From Bullets To Billions Chapter 658: He Is Not A Hero

As the entirety of the class observed Max rise, descend the tiered rows, and effortlessly lift the unconscious Jono onto his shoulder, a complex tapestry of emotions unfurled within the room. For a fleeting instant, a segment of them genuinely perceived him as merely a good person, a noble soul stepping forward to aid a peer in dire straits. It was an act of bravery they secretly longed to emulate but lacked the resolve to perform, remaining frozen in their seats. However, once the initial astonishment subsided and the gravity of the situation truly registered, another notion rapidly supplanted the first.

This individual was utterly deranged.

In their collective estimation, no rational being, having witnessed the sheer ferocity Sylan was capable of, would dare to step forward and intervene while the senior student remained present. It transcended mere courage; it seemed to stem from a complete detachment from reality. Murmurs and anxious whispers began to spread like wildfire through the rows. The prevailing fear within the room transmuted from apprehension for Jono to a frantic, self-centered concern for their individual safety. If this new student, Max, was acting so recklessly and defying the seniors with such open insolence, did that imply they would all face collective retribution for his impetuousness? In mere seconds, the class’s nascent empathy for their fallen representative was consumed by an overwhelming instinct for self-preservation.

"Wait now... if that's truly him, then it all fits, doesn't it?" Steve murmured to himself, his voice quivering with a blend of dread and astonishment.

Beside him, Talia and Yovan caught his utterance. Talia's eyes were wide, her gaze locked onto Max's retreating figure, while Yovan's expression remained colored by profound skepticism.

"Right, right," Steve persisted, as if attempting to convince his own mind. "The fabled high schooler who rallied all the delinquents in the city and even managed to dismantle a genuine gang. If that's indeed who he is, then a mere soccer player wouldn't intimidate him. His bravery here would perfectly align."

Steve felt a fragile sliver of hope emerge. He harbored a sincere desire to assist Jono; during his own high school years, Steve had been the inconspicuous student who faded into the background, and he had arrived at the university with a burning aspiration to forge a new identity. Yet, transformation is a strenuous, weighty endeavor solely by altering one's surroundings. It was Jono who had initially extended a hand, considerably easing his transition. Witnessing Jono incapacitated on the floor felt akin to seeing his own crucial support system being torn asunder.

"Are you completely daft? Do you genuinely still cling to those tall tales, even after witnessing this?" Yovan retorted, her voice low but sharp. "This isn't some fantasy narrative, Steve. People don't simply materialize to rescue the day simply because we find ourselves in a predicament. This is the unvarnished reality."

She gestured towards the podium, where the bloodstain remained starkly fresh. "At this precise moment, the most prudent course of action is to remain inconspicuous and avoid attracting any further notice. Jono has already suffered harm. All we were required to do was consent to attend the event, and everything would have proceeded without incident. In the practical world, adopting a heroic stance like this will inevitably ensnare others in the collateral damage."

Absorbing Yovan's stark, pragmatic evaluation, Steve's fleeting spark of hope extinguished. He recognized the absurdity of his daydreams when contrasted with such blatant brutality. His head drooped heavily onto his chest, his gaze returning to the floor.

The sheer irony of the situation lay in Sylan's profound stupefaction at the sheer audacity of Max's maneuver, which had rendered him utterly speechless. He remained by the podium, his mouth slightly ajar, observing in what felt like slow motion as the redhead completely disregarded his presence. Before Sylan could even muster the vocal cords to issue a command, Max had already conveyed Jono out of the lecture hall and into the adjacent corridor.

"What in the blazes?" Sylan finally bellowed, his countenance contorting into an insulted hue of deep purple. "Did I just imagine that? Did that punk genuinely just dismiss me and depart? We encounter some truly imbecilic individuals each year, but this represents an entirely novel dimension of insolence."

He pivoted back towards the visibly trembling class, his eyes alight with the implicit threat of future retribution. "All of you remain inside. Do not even contemplate making a single move."

With that decree, Sylan abruptly exited the room, his heavy footsteps reverberating as he pursued Max. An oppressive silence descended upon the room. No one uttered a word; they merely fixated on the dark crimson stains adorning the podium and the floor where Jono's head had been violently impacted.

"Will he be alright?" someone eventually whispered. "I mean, we witnessed firsthand what Sylan inflicted upon Jono. He could potentially cause a student's demise if further provoked."

"Well, that is no longer our concern, is it?" Yovan declared audibly, her voice cutting through the stillness. "Everything he undertakes from this point onward is his own volition. He orchestrated this predicament himself by posturing as a martyr."