ELITE ACADEMY: ICE AND GOLD

CHAPTER SIXTEEN: WHEN THE PAST COMES KNOCKING

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The sun had just begun to rise over the small countryside, painting Damian’s grandparents’ farm in shades of gold and green. Chickens scattered across the yard as the old wooden gate creaked under the wind. Damian stepped outside, where his grandparents were tending to the farm. The smell of fresh soil, hay, and morning dew filled the air.

“Damian,” his grandmother said, pausing with the hoe in her hands. “Are you sure you want to go to that kind of party today?” Her voice was sharp, but underneath it carried the concern she had always had for him.

His grandfather, wiping sweat from his brow, added, “Don’t let them look down on you like before. You know how they are. People… people will talk. They will mock.”

Damian swallowed, looking down at his shoes, then back at the farm he had grown up running through. “I… I know,” he said quietly. “But… I don’t care about what people think anymore. I’m old enough. I just… I have to go.”

His grandmother shook her head, frowning. “They’ve always bullied you, Damian. Even in school, in parties… don’t let them make you feel small again.”

“I won’t,” Damian said, more firmly this time, though a shadow of doubt crept across his face. “Even if they try, I’ll just… let them work. I have no other choice anyway. I’ve always been the scholarship kid, haven’t I?”

His grandparents exchanged a worried glance but didn’t press further. Damian turned away, heading into the small house. The creaking floorboards under his feet reminded him of every quiet morning he had spent here—alone, working, growing up faster than most kids his age.

He opened the wardrobe carefully, and his eyes fell on the clothes Sienna had bought for him. His hand trembled slightly as he touched the fabric, running his fingers over the fine stitching, the way the suit felt heavier than anything he had ever owned, but in a comforting way.

A small, genuine smile tugged at his lips. Sienna… she actually thought about me. Even when she acted like she hated him, even when everyone else had looked down on him, she had been thoughtful. Humble. Caring.

But then… memories flooded in. The laughter of kids who had mocked him. The whispers, the snide remarks at school, at previous parties. The memories of being singled out, humiliated, left him cold. His smile faltered. His chest tightened.

Damian picked up the suit, holding it in front of the mirror. He stared at his reflection, seeing the boy who had been overlooked for so long. And then he spoke, quietly, almost like a whisper meant only for himself:

“Damian… you are going. You need to man up. Step up. Don’t let anyone step on you again. You’ve waited long enough.”

His voice grew stronger, resonating in the small room, but inside… he knew the truth. He wasn’t really ready. He didn’t feel ready. Every fiber of him screamed doubt, fear, the old insecurities clawing back. But he clenched the suit in his hands, staring hard at his own eyes in the mirror, trying to summon the courage he needed.

Even if his mind didn’t believe it fully, even if his heart raced with anxiety, he repeated the words to himself. “You can do this… You will do this.”

The farm outside was quiet now. The sun was climbing higher, and somewhere beyond the fields, the city waited. The party waited. And Damian… Damian was about to step into a world that had always doubted him, judged him, and tried to keep him small.

He took a deep breath, straightened his back, and whispered one last thing to the reflection staring back at him:

“Time to show them… who Damian really is.”

The sunlight stabbed through the curtains, warm and harsh against Aria’s pounding head. Her room spun in slow circles. She groaned, burying her face in her pillow, only to feel the faint, lingering smell of alcohol clinging to her sheets.

“Ughhh… why did I even…” she muttered, trying to sit up, only to collapse back into the mattress. The room tilted like it was mocking her, and her mouth tasted like burnt metal.

The events of last night came back in flashes: Sienna and Lila chanting “drink up, serum up!” while she giggled and stumbled. The shots, the spinning lights, the way she had danced on the sticky club floor with strangers, spilling drinks, spilling herself… She shivered. Oh God, the vomiting…

Her phone buzzed violently on the nightstand. Aria squinted at it. 12 missed messages. One from her mom: “Are you alive?”

She groaned, picking it up. “Alive… barely.” Her hand slipped, almost dropping it, and she laughed weakly at herself. I’m a total mess.

Slowly, painfully, she swung her legs over the edge of the bed. Her head throbbed with every heartbeat, her stomach twisting in protest. She looked down at herself—her dress from last night wrinkled, one strap falling off, hair tangled in a chaotic halo around her head.

She shuffled toward the bathroom, barely aware of her own movements. Mirrors don’t lie. And the reflection staring back at her was a disaster: glassy eyes, pale cheeks, lips slightly chapped, and that faint sheen of alcohol still clinging to her skin.

“Why… why did I drink so much?” she mumbled, gripping the sink for balance. Her hands shook. She gagged at the memory of vomiting on the driveway, Sienna and Lila laughing in that chaotic, loving, terrible way.

A soft knock came at the door. Her maid, Gracie’s voice, patient but firm: “Miss Aria… are you okay? You should probably get cleaned up before anyone sees you.”

She waved him off weakly. “I’m… I’m fine… barely.” Then she laughed, a dry, broken sound. “Barely is… the key word.”

