Reborn as a Ghost Rider

The hallway outside the disciplinary committee office was quiet. Only the occasional footsteps of students echoed, but no one dared linger nearby. Johnny Blaze's office, the committee leader, inspired both respect and fear. Nobody wanted to accidentally run into him or his subordinates.

Timanath Promrat, or just Tim, stood across from the door, nervously fidgeting with the fabric of his shirt. His breathing quickened, and his palms were clammy. He didn't know why he'd been summoned, but he had a hunch.

The rumors about Johnny had spread through the school long ago. To most, he was a savior who had restored order. To his enemies, he was a shadow of terror hidden beneath the mask of the perfect student.

"The Demon," Tim recalled the whispers in the hallways. That was what they called Johnny—those who had glimpsed his true nature.

Once, the disciplinary committee was just a pipe dream for losers. Then Blaze came along and swiftly imposed his rules. Most of the committee members now looked like a gang of bouncers: neatly pressed school uniforms paired with scarred faces, broken noses, tattoos, and piercings. The rumor was that Johnny hadn't reformed the bullies but had forcibly recruited them into his own gang.

Tim flinched when he spotted one of them standing by the door. The guy lazily toyed with a pocketknife, but his eyes never left Tim.

"He's going to eat me alive," Tim thought, swallowing hard.

"You Promrat?" the bouncer growled, looking up from the knife.

Tim nodded silently.

"The boss is waiting for you," he said, jerking his head toward the door. "But to you, he's Mr. Blaze. Show him some respect."

The bouncer ran a hand over the scar above his eyebrow—a silent warning about what happened to those who didn't.

Summoning all his courage, Tim pushed the door open and stepped inside.

The office was spacious and immaculate. A large wooden desk occupied the center of the room. On it were neatly arranged papers, a few books, and Johnny's badge: "Disciplinary Committee Leader." Johnny himself sat in a chair, leaning back casually. His piercing gaze immediately locked onto Tim, making him shrink even further.

"Sit," Johnny said curtly, gesturing to the chair in front of the desk.

Tim hurried to sit, terrified of further angering the person they called The Demon. Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed Roxy, the cheerleading captain, standing beside Johnny. She didn't seem to acknowledge Tim's presence, focused instead on her own request.

"Johnny, please!" she pleaded, her voice slightly playful. "Just once! Give me a ride on your motorcycle. I promise I won't ask again."

Johnny smirked faintly. His tone remained cold but carried a hint of irony.

"Roxy, it's not as simple as you think. I've got things to do."

"What things?" she pouted slightly. "You're not going to say no to your best friend, are you?"

"Tell you what," Johnny said, running a hand thoughtfully over the desk. "I'll finish here, and if I have time, I'll take you."

Her radiant smile was answer enough.

"Thanks! I knew you were the best!" she said before dashing out of the office, leaving Tim alone with Johnny.

Tim watched her leave, imagining what he'd do if a girl like that asked him for a favor.

"I'd drive her to Alaska if she wanted," he thought. "But girls like her don't even notice guys like me."

Blaze's cold voice snapped him back to reality:

"You're missing a button," Johnny remarked, eyeing Tim's shirt. "Not a good look."

"Yes, Mr. Blaze," Tim stammered. "It got snagged accidentally."

"Don't lie," Johnny's voice grew firmer but not louder. "We know there was a scuffle in the parking lot. That kind of behavior is unacceptable."

The atmosphere in the office grew heavy. Johnny slowly stood, his tall figure towering over Tim. The boy's heart raced, certain a punishment was imminent.

But Johnny didn't rush. He walked to the window, gazing out at the schoolyard. His voice turned calm, almost reflective:

"Do you know why I'm here? Because I've taken on the responsibility of protecting this school. And people like you. But to do that, I need the truth."

Tim swallowed nervously, a slight tremor running through him.

"If you lie to me, I'll write a report labeling you as a problem student, and the principal will expel you," Johnny said, not even glancing his way. "You know Lopez, the guy selling towels outside school? He used to study here—until he pissed me off."

Those words shattered Tim's defenses. Unable to hold it in, he spilled everything:

"They're... they're my cousins. Immigrants from Thailand, like me. They want me to... start selling drugs at school. I refused, but today they came to pressure me. I didn't do anything, I swear!"

Tim poured out his story—how his mom brought him to the U.S. through a lottery program, working three jobs to pay for their lousy apartment and his education. How he stayed up late studying to make her sacrifices worthwhile. How things got worse when his cousins got involved. How he tried telling his mom, but she insisted conflicts should be resolved with words. How he tried, but they tore his clothes. How he was now too scared to walk the streets alone, afraid they'd grab him.

He couldn't explain why he was telling all this to someone he'd just met. Blaze didn't even look at him. But something about him—the terrifying aura and a sense of reliability—made Tim believe he could do what no one else could.

