Part-19

  Principal Byzed chuckled a deep rumble that trasted with his usual stern demeanor. "Don't worry, James," he said, a hint of amusement twinkling in his eyes. "I uand your frustration. Trust me, I gave Ryan a good tongue-shing too. But you have to uand, letting you two walk away scot-free after a brawl in the hallway would cause quite a stir."

  James offered a hesitant smile. The reprimand still stung, but the revetion about his grandfather and Principal Byzed shifted his perspective.

  Byzed leaned ba his chair, steepling his fingers once more. "Holy," he tinued, a nostalgic glint in his eyes, "if this had happened outside of school grounds, I probably wouldn't have interfered. Kids gotta learn to settle their disagreements sometimes, right?"

  James' eyebrows shot up. This was a pletely different side of Principal Byzed than he'd ever seen. Gone was the stoic authority figure, repced by a man with a mischievous twinkle and a surprising past.

  "You see," Byzed said, a smile stretg across his face, "yrandfather, Harold, wasn't just my squadron leader during the Liberation War in '71. We were also…" He paused, a pyful glint in his eyes, "partners in a bit of youthful mischief."

  James' jaw dropped. His mild-mannered, bookish grandfather – a gang leader? The image was pletely ingruous.

  "Yep," Byzed chuckled, enjoying James' fbbergasted expression. "Harold, the legendary 'Hurrie Harold,' terror of the Dhaka streets. Though back then, it was more pranks than anything serious. But let me tell you, the man could throw a mean punch… or should I say, sp?"

  A wave of realization washed over James. Principal Byzed, a man he'd always seen as a stern but somewhat goofy administrator, suddenly possessed a fasating past. The image of his bookish grandfather as a "Hurrie" leading a gang was still settling in, but Byzed's story offered a glimpse into the man behind the legend.

  "Wow," James managed, his voice barely a whisper. "I never knew..."

  Byzed's smile softened, a touch of nostalgia c his voice. "Harold was five years my senior. When he joihe army at eighteen, he ractically a man already. He possessed a quiet fidehat belied his age. By the time the war broke out, he tain, leading his men with ce and a surprising amount of tactical ing. He had a knack for unventional strategies, turning seemingly reckless maneuvers into strokes of brilliahat left the enemy bewildered and our forces victorious. They called him 'Hurrie Harold' back then in army too, a whirlwind of energy and tactical genius that could shift the tide of a battle. Of course that titile was made by me."

  A glint of pride flickered in Byzed's eyes. "He called me up, said they needed all the help they could get. een years old, hotheaded and full of bravado, I didn't hesitate. It wasn't just because he was my senior, though he definitely earned our respect ba the day. It was because he believed in what we were fighting for, and that fire in his eyes, it was tagious."

  Byzed's voice softened further, a touch of reverence creeping in. "Harold was a born leader, even back when we were just a bunch of rowdy teenagers causing trouble. But the war ged him. It hardened him, sure, but it also focused that energy, that rebellious spirit, into something… something admirable."

  He leaned ba his chair, a thoughtful look settling on his face. "Funny how things turn out, isn't it? We were 'Bayzed's Boys' back then, terrorizing the streets. Now, here I am, a principal, and yrandfather… well, let's just say he found a different kind of leadership role."

  Byzed sighed as he gazing in distant sky.