Her thoughts drifted to the previous night—the drinking, the dancing, the club lights blurring faces together, laughter and screams echoing, the careless abandon. A pang of guilt stabbed her chest. Mom and Dad… they must have been waiting for me.

Her stomach growled—or maybe it was her hangover screaming at her—and she stumbled toward the fridge. Her fingers fumbled over the juice and water, searching instinctively for that one familiar fruit juice. Her hand closed around it.

“Just… a little,” she whispered to herself, tilting the bottle. Some spilled on her chin. Some spilled on the floor. She shrugged. “Whatever.”

She staggered back toward her bed, sitting on the edge and staring out the window. The city below was alive, indifferent, bustling, unaware of her disaster. She hiccupped, letting herself sink into the spinning haze of last night and the dread of facing the world again.

I have to… I have to get ready for the party. Somehow.

⸻

Chapter 16: Aria’s Morning (Continued)

The cold water hit her skin like tiny knives. Aria shivered violently, goosebumps crawling up her arms. She gasped, letting the ice-cold stream wash over her tangled hair and flushed face. For a moment, she felt almost alive again—though her head still throbbed, stubbornly refusing to forgive her for last night.

Wrapped in a towel, she collapsed onto her bed, reaching for her phone. The school group chat buzzed incessantly. She scrolled lazily, barely keeping her eyes open, only to feel a jolt of irritation as she read the messages.

“Damian will trip on the stairs for sure 😏”

“I can’t wait to see him humiliated 😂”

“He doesn’t even belong there… this is going to be so fun!”

Her stomach twisted. People were openly planning to bully him, to humiliate him, to step all over him—and she was excited about it. There was no flicker of guilt, worry, nothing protective stirred inside her. She clenched her jaw, fingers hovering over the screen before leaving the chat.

Switching apps, she opened her conversation with Sienna and Lila.

Sienna: How are you, girl?

Lila: Don’t be late! Party starts 6!

Aria typed quickly: TY (thank you), then dropped her phone onto the bed beside her.

A soft knock at the door made her groan. “Ugh… come in,” she muttered.

Gracia stepped in, holding a glass of water and a small pill. “Here, Miss Aria. You need this for your hangover,” she said gently, placing it on the bedside table.

Aria wrinkled her nose. “Gross… yuck. No! I don’t need that shit.”

“You do need it,” Gracia insisted, her tone firm but caring. “You had a very bad hangover yesterday. This will help you recover and prevent headaches or nausea.”

Aria groaned again, flopping back onto the bed. “I told you, I don’t need it! It’s bitter, it’s irritating… I hate pills!”

“Just take it,” Gracia said, unwavering. “For your own good. You’ll feel better, and you can get ready for the party without suffering all day.”

Aria sighed loudly, pinching the bridge of her nose. “Ugh… fine.” She tilted the pill into her mouth, grimacing at the bitterness as she swallowed it with a gulp of water.

Gracia stayed by her side, calm and watchful. “I’ll be here if you need anything else,” she said quietly, not leaving the room immediately, but giving Aria the space to adjust.

Aria buried her face in the pillow, muttering incoherently. “Bitter… disgusting… why does everything hate me today…”

The water and pill were gone, but the hangover still lingered like a stubborn fog. Aria let herself breathe deeply, trying to focus. The party was today, 6 PM, and somehow… she had to pull herself together.

⸻

Chapter 16 (Interlude): The Return

A black luxury car rolled slowly through the iron gates of Don Marco’s mansion, its tires crunching softly against the gravel driveway. The engine purred before going silent. Two bodyguards stepped forward immediately, opening the door in perfect sync.

Megan stepped out.

Elegant. Poised. Calm on the outside—yet her fingers trembled just slightly as she adjusted her coat.

The mansion doors opened before she even reached them.

Inside, Don Marco stood waiting in the living room, tall and commanding, hands clasped behind his back. His eyes softened the moment he saw her.

“Megan,” he said warmly.

“Marco,” she replied, forcing a smile. “It’s… good to see you.”

They moved toward each other and exchanged a light embrace—formal, restrained, but meaningful.

“How was your journey?” Don Marco asked, gesturing for her to sit.

“Splendid,” Megan answered politely, crossing her legs. “Long, but comfortable.”

“I’m glad,” he nodded. “You must be tired.”

Before she could respond, voices echoed from the hallway.

“WAIT—WAIT—WAIT.”

Rico burst into the living room first, all energy and mischief, followed closely by Luciano. Rico froze mid-step when he saw Megan.

His eyes widened.

“…Wow.”

Luciano sighed. “Here we go.”

Rico walked closer, grinning. “So this is Thiago’s mom? No offense, sir,” he added quickly to Don Marco, “but if I was a guy your age, I’d absolutely try to make her my girlfriend.”

Megan laughed awkwardly, caught off guard.

Don Marco didn’t.

“Rico,” he said calmly.

“Yes, sir?”

“Shut up.”

Rico raised his hands. “Respectfully—message received.”

