Layla and Asma reached the gate of the school just as the morning bell rang in the distance. Students were scattered around, chatting in small groups, laughing, or rushing to their classes, but the two girls walked with calm confidence, a quiet storm brewing beneath Layla's composed expression.
"Are you really going to deal with Sarah today?" Asma asked, glancing at her friend with a mix of curiosity and concern.
"Sarah?" Layla blinked and let out a small laugh. "Oh! I actually forgot about her."
"You forgot?" Asma gave her a look.
"Yeah," Layla said, rolling her shoulders as if shaking off a burden. "But now that you brought her up… I guess I should give her a reminder. Just a little one. Girls shouldn't be so vicious—not to the point of sending thugs after another girl. That's crossing a line."
Asma frowned. "You're not going to beat her to death, are you?"
Layla stopped walking and turned to Asma, raising a brow. "Are you even my friend? Do I look like a killer to you?"
"No, you don't," Asma replied quickly, then paused. "But… you're Layla."
Layla narrowed her eyes. "But what, Asma?"
"Nothing. Just… nothing," Asma said, waving it off with a nervous laugh. "Let's just get to class. Please, whatever you do, don't hit her so hard you end up facing the disciplinary committee ."
Layla smirked and started walking again. "Don't worry. She won't dare report me. Not after what she did."
Asma followed, still unsure whether to laugh or be afraid for Sarah. One thing she knew for sure—Layla didn't make threats. She made statements.
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The girls entered the classroom like it was any ordinary Monday, even though there was a quiet buzz in the air. It was test day—the first period was always reserved for the dreaded Monday quiz.
As soon as the bell rang, the physics teacher walked in, a bundle of question papers in hand. The class went silent. Without wasting time, he began distributing the sheets, his voice sharp and clear.
"No talking. No looking around. If I catch anyone copying, you'll be out of this class immediately."
The room grew tense, but Layla remained calm, almost indifferent. She took the question paper, scanned it casually, and a slight smile touched her lips. As expected, there wasn't a single question she didn't know.
While the rest of the class bent over their papers with furrowed brows and scribbled in panic, Layla answered each question with steady confidence. There was no hesitation in her hand, no moment of doubt in her eyes.
But unlike other times, she didn't rush to hand in her paper within five minutes as she usually did. This time, she leaned back in her seat after finishing, arms folded, waiting patiently.
Half an hour passed before she finally got up, walked to the teacher's desk, and handed over her answer sheet.
Without a word to anyone, Layla walked out of the classroom. She didn't turn down the corridor or head toward the cafeteria like the others might during a break.
Instead, she kept walking—right past the school gates, right out of the school grounds.
A few moments later, she stood at the nearby taxi stand, the wind tugging lightly at her hair, eyes fixed on the road ahead.
Layla had somewhere to be.
------
"Take me to Ulus Antique Market," Layla said to the taxi driver as she settled into the back seat.
The driver glanced at her through the rearview mirror. "Shouldn't you be in school right now?"
"I can take another taxi if you're uncomfortable," Layla replied without missing a beat.
The driver chuckled. "No need, little girl. I'll take you."
After about half an hour weaving through Ankara's streets, the taxi pulled up in front of Ulus Antique Market. Layla handed over the fare without a word and got out.
She didn't waste time browsing the crowded stalls or glancing at the antiques displayed in the open. Instead, she moved with purpose, heading straight into the backstreets of Samanpazarı. Her steps were confident as she turned through narrow alleyways until she reached an old building—weathered stone walls, rusted iron bars on the windows. No name, no sign, no indication of what it was.
But Layla walked in like she owned the place.
Inside, the dim-lit lobby was nearly empty except for a beautiful woman at the reception desk, lazily chewing gum and tapping away on her phone.
"I want to see your boss," Layla said, her voice firm and expression unreadable.
The receptionist didn't even look up. "Go back to school, little girl," she muttered, scrolling on her screen.
Without hesitation, Layla reached over and snatched the phone out of her hand.
"I said, call your boss."
The woman shot up from her seat, eyes wide. "This place isn't for children. Give me back my phone and get out!"
"I'll give it back when your boss shows up," Layla said calmly, like she wasn't the least bit concerned.
The receptionist's tone turned sharp. "Security! Throw this girl out!"
A moment later, a large, muscular man stepped in from a side door. He towered over Layla and approached, cracking his knuckles.
But the moment he reached out to grab her—
Layla moved.
In a flash, her foot connected with his groin, making the bulky man double over in pain. Before he could recover, she delivered a sharp, precise strike to his neck. His eyes rolled back as he collapsed onto the floor, unconscious.
The receptionist gasped, frozen in place, her mouth hanging open.
Layla calmly placed the phone on the counter. "Now. Call your boss."
Suddenly, several men burst out from hidden corners of the building—some from behind curtains, others from shadowy doorways, all dressed in black and moving with speed. It was a trap, clearly, and Layla was right in the center. But instead of flinching, she remained perfectly calm, her body still, eyes sharp, calculating every move.
The first man lunged at her with a baton, but she turned slightly and sent a fierce side kick straight to his chest. He flew backward like a ragdoll, crashing hard against the wall before sliding down, groaning.
Another man tried to surprise her from behind, but before he could even reach, Layla spun and struck him with a back kick right in the ribs. The sound of impact cracked through the room, and he collapsed, clutching his side.
A third charged like a beast, bellowing as he rushed at her head-on. Layla didn't back away. Instead, she stepped forward and slammed her fist into his stomach with perfect timing. He gasped, eyes wide in shock as all the air left his lungs. Before he could even fall, Layla grabbed him by the collar, lifted his heavy body with shocking ease, and hurled him toward the reception desk.
The man landed right in front of the receptionist, legs splayed and head under her skirt. She let out a shriek of horror, leaping backward and nearly tripping over her own chair.
Layla didn't pause. Four more men surrounded her now, circling like wolves. One threw a punch, but she ducked, grabbed his arm, twisted it behind his back, and shoved him headfirst into another man behind him. They crashed together and dropped.
Another attacker tried to grab her from the side, but she jumped, rotated midair, and kicked him on the side of the head. He spun and hit the floor unconscious.
Two came at her at once with clubs. Layla slid low between them, kicking their legs from under them. As they fell, she rolled up, grabbed one of their batons, and tossed it like a dart into the forehead of the last man standing. He dropped instantly.
Within moments, ten grown men—trained guards—lay unconscious or groaning around the lobby, defeated as easily as if they were cardboard cutouts.
Layla straightened her jacket and fixed her hair like nothing had happened. Then, slowly, she turned back to the receptionist—who stood frozen, eyes wide, mouth open, trembling.
"Now," Layla said again, her voice as calm as ever. "Call your boss."