Rick and Morty: Smartest Morty in the multiverse

The hallway fell into that sharp, electric silence that only comes before something savage when the crowd feels a storm but doesn't know if it'll break. Chad swaggered behind Viktor like a wolf sizing up a lamb, the same arrogant smirk plastered across his face since the semester began. Morty Smith, the school's resident pushover, was walking alone, backpack half-slung, head down. Too easy. Chad lifted his fist, cocked back for the kind of cheap shot every kid in the hallway expected and that Viktor had been waiting for.

The swing never landed.

Viktor moved like a door hinge snapping shut. One step aside, half-turn, hand clamping Chad's wrist mid-air, twisting not with force, but with a surgeon's understanding of how joints begged not to break. Chad's eyes flared. Before he could grunt, Viktor shifted his weight, dragging Chad's arm down and in, flipping him clean over onto the linoleum. Chad hit with a sound that wasn't pain yet but close.

Viktor didn't stop. His knee found Chad's gut the moment impact stole his breath, a clean drive that folded him like paper. The crowd gasped as one. Chad's face turned a sick shade of white, mouth opening in a silent wheeze. Viktor let him try to crawl.

Then, methodically, Viktor reached down and twisted Chad's arm up behind his back, pushing the wrist higher until Chad's shoulder screamed in its socket. Not dislocated but a whisper away. Chad whimpered.

Viktor leaned close, voice low enough that only Chad would hear, calm as a man reading tomorrow's weather.

"You're going to stand up," Viktor murmured. "And when you do, you're going to feel every pair of eyes on you knowing you begged."

Chad shook his head, a frantic, panicked shake. Viktor applied a fraction more pressure.

"Or… I pop this shoulder, right here, in front of your girlfriend. Think she'll want you after that?"

Something broke in Chad's body first. His knees buckled, a dry sob tearing from his throat as he nodded. Viktor released him like something unworthy of holding. Chad staggered to his feet, swaying, clutching his arm.

The hallway watched, dead silent.

But Viktor wasn't done.

He took a step closer, forcing Chad back a pace. His voice stayed soft, a thread of silk wound around barbed wire.

"You think this was about you hitting me?" Viktor said. "This was about you thinking you could."

Chad's eyes darted, flickering around the faces in the hall every student staring, some filming, some frozen. All watching Chad breathe like a man who'd just been hit by a truck. Viktor gave him nothing but cold, clinical words.

"You've been playing a role," Viktor whispered. "Acting like you're the apex. You push, you bark, you flex and you pray no one calls it. Because deep down, you know. You're a nothing wrapped in muscle. A loud mistake waiting for someone to notice."

Chad swallowed, eyes glistening now not with anger, but something brittle. Viktor saw it. The crack.

And drove the knife in.

"I'm not going to beat you again," Viktor said. "Because after this, you'll do it for me. Every time you wake up. Every time you look in the mirror. You'll be the guy who got dropped by Morty Smith and didn't even fight back."

Viktor leaned forward, close enough for Chad to feel his breath.

"And the best part? No one's ever going to let you forget it. Least of all… you."

Chad's mouth opened to argue, to deny, maybe even to scream. Viktor's hand brushed his shoulder.

Then the final nail.

"I saw your dad once," Viktor whispered. "He looks at you the same way I do."

Chad flinched like he'd been shot. The color drained out of him in a way that didn't come back. Whatever Viktor hit fear, shame, that sick little knot of being never enough it detonated behind Chad's eyes. His mouth worked soundlessly. Viktor didn't wait for him to speak.

He stepped back, turned, and walked away, cutting clean through the stunned crowd. No smirk. No swagger. Just a boy who'd dropped a name off the map.

Chad didn't move. Not for a long time.

When he did, it was to walk not run, not limpbut walk straight past the lockers, down the hall… and out the door.

He wouldn't be seen at school again. And the rumor of what Morty Smith did would live longer than Chad ever did.

---

Chad walked home in a daze, the world muted around him, his feet moving on autopilot over cracked sidewalks and dying lawns. The sun glared overhead, bright and mocking. By the time he pushed open the door to his house, his face was as pale as the walls inside. He barely had time to drop his bag before his father's voice stabbed through the quiet.

"Look who decided to come home a little sooner than expected."

Chad froze. His father leaned against the kitchen counter, arms folded, eyes flicking over him with that look. The one that always saw straight through him.

"Another fight, huh?" His father sneered. "Or did you finally figure out you're not even good at losing?"

Chad said nothing. His father's smirk deepened.

"You're pathetic," his father said, voice flat. "Walking around like you're somebody. You're not. You've never been. And now the whole damn school knows it. Christ, even your mom knew it before she left."

The words hit harder than Viktor's knee ever could. They landed in places already cracked open. Chad's fists clenched, nails digging into his palms.

"Oh, look at that," his father laughed coldly. "Gonna cry? Gonna run off and whine like a little—"

The glass hit the side of his father's head with a sound sharp as a gunshot. Chad hadn't even realized he'd picked it up. His father staggered, eyes wide, hand going to his temple where blood welled thick and fast.

"What the hell—"

Chad hit him again. And again. Until there wasn't a voice left to taunt him. Until the man on the floor wasn't a father, or a shadow, or even a memory just a stain.

The world stayed silent.

Chad dropped the glass. The pieces scattered over the tiles like broken promises. He stood there, chest heaving, staring down at the ruin of the man who'd made him this way.

Then Chad turned, walked up the stairs in perfect, empty calm, entered his room, and closed the door.

Minutes later, a single shot echoed from the second floor.

When they found him, the gun still warm in his hand, his face was blank save for the faint trace of a smile. A smile that stayed frozen under words he'd carved into the desk beside him in jagged, shaking letters:

YOU WON.

________

It's done. Chad's fall is complete—humiliated, broken, and finally destroyed in his own home, leaving nothing behind but two words: You won.

Only reason he was killed because people wanted action so his death is on you