Luciano smirked. “You’re embarrassing.”

Don Marco turned to Luciano. “Go and call Thiago.”

Luciano nodded. “On it.”

As Luciano walked away, Megan shifted uncomfortably in her seat.

“…Marco,” she said quietly, her voice lowering. “How is he?”

Don Marco studied her carefully. “Thiago is… a good kid. Calm. Disciplined. Stronger than he knows.”

Megan swallowed. “I don’t even know how I’m going to face him today.”

Don Marco leaned forward slightly. “Don’t carry that weight alone. He’s older now. He understands more than you think.”

She shook her head, eyes glistening. “I did nothing for him. Nothing. I left. I don’t deserve—”

“You did what you thought you had to do,” Don Marco interrupted gently. “And Thiago… he’s matured. He’ll meet you where you are.”

Megan exhaled shakily. “I hope so.”

Gunfire exploded from the TV screen.

Thiago sat sprawled on his bed, controller in hand, headphones on, fully absorbed in the game. His jaw was tight, eyes sharp, completely shut off from the world.

Knock. Knock.

Nothing.

Knock. Knock. Knock.

Still nothing.

Luciano stood outside the door, arms crossed.

“Bro,” he muttered. “Seriously?”

He knocked again. Harder.

Knock. Knock. Knock. Knock.

Minutes passed.

Luciano sighed, turned the knob—and the door swung open.

“WHAT THE—”

Thiago ripped his headphones off, standing instantly. “How dare you come into my room without my permission?”

Luciano blinked. “I knocked for like… a lifetime.”

“You didn’t wait for an answer.”

“I did. You just ignored me.”

Thiago clenched his jaw. “Why were you knocking?”

Luciano hesitated.

“…She’s here.”

Thiago frowned. “Who?”

Luciano met his eyes. “Your mom.”

The room went silent.

The game continued flashing on the screen, gunfire echoing faintly, completely out of place.

Thiago didn’t move.

Didn’t blink.

“…What?” he said flatly.

Luciano softened his tone. “Megan. She’s downstairs.”

Thiago laughed once—short, hollow. “That’s not funny.”

“I’m not joking.”

Something shifted.

Thiago’s grip on the controller tightened, then loosened.

His chair scraped loudly against the floor as he stood up so fast it tipped backward.

“Tell her to get the f**k out of here!!, I don’t wanna see her miserable face!!.”

Luciano blinked. “Bro—”

“ GET THE f**k OUT OF MY ROOM!!,” Thiago shouted, voice shaking with fury. “I don’t want to see her. I don’t want her anywhere near me.”

“Thiago, calm down—”

“ARE YOU DEAF?” Thiago yelled, stepping closer. “Get the f**k out of my room!”

Luciano raised his hands. “I was just—”

Thiago shoved him hard in the chest.

“OUT.”

Luciano stumbled back into the hallway.

The door slammed.

LOCK.

Thiago stood there for one second—silent.

Then he turned and sprinted across the room.

The punching bag swung violently as his fist slammed into it.

THUD.

THUD.

THUD.

Each hit carried years of rage.

The orphanage.

The nights he cried alone.

Being forced to grow up too fast.

Being taught survival instead of love.

“You left me!” he screamed.

THUD.

“You f*****g left me!”

THUD.

He hit harder. Faster. Angrier.

Outside, Luciano ran downstairs, shaken.

“Thiago is crazy in there he’s throwing things around l,” he said breathlessly. “Thiago is… he’s furious. I’ve never seen him like this. Ever.”

Megan froze.

“Oh my God,” she whispered. “Do you think he’ll even want to move with me?”

Don Marco’s expression hardened.

“I trained Thiago,” he said firmly. “I taught him discipline. He will listen to me.”

He turned and walked toward the stairs.

Megan followed, nervous, hopeful, terrified.

They stopped at Thiago’s door.

Don Marco knocked sharply.

“Thiago. Open this door right now.”

No answer.

Only the sound of fists colliding with leather.

THUD.

THUD.

THUD.

“Thiago,” Don Marco warned. “I said open it.”

Still nothing.

Megan stepped forward, her voice trembling.

“Son… I’m sorry. Please. I just want to see your face once.”

The moment her voice reached him—

Thiago snapped.

“I HATE YOU!” he screamed.

her voice reached him

The punching stopped.

Instead—

CRASH.

Something hit the wall.

“You don’t get to come back!”

CRASH.

“You don’t get to call yourself my mother!”

CRASH.

“I DON’T WANT YOU IN MY LIFE!”

“Thiago!” Don Marco shouted.

“GO AWAY!” Thiago screamed back. “ALL OF YOU! LEAVE ME ALONE!”

Inside the room, his chest rose and fell violently—not from fear, but rage.

Outside, Megan covered her mouth, tears spilling.

“I destroyed him,” she whispered.

Don Marco clenched his jaw.

“No,” he said quietly. “But you reopened a wound that never healed.”

Behind the locked door, Thiago stood alone.

Angry.

Broken.

Abandoned.

And still fighting a war he never chose.