Chapter 1 –
BOOM—!
A fist crashed into the face of a young man with bright orange hair, sending him sprawling to the ground.
He didn't scream. Just a groan, low and rough.
The boy who threw the punch—tall, lean, with neatly styled blue hair—grinned down at him. "What, that all you got?" he said, his voice mocking. "Come on, Boris. Make some noise. Crawl, cry—something."
Laughter erupted around them. Half a dozen students stood in a loose circle, their uniforms crisp, their eyes cold.
They were all students of the same elite college. And they were in a part of campus no one ever monitored—a tucked-away maintenance lot behind the chemistry building. The kind of place where screams didn't echo far.
To them, this was just another Tuesday.
Boris didn't move. Didn't speak. He stayed curled on the cracked pavement, one hand twitching slightly near his ribs.
The silence irritated Luke—the blue-haired boy. He crouched down, grabbed Boris by the collar, and lifted his bruised face just enough to stare into his dull, golden eyes.
"I said scream, you little freak."
Boris looked at him. Not with defiance. Just emptiness.
He was...tired.
Luke's jaw tightened.
"You think a scholarship makes you one of us?" Luke muttered, quieter now. "My dad sees kids like you as pets. I'm just the one who says it out loud."
He shoved him down again. Hard.
Someone in the group kicked him in the back. Another laughed nervously and muttered, "He's gone numb, man. Doesn't even flinch anymore."
More kicks followed. Harder this time. Faster.
Thud. Crack. A wet cough escaped Boris's lips. Blood trickled from the corner of his mouth.
"Hey," came a calm voice from behind them. "That's enough."
The group turned. A tall student with golden hair—Nathan—stepped forward, hands in his pockets. Behind him stood a striking girl with black hair, arms crossed, her expression unreadable.
Luke gave a frustrated sigh. "Why are you always interrupting the fun, Nathan?"
Nathan raised an eyebrow. "Because your version of fun might get us expelled. Or worse—cut off."
He let the words hang.
Luke scowled. "No one's cutting me off. You know who my father is."
Nathan's tone sharpened, just a touch. "Yes. I do. And so do the school administrators. You think they'll protect you when your tantrums start making headlines?"
Silence fell.
Nathan turned to the others. "Pick him up. Get him to the medical center. If anyone asks, you did it. Not Luke. Not me."
There was hesitation.
"You hear me?" Nathan's voice dropped. "If he dies and you didn't cover for Luke, you'll be next." His voice was cold.
The students scrambled, lifting Boris's limp body and rushing off.
Luke stayed behind, breathing hard.
"He's not dead," Nathan said, "But you're lucky."
Luke muttered, "I'm not scared of you."
Nathan smirked. "No. But you're scared of your dad."
From the back, the girl finally spoke, her voice light, even cheerful. "Are we done? I'm starving."
"Katy," Nathan said, "found a new place downtown. Super expensive."
"And you're paying," Katy added, nudging Luke.
"What? I paid last time."
"For this mess, you're paying again," Nathan said, already walking away.
They left together—laughing, bickering—like any group of old friends grabbing dinner.
Behind them, Boris's blood still marked the pavement.
...
Medical Center – Later That Night
Fluorescent lights buzzed overhead. Boris lay in bed, bandaged, his skin a mess of bruises. His ribs throbbed. His throat was raw.
But what hurt most wasn't his body.
It was his soul...it was his mind...!
It was everything else.
He stared at the ceiling, unmoving. Memories came, slow and sharp.
The car accident that stole his parents and his older sister. The call that changed everything. He should've been in that car—he only stayed home to finish a homework assignment.
He was hardworking. Not smart. Just persistent. His parents always praised him for that.
But their voices were gone now.
Since then, the world had closed in. Teachers looked through him. Classmates avoided him. He was "the quiet one." And so he became the perfect target.
And then came her.
Katy.
She had smiled at him once. Sat next to him in class. Asked about his weekend.
He thought—maybe, just maybe—he had someone again.
But then came the truth.
All that was a bet. A dare from Luke.
"You actually thought I liked you?" she had laughed. "God, you're more pathetic than I thought."
The class had joined in.
That day, Boris snapped.
He had said one word in reply. Just one.
"Bitch."
And that was all it took.
Since then, the torment never stopped.
A knock sounded.
Boris's thoughts were immediately interrupted.
A woman in a lab coat entered. Miss Johnson. The campus nurse.
"You're here again," she said quietly, like it was routine.
Boris didn't reply.
She sighed. "The ones who did this said it was a prank gone wrong. They'll be punished."
He turned his head toward her. His voice was hoarse but steady. "You know it wasn't them. And you know it was not a simple prank."
She froze.
"You know it," he said again. "Everyone does."
She clenched her fists.
"I'm sorry, Boris," she whispered. "I have a daughter. I can't..."
He nodded slowly. Not with understanding—but resignation.
She left.
And Boris was alone.
Again.
He looked around the sterile room. Cold. Quiet. The only warmth came from the IV drip beside him.
"What's the point?" he murmured.
What was left for him here? Pain? Humiliation?
All because of what? He doesn't have power and background like them?
Power. Strength.
Things he never had. Things no one gave him.
He laughed.
It was low, bitter. Unstable.
The sound of someone losing their grip.
He fumbled for his phone—screen cracked, camera fuzzy but it still worked.
He hit "record."
"My name's Boris. If you're watching this, I'm probably already gone. This school let them break me—and you all watched. So now you'll watch this, too."
He spoke, voice trembling. Not from fear—but something deeper.
And when he finished, he posted it.
Everywhere.
Then, he bit down hard on his tongue.
"Goodbye," he whispered.
To no one.
Because there was no one left to say it to.
But unknown to him, his death awakened something deep within him.
Something of his own.
Something...otherworldly.
—End of Chapter 1—