The outfit... black cargo-style jeans and an oversized white jersey—highlighted his delicate frame and amplified his cuteness. It was like a child wearing loose clothes, but in a way, this appearance made him appear to be more... alluring than normal.
He was still deciding or even, hesitating whether to let the hair tied up at the back or let it fall naturally and over time... The purpose defeated his will, as he untidied his hair and let it fall at the back like a long black curtain.
He smirked at the thought of showing up at school like this, well... it was mostly just thoughts but in reality, he might just act naturally. Attracting attention and gazes was the main goal, but if doing so could lead him to unnecessary trouble then the cons defeats the purpose.
"I wonder what those bastards will think now... seeing my face for once." His lips curled into a mischievous grin, a spark of deviousness dancing in his eyes. He was mainly mentioning those bully-rich second-generation boys at the school, the ones that he would often avoid in the past, fearing that he might be bullied too like the rest.
Mize appearance before this wasn't one where it could induce or even attract bullies, but due to his weak appearance, he was called a sissy or even worst, people mistook him for a girl and he would constantly get harassed.
"Nah, I should just stay lowkey all the time, only strike for those valuable targets only " he mused. For now, he won't just go around and flirt with random boys given that they would provide him with little benefits, he isn't that hungry or even dumb to that point.
His goal would be those men with a somewhat similar protagonist halo, or even a powerful background that could provide him with protection and whatever he wished for.
'You know... like a princess being doted on by all the big bosses in the world. That sounds fun' Mize thoughts churned inwardly, his hand brushing against the back of his hair, pushing it sideways to his ears.
'But... I wonder what it would feel like if one of these men... were to force me into doing those things?' Well... it was just a thought, a sudden one at that as his cheeks went red in an instant.
He was slipping further into the role he had once despised—becoming the very thing he used to hate. There's a saying: hate something long enough, and you'll eventually become it.
With that thought lingering in his mind, he slung his round, cat-shaped plush bag over his shoulder, picking it up carelessly from where it had been tossed the last week's Friday school day before.
The bag, cheap and from a dollar store, only added to his overall innocent appearance.
It was almost too perfect—a pale-skinned, porcelain doll with a cute ponytail and eyes like shining rubies, veiled by the soft fringe of his bangs.
Anyone who didn't know better would easily mistake him for a beautiful young girl—an innocent one.
The morning light poured through the hallway windows, casting a faint glow on the polished tiles beneath Mize's feet.
His footsteps echoed softly as he walked, the casual shoes he'd chosen for school scuffing with each step.
He wore them intentionally, every aspect of his appearance today crafted to turn heads. He imagined the glances that would follow him—the whispered remarks, the silent admiration. But that's it... he wanted attention and gazes alone, after all... 'I gotta grind points you know'
It's quite weird he must admit it... He craved attention, longing, and admiration from those around him but at the same time, he despised it when they disturbed him under these emotions that he had been yearning for.
'A bit hypocritical huh?' He touched his nose for a moment as he was making his way towards the door, his steps light.
With a smirk, he stepped out of his apartment, the door clicking shut behind him.
The key turned in the lock smoothly, and there was a faint clink from the special mechanism that secured it.
He pocketed the key with one swift motion, his hand brushing the soft fabric of his shirt.
As he strode down the corridor, the faded paint of the walls passed by in a blur, the narrow space stretching before him.
The building wasn't luxurious—just a typical high-rise with its share of imperfections—but it was home for now.
His pace was unhurried until he reached the elevator, where he came to a halt, fingers hovering over the button for a moment before pressing it.
"Why did my parents rent a place this high up?" he muttered, a slight frown tugging at his lips. "Could've bought something cheaper in the suburbs with their old finances. Awakeners job makes you rich, sure, but it's dangerous too."
He shoved his hands into his pockets, leaning against the cool wall as he waited. The numbers above the elevator doors counted down slowly—too slowly for his liking.
The pot of plants on the two sides of the lift door seemed to be quite pale today, "Oh wait, these are made out of plastic. As expected of the cheapskate owner of this building"
Tick.
Tick…
Tick...
A soft but incessant dripping sound broke through the relative silence. Mize stiffened, his ears tuning to the familiar noise.
He turned his head slightly, spotting the source at the far end of the hallway—a dark, damp stain creeping across the ceiling, droplets of foul-smelling water hitting the concrete floor below.
The stench hit his nostrils almost immediately, sharp and unpleasant, like urine left to fester.
His nose wrinkled in disgust, his gaze lingering for only a moment longer before he shifted his weight and took a few steps to the side, distancing himself from the source.
The elevator still hadn't arrived. He cast an irritated glance upward. The digital display continued its agonizingly slow descent, the numbers ticking down floor by floor.
He sighed, flipping his phone out of his pocket. His other hand slipped into the side pocket of his shirt, fingers curling into the soft fabric, finding warmth.
The familiar ding of a notification pulled his attention back to the screen.
He scrolled through the messages absentmindedly, his thumb moving in a lazy rhythm. His gaze flickered over the exchange with Derek.
[Derek: If you need anything, just ask me. I will buy it for you.]
A small, knowing smile tugged at the corners of his lips.
The messages were filled with attempts at humor, little gestures to win his favor, and, Mize had to admit, more often than not, they worked.
He chuckled under his breath, a low, almost inaudible sound. The thought of his reaction made him cringe slightly, though.
