Fate And Mystery

The Porridge Ransom

The PE day finally sputtered to an exhausted, sweat-soaked end, leaving the sprawling campus of Lakewood memorial bustling with various recreational activities. But for the small, keyed-in crowd, the most intriguing event was the climax of the football training. Though Lionel’s Team A had technically won the scrimmage on points, the Demolition Man had unequivocally lost the battle.

Matthias, meanwhile, couldn't feel his breathing anymore—not from the dull, painful throb in his sprained ankle, but from the electric touch of a beauty. "Is this truly cloud nine?" he thought, his mind fuzzy, as he watched Laila's slender figure sprint back off to rejoin her basketball team, her eyes flashing back a final, enigmatic look before she disappeared.

A frantic, blurry shadow—Isha—raced towards Matthias. But the Red Cross team, operating with swift, practiced efficiency, had already lifted Matthias onto their sturdy aluminum stretcher and were wheeling him rapidly toward their medical van. Isha could only manage a muffled, inaudible shout, which Matthias couldn't decipher, but the exuberant thumbs-up gesture Isha threw was universal: ‘Well done on a sweet, beautiful revenge.’

Matthias smiled, a genuine, satisfied smile that stretched his cheeks, as he caught sight of the scene across the pitch. The lifeless form of Lionel was also being loaded onto a stretcher, his face paler than a freshly powdered clown, blushing an angry, painful crimson beneath the large, melting ice pack he held pressed over his nose. The bully was silent, defeated, and profoundly humiliated.

“You’re so lucky, fella, just a minor sprain—mostly soft tissue damage and a significant torque,” Jonny, a meticulous Red Cross official whose uniform was impossibly crisp, told Matt. He applied a thick, soothing, menthol-scented lotion to the swollen ankle and expertly wrapped a stabilizing bandage around it. Matthias winced, but mostly from the lingering emotional high. “Try not to put too much pressure on it for the next three weeks. Refrain from the field and football, specifically. Few doses of ibuprofen would do the trick.” Jonny handed him a small, sealed packet of prescribed non-steroidal anti-inflammatories.

Matthias managed to get to his feet. It wasn't as bad as it seemed; the adrenaline had truly dulled the worst of it. He offered Jonny a grateful wave and exited the small, quiet Red Cross apartment. To avoid the crowded main square, he kept to the edges, navigating corners and using hedges as cover, limping a somewhat circuitous route straight back to the dormitories.

It was nearly the end of the school day. Mr. Elias, after his initial flurry of fury and concern, had informed Ms. Dela Cruz about Matthias’s condition, so he was officially excused from afternoon classes.

He was smiling along the way, his memory replaying the scene on the pitch: the painful snap of his ankle, the sweet thwack of the ball on Lionel’s face, and, most importantly, the moment those warm, firm hands had touched him. Heavens were really on his side today.

As he was drowning in this blissful, cotton-wool haze of thoughts, he glided along the busy, echoing hallways and reached his locker. He peeped from his peripherals, constantly on the lookout for the inevitable retaliation from Lionel's goons. As he yanked his locker open, a folded note, barely clinging to the door hinge with a piece of tape, fluttered to the floor.

It was from Isha, scrawled quickly in pencil:

Congrats on your win, buddy. Team B owes you one. Your bag’s already at the dorm. Meet me 7:45 at the refectory. We gotta talk about your DATE.

Isha.

Matthias sighed in genuine relief. That would save him the stress of navigating the gauntlet of the Hasley Hounds to collect his bag. He slammed his locker shut and began limping toward the dorm.

“Hey, Striker, what’s up!”

Oh, crap. It was Loud Dan, the Class 3C clown, whose voice could shatter glass at twenty paces and who had an uncanny knack for broadcasting any embarrassing news. Matthias turned sharply in the opposite direction, attempting to blend into the stream of departing day students, but Dan was already racing to catch up, pumping his fist. This was the greatest disaster—he couldn't afford to be intercepted by Dan before he saw Laila. He managed a quick, forced smile and a nod, then practically fled toward the dorm entrance.

Dusk arrived in a beautiful, melancholic orange hue. The sun set slowly at the horizon, painting the austere, green-colored buildings of Lakewood a fleeting, crimson shade. Daily school activities were at an end, and resident students were settling into their dorms, while day students found their way home. Most of the dormitories were emptying out, as everyone was heading to the school refectory for their evening meal.

