," he declared. "Maybe you all should try it sometime."

Lemon's face contorted with rage. "Shut your mouth, nerd!" he roared, launching himself towards James with a fist aimed for his face. 

Years ago, James' father, a former martial arts enthusiast, had patiently drilled some basic self-defense techniques into him. The lessons, mostly ignored and forgotten in the face of more pressing academic pursuits, now flickered back to life in James' mind. Almost on autopilot, his arms shot up in a rudimentary block, forearms crossed to form a barrier just in time. The sickening thud of bone against flesh echoed in the narrow alleyway as Lemon's fist connected with James' defenses. Pain flared through James' arms, a white-hot shock that threatened to buckle his knees. But he held firm, the impact thankfully glancing off his forearms rather than landing squarely on his face. Lemon, surprised by the unexpected resistance, stumbled back a few steps, momentarily stunned. The world seemed to slow down for James, the rain a hazy curtain around him. This wasn't how things were supposed to go. Bullies weren't supposed to be met with resistance, and nerds certainly weren't supposed to block punches.