Under the stars

Chapter 4: The Protector.

High school marked a new era for Victor, a different world. After years of humiliation and violence, he hoped high school would offer a break in his tumultuous life. In some ways, it was a relief for him to find himself in a place where no one truly knew him. Here, he could be someone else. His years in elementary and middle school were behind him, and with them, he hoped to leave his suffering in the past. He had grown, and with that physical growth, he had also developed inner strength.

As he entered tenth grade, he was no longer the fragile, solitary boy who used to hide in the bathroom. He had built a shell, and the weight training he started in middle school had given him a solid body. He wasn’t massive, but his silhouette was well-defined, his muscles taut, and his endurance impressive. He still spent hours running and training every morning, even before the first light of day broke through the Parisian sky.

However, Victor remained solitary. Although he no longer faced direct bullying, he didn’t have any close friends. He preferred to stay on the sidelines, observing life around him without truly participating. In the hallways of the school, he was often alone, his headphones glued to his ears, cutting out the outside world. Yet, he was never indifferent to what was happening around him. He noticed everything—every glance, every laugh, every interaction. He saw the groups forming, the hierarchies being established, and with them, the inequalities. This pattern, he knew all too well.

One day, in the middle of his first year, as he was crossing the courtyard after morning classes, something caught his attention. At the far end, near a bench shaded by a large oak tree, he saw a gathering. At first, he paid it no mind. He thought it was just a group of friends joking around. But as he got closer, he heard a cruel laugh—a sound he knew too well. He stopped dead in his tracks, squinting to see better. Three boys, whom he quickly recognized as classmates, were gathered around a fourth boy. The latter was frail, smaller than the others, and seemed to be curled up as if trying to protect himself.

Victor’s heart clenched instantly. He couldn’t help but see himself in that boy’s place, just a few years earlier, taking the blows and insults. But something in him had changed. He was no longer that frightened child. He had learned to defend himself, both physically and mentally. Yet, he hoped this boy would find within himself the strength to fight back, to do what Victor hadn’t been able to do for so many years.

But that wasn’t the case. The boy remained still, enduring the punches and insults. The three others laughed, as if it were a game, as if inflicting pain was a form of entertainment. Victor could hear snippets of their insults.

“Look at him, he’s like a twig!”
“He could blow away with a gust of wind.”
“Come on, make yourself small, or we’ll help you.”

The words were weapons, as much as the punches. Victor felt his body tense with anger, but he stayed still, his feet rooted to the ground. He wanted to convince himself that this wasn’t his problem, that he had no reason to intervene. But the longer he watched, the more his blood boiled. It wasn’t fair. No one should endure this.

Then, without thinking, his feet moved. Within seconds, he was standing in front of the three bullies. His arrival didn’t go unnoticed, but they paid him no attention, likely assuming he was there as a mere spectator, like everyone else standing silently on the sidelines. But Victor was no longer the one who just watched.

Without a word, he grabbed the first boy by the collar of his shirt and, with a sharp move, delivered a punch straight to his face. The dull sound of the impact echoed in the air, and a cry of pain escaped the boy’s lips as his nose began to bleed profusely. The second boy, surprised, turned to Victor and tried to throw a punch. But Victor, with almost instinctive precision, blocked the blow and, with a simple movement, threw him to the ground. The third boy, far less brave, hesitated for a moment before backing away, raising his hands in surrender.

The first boy, still dazed, staggered to his feet, clutching his bleeding face. “You’re going to regret this,” he spat, his voice dripping with hatred. But Victor didn’t respond. He didn’t need to. The second boy, lying on the ground, tried to get up, but his gaze revealed more humiliation than physical pain. The third boy, meanwhile, turned and disappeared into the crowd that had gathered around the scene.

Victor then bent down to the boy who had remained on the ground. He extended a hand, his fingers firm but kind, and waited for the boy to take it. The boy, still in shock, slowly lifted his head. His eyes were red, filled with tears, but also disbelief. No one had ever defended him before. He grabbed Victor’s hand and stood up shakily, wobbling slightly.

“Are you okay?” Victor asked, his tone calm and steady.

The boy nodded, but his voice still trembled. “Yes... thank you.”

Victor said nothing more. He gently patted the boy’s shoulder before turning on his heels and continuing his day as if nothing had happened. He wasn’t looking for recognition or gratitude. He had simply done what he believed was right.

Over the months, Victor became a respected figure at school. He wasn’t popular in the traditional sense, but his demeanor commanded a certain respect. Few spoke directly to him, but everyone knew he didn’t tolerate injustice. On several occasions, he intervened in the same way, helping those who didn’t have the strength or courage to defend themselves.

In the hallways, he was always silent, but his actions spoke for him. The bullied students knew they could count on him, even if he never said a word to them outside of those moments. He wasn’t a hero in the traditional sense, but he had become, without meaning to, the protector of those who, like him before, had suffered in silence.

The years passed, and Victor continued on his path, always solitary, but always watchful. His days were filled with classes, weightlifting sessions, and the rare interactions with his peers. But each time he crossed paths with a frightened glance, each time he saw a weaker student being shoved, something in him stirred. He could no longer ignore what he saw, not after all he had been through.

Toward the end of his final year, a rumor began circulating. The teachers knew what he was doing, but they turned a blind eye. Maybe they saw in him a strength no one else had. Maybe they understood that Victor was doing what they themselves didn’t dare to do. They let him act, as long as he didn’t cross any lines.

One day, as he was leaving school after yet another confrontation, a teacher called out to him in the hallway. It was his gym teacher, a man in his fifties, with gray hair and piercing eyes.

“Victor, a word, please,” he said in a deep voice.

Victor stopped, turning to him, slightly wary. The teacher approached and placed a hand on his shoulder. “You’ve got potential, you know. What you’re doing... it’s not insignificant.”

Victor frowned, unsure of what his teacher meant.

“The army,” the teacher continued. “I’ve heard it interests you. You should seriously consider it. There, you could really make a difference.”

Victor didn’t respond, but the words echoed within him long after that exchange. The idea of joining the army, which had been growing in him for several months, now seemed more suited to him than ever before.