Matthias swallowed his daily dose of ibuprofen with a glass of water, the bitterness cutting through his nerves, as he put on his standard evening wear—a comfortable cotton tracksuit. It was 7:15 PM. The refectory must be open now. He grabbed his wallet and headed out. Isha, his roomie, wasn’t around, perhaps already at the dining hall to secure the first serving of the fresh bread, or perhaps doing something mischievous that always required early attendance.

Matthias found his way down the long hallway that led outside the dorm complex to the refectory entrance. Students scampered around in noisy play; some were kicking a soft ball in the hallway, others were playing a boisterous game of tag. What if Lionel confronts me here? he thought to himself, his gait quickening despite the noticeable limp.

He reached the refectory in no time. It was loud and bustling, filled as usual. The entire school shared the same dining hall: a massive, echoing room easily large enough to fit over a thousand people, accommodating the residing teaching staff, the non-tutorial staff, and the horde of students.

Dinner was served on large, communal metal trays: first, a steaming hotpot of thick porridge- one of the a school staple- fresh, buttered bread, and hot cocoa. Matthias settled into an empty table, positioning himself near a window, and picked up his cutlery, ready to dive in.

Just as his spoon neared the porridge, a blur of motion and limbs landed heavily in the empty seat beside him. Isha had arrived.

“Where have you been all day, Champion? We’ve been looking all around for you, but that Red Cross crew moves like ninjas,” Isha asked, picking up a stray spoon from the table—not his own, Matthias noted instantly.

Before Matthias could answer, Isha plunged the spoon deep into Matthias’s untouched, steaming porridge.

“What are you doing?” Matthias stared in shock.

Isha didn't look up, his eyes wide and mournful. “I lost a stupid gamble to those trolls over there.” Isha pointed discreetly across the table to where Xavier, Kofi , and Liam—the three rival house captains—sat, practically vibrating with smug amusement. “We bet with our evening meals that our team wouldn’t score a goal during the training. And worst of all, I accidentally caused an own goal trying to save a bad pass. s**t, man. Now those devils have gobbled up my sweet porridge, and I was left to eat dry, sad white bread on its own in utter humiliation.”

He finally looked at Matthias, who wasn't finding the situation remotely funny. “So, buddy, here is my perfectly reasonable deal. Your porridge, for the ultimate dating tip I'm about to give you. Are you game?”

“What?!” Matthias exclaimed, half-rising from his seat. “You can’t just come up and make such a malevolent, ridiculous request and then steal my food!” He struggled to maintain his indignation, but then his eyes darted across the hall and caught sight of Laila.

She was sitting three tables away, looking radiant in the evening light, chatting and smiling effortlessly with her friends. Their eyes almost met across the noisy hall. Matthias made a panicked, swift move, snapping his head down to stare intensely at his porridge bowl, his heart racing like war drums. He was in a state of thrilling, terrifying confusion, as his appetite fled his from his guts.

“Fine! You know what, take the damned porridge, you foodie, and have the bread too! But that’s it! I ain't owing you any dime for this! Now eat up and tip me, or I swear I'm calling Dan over here!” Matthias said, his voice a low, furious hiss.

Isha snatched the bowl with the predatory greed of a starved wolf. “I told you it was a reasonable price, buddy! I’m too kind to you, honestly.” He gobbled up the porridge like a thief trying to destroy evidence.

Matthias couldn't help but steal another glance at Laila. His entire body screamed with excited anticipation; the pain in his ankle even felt temporarily numbed. He was in a galaxy of blissful, impatient thought .

The second course of the evening was then served—a savory fish stew with lentils—but Matthias's patience was wearing thin. Before the delicious-smelling meal could even reach their table, Matthias grabbed Isha’s arm, summoning surprising strength in his grip, and dragged him out.

“C’mon, man, just a taste! It’s salmon with lentil! It’s the best stew all year!” Isha protested, stretching his neck back toward the tray.

But Matthias was hell-bent on not letting go. “We had a deal! Now fulfill your part, now. To the Founder’s Circle ASAP! I can’t be late.” Matthias pushed past the refectory doors, hauling Isha behind him.

“Man, you owe me that fish stew for life,” Isha grumbled in regret and feigned exhaustion as they peeped through the alleyway leading to the historic Founder's Square, situated at the edge of Lakewood memorial, close to the Great Bight Foresta. “It’s past eight. Won’t the caretaker get mad if he sees us loitering at the Circle?”

“Laila is meeting me there in a few minutes! It's serious business, not loitering. Now do your part,” Matthias said, limping to a halt and nervously checking his cheap digital watch.