Johnny listened silently, his gaze fixed on the schoolyard. When Tim finally finished, the silence in the room became unbearable.

"Am I going to be expelled?" Tim asked timidly.

"No," Blaze replied, finally turning from the window. "I've seen your grades. You're a decent student. People like you don't get expelled. But tomorrow, you'll bring your cousins here after school."

"Why?" Tim asked, confused.

Johnny turned, a grim smile spreading across his face:

"Because this school belongs to me. If they want to 'do business,' they'll have to deal with me."

---

Timanat barely forced himself to return to the office the next day. Behind him, two guys with distinctive features, clearly indicating their Thai origins, walked loudly, laughing and chatting. They clearly felt in control. One of them, stocky and tattooed, glanced disdainfully at the empty school corridors.

"What kind of boss hangs out in a school?" he sneered, giving Tim a kick. "Why the hell are you listening to some school nerd? We're your family, got it? You should listen to us!"

Tim blushed and hurried to open the door, eager for them to settle their business and leave him alone. Johnny, sitting behind his desk, didn't even look up.

"Sit," he said shortly. His voice was calm but cold as a blade.

The cousins exchanged glances and sat on the chairs opposite him. Tim stayed by the door, feeling his knees tremble.

"You can leave," Johnny said, still not looking at Tim. "The adults will talk now."

One of the cousins chuckled. Tim hesitated but eventually left, closing the door behind him.

---

When the door shut, one of the cousins, the taller and leaner one, squinted at Johnny with disdain.

"Listen, kid, we came here out of courtesy. Now, tell us, why the hell are we here? Who do you even think you are?"

Johnny slowly lifted his head. His gaze was icy, devoid of anger or irritation—just absolute confidence in his authority.

"They call me Mr. Blaze here," he began calmly. "I run this school. And I've had to break plenty of guys like you to get here."

He opened a desk drawer and pulled out a few items: a heavy hammer, brass knuckles, a hunting knife, a broken katana, and… a hockey mask. The objects landed on the desk with dull thuds. The cousins froze.

"These are my trophies," Johnny continued. "Each of them has a story. Take this brass knuckle, for example. Bonecrusher tried using it against my fists. Now the knuckle's mine, and he'll never have kids again."

He picked up the knife, examining it like a cherished relic.

"This knife belonged to Pretty Boy. He tried to stab me at a school dance. Let's just say he now prefers to keep his distance from people."

Johnny ran his hand over the hockey mask, hesitated for a moment, and shook his head, as if deciding the story wasn't worth sharing. Then, he picked up the broken katana.

"And this…" His voice turned soft, almost nostalgic. "This katana belonged to a real yakuza. Maybe you've heard of him—Samurai. He was a fan of the old ways." Johnny gazed at the blade, covered in scratches, with its tip broken off. "The other half of this blade is still inside Samurai."

He raised his eyes, staring directly at the cousins.

"You know what they all have in common?" His voice turned glacial. "Each of them thought they were tough and me was just some school nerd. And where are they now?"

The cousins stiffened. They knew every name. Bonecrusher—an underground fighter who lured fresh meat into the ring. Pretty Boy—a pimp who scouted for young recruits. Samurai—a dealer in high-quality drugs, responsible for distribution in schools.

Those men were big league. Compared to them, the cousins were petty bike thieves.

Mr. Blaze stared at them, waiting for their response.

The cousins exchanged glances. One of them swallowed hard but tried to maintain composure.

"All right, all right, Mr. Blaze," the stocky one muttered. "We get it. You're in charge here. We're not trying to step on your toes. We just wanted to make a little money."

"Nothing happens in this school without my permission. Got it? No 'little money.'"

"Of course, Mr. Blaze. We didn't know how things worked here. Tim didn't tell us anything. Look, maybe we can make a deal? We provide the goods. Tim can sell in the hallways. If anything goes wrong, we'll make sure that loser takes all the blame and doesn't mention our names." He smirked and cracked his knuckles. "Fifty percent of the profit for you. Fair deal?"

Johnny leaned forward, folding his hands on the desk.

"You'll leave and never come back. If I see you near any students, even outside the school, I'll throw you out this window. Clear?"

The cousins hesitated. The stocky one looked ready to argue, but the other placed a hand on his shoulder and muttered that they should leave.

They headed for the door and pulled the handle, but it wouldn't budge. They were locked in.

"What the hell is this?" one of them panicked. "We don't want to do any business here!"

"Smart choice," Johnny said darkly, smirking. "But you still need to pay for your past sins."

"Mr. Blaze… we can work something out…"

"There's no Mr. Blaze here anymore." He donned the hockey mask. "It's just two scumbags and the Demon."

He lunged at them, hammer in hand.