From Bullets To Billions Chapter 657: Podium Attack

Jono remained completely still, his heart pounding wildly against his ribs like a frantic bird. He could see the distended vein on Sylan’s forehead, a clear indicator that the senior student was far beyond simple irritation; he was incandescent with rage. A distinct, predatory glint in Sylan’s eyes signaled an undeniable command: obey, or face the consequences.

With all other options exhausted, Jono reluctantly decided to suppress his wounded pride and follow the athlete back toward the lecture halls of the business department. His mind frantically searched for any logical comfort to cling to.

‘He wouldn’t dare do anything in broad daylight, would he?’ Jono pondered, his palms beginning to sweat profusely. ‘I mean, this is a highly respected university. There are instructors in every corridor, security personnel at the entrances, and countless potential witnesses. Everyone here is an adult. If he attempts anything, surely people will report him to the authorities or the dean.’

Yet, as the thought took shape, Jono acknowledged the harsh reality of the world. While some individuals would undoubtedly contact the police at the first sign of trouble, for what law enforcement often deemed “minor altercations” or “student disputes,” their intervention was rarely significant. Even when summoned, the aggressors frequently received no more than a light reprimand. Furthermore, even if an offender was temporarily detained, they could often be released back onto the streets, and indeed back onto campus, within a day, eager to find whoever reported them.

A palpable sense of apprehension existed, suggesting that if the request was relatively minor, such as attending a social gathering, it was often preferable to simply comply rather than risk the physical repercussions of refusal. This was the predicament Jono found himself ensnared in. He rationalized that he would merely go along with it for now to maintain the peace.

Upon their arrival at the lecture hall, the professor was just taking his place behind the podium to commence the lesson. He glanced toward the door and noticed Sylan. Without any words being exchanged, Sylan merely raised a hand, pointing a finger towards the exit. To the utter astonishment of the assembled students, the professor offered no objection and made no request for identification. He simply nodded, collected his notes, and departed through the door, effectively ceding his classroom to the unwelcome intruder.

‘What in the blazes?’ thought Max, lifting his head from his desk. He had been drifting in and out of sleep, but the sudden, profound silence and the professor’s unexpected exit immediately captured his complete attention. He observed the entire exchange with a cool, analytical perspective.

‘So, the athletics department has even the faculty under their thumb. This entire situation is eerily reminiscent of Dipter all over again,’ Max mused, his eyes narrowing thoughtfully. ‘Is it a comparable dynamic at play here? Does Donto wield influence over the entire university administration? Or perhaps it’s not Donto himself, but the lingering shadow of his father’s power.’

Max also found himself contemplating the reason behind the soccer player’s seemingly permanent scowl. Sylan carried himself with a deep, ingrained frown, radiating an aura of hostility even before any words had been spoken.

Sylan strode decisively to the podium and forcefully brought both hands down upon its wooden surface. The sharp, reverberating thud commanded the attention of every person in the room, drawing their gaze to the front.

“Alright, listen up! Your friend Bono here,”

“It’s Jono,” Jono quickly interjected, his voice betraying a tremor.

“Do you honestly believe that matters at this precise moment?” Sylan hissed through tightly clenched teeth, leaning menacingly over the podium. “Your ‘representative’ here informed me that a number of you have decided you cannot attend this evening’s function. Was my prior instruction not sufficiently clear? Attendance is mandatory! You’d think a group of business students would grasp the fundamental meaning of that word.”

Sylan’s gaze swept across the room, eventually settling on the visibly apprehensive faces in the front row. “Whatever engagements you have today, you are to cancel them. For the ensuing three to four years of your academic lives, this university, and the deference you accord your seniors, will be your paramount concern. The seniors are the ones who possess the ability to make your tenure here exceptionally comfortable, or extraordinarily difficult. Should you fail to appear, you will gain firsthand knowledge of just how arduous it can become.”

As Sylan delivered his ultimatum, he noticed two students in the central section of the room engaged in hushed conversation. Their attention was fixed on their mobile phones, evidently deliberating whether to summon campus security or contact the police.

“Very well, it’s apparent that none of you are grasping the gravity of this situation,” Sylan declared. With astonishing speed, he moved towards Jono, seizing the back of the smaller student’s head. Intertwining his fingers within Jono’s hair, he forcibly dragged him toward the podium.

“It appears you all rely on this individual to voice your concerns. You utilize him to convey your pathetic justifications and your trivial messages. Very well. I shall deliver my message back to you through him!”

Without any further admonishment, Sylan violently slammed Jono’s head, face-first, against the sharp edge of the wooden podium. The sound of the collision was deeply unsettling, a dull, heavy crack that caused every student present to flinch involuntarily in their seats.

"AHHH!" a girl in the front row screamed, covering her mouth.

Before anyone could move, Sylan slammed Jono’s head into the desk a second time. The room erupted into chaos, students crying out in shock, several of them frantically reaching into their bags for their phones.

"Go ahead!" Sylan roared, his voice booming over the screams. "Call whoever you want! But I promise you, whoever makes that call, your head is going to be the next one on this podium. Maybe some of you will see it as an honor to have your blood stain these halls!"

He slammed Jono’s head down one final time and let go. Jono’s limp body slid off the podium and crumpled onto the floor, blood beginning to pool on the linoleum. The sight was so brutal and the threat so visceral that the room went deathly silent. No one dared to pull out a phone.

"So," Sylan said, wiping his hands on his athletic shorts as if he had just finished a light workout. "Is anyone else going to say anything about skipping the event? Or will we be seeing all of you this evening?"

The students were in a state of catatonic shock. They stared at the floor, too terrified to speak. But the silence wasn’t just caused by Sylan’s violence; it was also because one student had stood up and walked down the aisle. Max had reached the front, lifted the unconscious Jono off the ground, and effortlessly placed him over his shoulder.

Sylan’s eyes widened in surprise, then narrowed into a dangerous slit. "What do you think you’re doing, freshman?"

Max looked at him, his expression completely devoid of fear. His eyes were cold, flat, and remarkably steady.

"What does it look like I’m doing?" Max asked, his voice calm and level. "I’m taking him to a hospital."