Ronda’s gaze was unyielding, each step she took deliberate, her eyes locked onto Trevor with the intensity of a hawk spotting its prey. The crowd, previously enraptured by the bullying spectacle, now watched with bated breath, phones forgotten in their hands. Trevor stumbled back, releasing La Kea, who slumped against the lockers, drawing in frantic breaths.

“Is this how you get your kicks?” Ronda’s voice was low and steady, but it carried through the hallway like a battle cry. Her reputation preceded her, stories of her prowess both in the octagon and her advocacy for anti-bullying well known. She stopped a few feet from Trevor, who now seemed much smaller without the backing of his entourage.