The playful giggles from the night before, those fleeting moments where his guard had slipped—they were genuine, and that's what unsettled him.
God, I must've looked like an idiot, he thought, rubbing the back of his neck as a goosebump ran down along the back of his neck. He shook his head.
"If there was a hole with no end," he muttered to himself, his voice low, "I'd be the first to jump into it."
With a sigh, he turned the phone off and slipped it back into his pocket. His eyes drifted up just in time to see the elevator's display finally nearing his floor.
Ding.
The doors slid open with a soft hiss, revealing a dimly lit interior. He stepped inside without much thought, giving a cursory glance to the person already inside.
A student, he noted, without much interest. Their eyes met briefly, and Mize gave a small, polite nod—nothing more.
He moved to the back corner of the elevator, leaning his back against the cold, metallic wall. His fingers brushed against the smooth surface as he made himself comfortable, his posture relaxed, casual.
He flipped his phone open again, diving back into the familiar world of messages and notifications, his focus already drifting away from his surroundings.
The faint hum of the elevator's machinery filled the silence as the floor numbers counted, but Mize was lost in his thoughts, paying little attention to the presence beside him.
Mize's fingers scrolled absentmindedly across his phone screen, his focus on the tiny device sharper than it seemed.
He was well aware of the boy standing next to him, even without looking. The subtle shift in body language, the stolen glances—Mize had felt that kind of attention many times before. This one was no different.
The boy's gaze flickered up and down, unsure but undeniably curious, his expression caught somewhere between confusion and something else—flustered, maybe?
Mize could see the awkward, hesitant vibe radiating off him, like a person on the verge of saying something but lacking the courage to speak.
Too bad, Mize thought, his lips twitching in the slightest curl. I'm not interested in a kid. The boy, no matter how intrigued, was of no use to him.
He wasn't looking for empty admirers or shallow crushes. Even Derek despite his appearance, gave him benefits in terms of money.
His posture—rigid and dismissive—said everything the boy needed to know.
With his eyes glued to his phone, Mize broadcasted his lack of interest clearly:
The boy must have caught on, too. His earlier boldness seemed to dissolve into awkward silence, retreating inward.
He shuffled in place, his gaze now glued to the floor as the elevator continued its slow descent. The hum of the machinery filled the space between them, punctuated only by the soft taps of Mize's fingers on his phone.
A flicker of hunger passed through Mize's thoughts, his mind wandering to the meal he'd had the night before.
'Now that I have money, might as well have a good meal at the canteen later' Mize mused to himself.
He glanced at his wristwatch briefly, one hand reaching up to lazily twirl a lock of hair, twisting it absentmindedly between his fingers.
His other hand held the phone with little interest, it was outdated, old-school. 'What was this version again? 2045?' He frowned slightly, inspecting the worn-out design. 'Guess it's time for an upgrade, I will stop by the tech store after school ends'
The elevator finally chimed with a soft ding, and Mize's gaze snapped to the front.
Without a second thought, he shoved his phone into his pocket and stepped forward as the doors slid open.
His movements were quick and precise, and he didn't bother to glance back at the boy still standing behind him.
But as Mize exited, he could sense the boy's last grasp at courage. He heard the soft shuffle of footsteps, the hesitant movement of someone about to speak.
The boy's voice, or whatever words he might've planned to say, died in his throat. Mize's brisk pace was too fast, his steps deliberate and unrelenting.
'Give up. Give up. Give up' The mantra echoed in Mize's mind, his hand tightening around the strap of his bag.
His steps were light but swift, almost as if he were half-skipping to avoid any further interaction. 'Just let me get to school in peace'
Outside, the air was humid and clung to his skin, the remnants of the early morning fog still hanging in the atmosphere.
Mize arrived at the bus stop, his gaze flickering across the empty street before he sat down on the long steel bench.
The seat, like everything else in the area, was poorly designed—cold and uncomfortable. His loose jeans bunched awkwardly in the gaps between the metal beams, making the experience even worse.
Whoever designed this must've been a complete idiot, Mize thought, shifting uncomfortably on the bench.
The water stains from the damp morning hadn't fully evaporated yet, leaving patches of moisture that clung to his clothes. Or maybe they were just a maniac.
The thought sent a small shiver down his spine, though he smirked at the absurdity of it.
Maniacs—those were far more dangerous than incompetent designers.
His mind drifted to rogue awakeners, those rare but terrifying cases where someone lost control of their abilities.
Mize had seen some of it himself, photos leaked onto shady websites, images burned into his brain that he could never unsee.
The bodies. The blood. The sheer madness is etched into every scene.
Corpses piled high, limbs scattered like broken dolls, intestines spilling out across the pavement.
And always, at the center of it all, a rogue awakener—deranged, eyes wild, muttering incomprehensible things.
Mize shuddered, his fingers gripping the cold edge of the bench.
He hadn't expected much when he stumbled upon those images late one night, browsing out of morbid curiosity, but what he'd found was nothing short of a nightmare.
Deranged... crazy... He could still see it in his mind's eye—the blood, the destruction, the raw chaos of someone who had lost their grip on reality.
And there had been whispers, too, barely audible in some of the clips, as if the rogue awakeners were talking to someone—or something—only they could hear.
'That's why I need to find someone strong' Mize reminded himself, shaking off the lingering unease.