Transmigrated Into The True Heiress-Chapter 37: Secrets

Lance walked forward with a wicked grin on his lips. He cracked his neck, stretched his hands, and then held his arms out. "Who wants to go first?"

By now, almost everyone in the cafeteria had stopped what they were doing to watch the impending fight, while some hurried out. Eira guessed they were going to report to the teachers.

Cyran, however, was anything but eager for a fight. He stepped forward hurriedly and lightly touched Lance’s arm. "No, please don’t fight. I-I can leave. If they want the spot—"

The leader sneered. "Now you talk, huh? Should have said that in the first place. Now get the hell out of my face."

"But—" Cyran began, but Malia cut him off.

"Even if he said you should have the spot, I wouldn’t have allowed it," she stated, pulling Cyran back by the arm.

"Malia—"

"It’s okay, don’t worry. Lance is just going to teach them a little lesson their parents couldn’t."

"You bitch—"

"I’d advise you to watch what you say with that stinkhole you call a mouth," Orla interjected, her voice chilling to the bone.

"Ephyra," Cyran turned to her, his face etched with anxiety.

He really didn’t like violence, did he? Not only was he pampered, but he was also sheltered. This boy wouldn’t survive a day in her world.

Eira smiled and held his hand. "It’s alright. They started it by trying to take your spot. Besides, fighting for it seems fair in this situation since they won’t budge. Don’t worry, it won’t get bloody. We are in school, after all."

Cyran was silent for a moment before speaking, "You’ve changed, Ephyra. Before, you would have tried to stop them or left so you wouldn’t have to watch the fight."

Eira shrugged. "I guess you could say that after dying and coming back to life, I’ve realized a lot of things, which in turn changed me," she said, turning her head.

The four guys were already gathered around Lance, waiting for someone to make the first move.

Suddenly, Lance winked at them, and one of the guys seized the opportunity to strike. But he didn’t get the chance—Lance caught the punch and, with a swift, clean motion, his fist connected with the leader’s jaw. The guy staggered back, stunned, as the cafeteria erupted in gasps and hushed whispers. Before the others could react, Lance was already moving, his feet barely making a sound as he closed in on the next guy.

Eira watched as Lance moved fluidly, dodging each strike with precision. He was fast—almost too fast for someone his size—and his attacks were sharp and deliberate. Every punch and kick was controlled, aimed with purpose, leaving the boys scrambling to keep up. He wasn’t fighting recklessly; every movement was calculated.

One of the boys, a tall and muscular guy who seemed to think size would give him an edge, lunged at Lance with a shout. Lance sidestepped easily, almost lazily, grabbed the boy’s wrist, and twisted it sharply, sending him crashing to the floor. Eira noted the calm in Lance’s eyes—a stark contrast to the frantic movements of his opponents. His face was relaxed, a small smile playing on his lips.

The remaining two hesitated, exchanging nervous glances before pressing forward, trying to overwhelm him with a simultaneous attack. Lance ducked under one wild swing, delivering a hard kick to the other’s midsection, sending him stumbling back. With a quick pivot, he caught the wrist of the second attacker, yanked him forward, and slammed an elbow into his stomach. The boy doubled over, gasping in pain, before crumpling to the ground.

It all happened so quickly—mere seconds had passed since the fight began, and three of the boys were already down. The leader, still reeling from Lance’s initial punch, was the last one standing. His face twisted with pain, embarrassment, and a hint of fear. He lunged, fists flying in a desperate attempt to salvage his dignity. Lance didn’t even flinch. Instead, he sidestepped again, letting the boy’s punch sail past harmlessly before grabbing the back of his collar and yanking him down to the floor.

Eira watched as Lance remained calm throughout the entire scuffle. He wasn’t winded, and his stance was as relaxed as if he were having a casual conversation. The leader groaned, clutching his arm in pain, while the other three lay on the ground, defeated.

Lance straightened, dusting off his hands with almost casual indifference, his smile widening as he looked over at Eira and the others. "See? Told you it wouldn’t get too messy," he said lightly, as if the entire altercation had been a minor inconvenience.

Malia clapped, satisfaction evident on her face. Orla merely rolled her eyes, though a faint smile tugged at her lips. Eira studied Lance a moment longer, her curiosity piqued. He was more than just fast and strong—he was skilled, confident, and, most importantly, unbothered. There was a calmness in him that reminded her of a seasoned fighter, someone who had seen enough not to be rattled by such confrontations.

Cyran looked stunned, his eyes wide as he glanced between Lance and the groaning boys. "Th-that was... fast," he managed to say, his voice barely a whisper.

"It usually is," Lance replied with a nonchalant shrug. He turned his back on the defeated group without a second glance and stepped up to the cafeteria counter as if nothing had happened. "Now then, shall we finally get our lunch?" he asked, flashing them all a charming grin.

The staff behind the counter seemed equally stunned but, after a moment of hesitation, they began serving, trying to ignore the chaos that had just unfolded.

Eira couldn’t help but smile a little. Lance wasn’t who Malia had said he was, but she didn’t care. Everyone had secrets to keep, especially a family like the Dellingers.

"I don’t feel like eating here," Malia murmured, then turned to Eira. "Do you want to go eat lunch somewhere quiet and relaxing? It’s a great spot, I promise!"

Eira shrugged and looked to Cyran, who nodded. "Sure, lead the way."

"Come on!"

They walked out of the cafeteria and through the hallways, but trouble seemed to follow them. They bumped into Alan, who had a scowl on his face.

"Can’t you watch—Ephyra," Alan said, glaring down at her, his face full of anger.

Not this idiot again. Eira sighed inwardly.