Fairness was a comforting lie, a threadbare illusion that people clung to when the world turned its back on them. In truth, life rarely gave what was deserved. It gave what it wanted, when it wanted, and left people to fend for themselves.

The only ones who were blessed were the ones who snatched—scavenged what they thought belonged to them. Stealing it away from fate's itself grasp.

Klein understood this as he sat in the annoyingly loud cafeteria, his tray of untouched spaghetti growing colder by the minute. Across from him, Emma was gesturing with her fork as she spoke, her voice cutting through the ambient noise.

Her dark curls framed her face like a halo, and her grey eyes sparkled with a mix of wit and sharpness that made her presence magnetic even amidst the many 'trendy' girls.

"You're doing that thing again," she said, raising an eyebrow.

"What thing?" Klein asked, feigning ignorance.

"Brooding. It's like you're auditioning for a tragic hero role in an Isekai novel who lost everything to an evil goddess."

He let out a weak chuckle. "Just tired, is all."

"You're always tired," Emma said with mock exasperation. Seeing as how Klein's expressions only stayed the same, she leaned in slightly, her tone softening. "Did something happen?"

Klein shook his head, though the answer was more complicated than he wanted to admit. Something had happened, or rather, something was always happening.

The stares, the whispers, the constant reminder that he didn't belong. Sitting with Emma—a girl far out of his league, both socially and in every other way—only made it worse. Being childhood acquaintances didn't contribute much to anything.

"Nothing I can't handle," he said with a smile and a slight shake of his head, his voice quieter now.

Emma didn't press further, though the concern lingered in her eyes. That was one of the things he admired about her. She didn't pry, didn't try to fix him. She just...was there.

But the rest of the cafeteria wasn't so kind.

Klein could feel the stares, judgment that clung to him like a second skin. A group of students at the far end of the room exchanged whispers, eyes darting toward him like arrows. He could almost hear their thoughts:

What's she doing with him?

He's nothing.

He doesn't deserve to be there.

What does he think he is?

The tension finally snapped when a certain someone strolled over.

Klein didn't need to look up to know it was him—the heavy footsteps, the low chuckle of his cronies, the overwhelming sense of being hunted. The boy—Michael was everything that Klein wasn't: tall, broad-shouldered, and exuding the kind of confidence that came from always getting your way.

"Look who's living the dream," Michael drawled, his voice loud enough to turn heads. "Klein: the fool," he turned his head towards Emma who rolled her eyes, "sitting with Emma the queen."

Emma's eyes narrowed. "Don't start, Michael."

"Start what?" Michael grinned, but there was no warmth in it. He turned his attention to Klein, towering over him like a predator. "I'm just wondering how you pulled this off. You blackmail her or something? Got some dirt on her?"

"Leave him alone," Emma said, her voice rising.

Michael ignored her. "Come on, Kliny-boy. Tell us your secret. How did a fool like you end up here?" He turned his head towards Emma, smirking. "Or is that pity because you're autistic."

The words hit harder than any punch ever could. Klein froze, his breath catching in his throat. He didn't flinch, didn't look up, didn't respond—but inside, something cracked.

Emma stood abruptly, her chair scraping against the floor. "What the hell is wrong with you?!"

Michael shrugged, smirking. "Just telling the truth." He turned and sauntered back to his table, his friends cheering him on like a pack of jackals.

Klein sat motionless; his mind spiralling. The word echoed in his head—autistic. He'd heard it before, whispered behind his back, hinted at in the pitying looks from teachers and doctors. But hearing it said out loud, with such venom, felt like a knife twisting in his gut.

I'm not, he told himself, the mantra looping in his head. I'm not autistic. They're wrong. They don't know me.

But a small, traitorous voice whispered back: What if they're right?

Klein's fists clenched under the table. He wanted to say something, anything, but the words refused to come. He hated how easily Michael got to him, how he made him feel small without even trying.

Michael smirked, leaning closer. "What's the matter? Got nothing to say? Or are you so used to hiding behind her that you've forgotten how to talk?"

"Back off, Michael," Emma snapped, standing now. Her voice cut through the cafeteria, drawing the attention of everyone around them.

Michael's expression darkened. "Stay out of this, Emma. This is between me and your little charity case."

Without warning, he grabbed the back of Klein's chair and yanked it out from under him. Klein hit the floor hard, the air rushing from his lungs as the cafeteria erupted into laughter.

For a moment, all he could do was lie there, staring up at the ceiling. The fluorescent lights seared into his eyes, but not as much as the humiliation burning in his chest. Michael crouched down beside him, his voice a toxic brew of condescension.

"Remember your place, Kliny-boy," he said. "You don't belong here." Gently rubbing the sole of his shoe on his face, he turned around and walked away.

Emma was at his side a moment later, helping him sit up. Her touch was gentle, but her face was a storm of anger and guilt. "Are you okay?"

Klein nodded, though the answer was obvious. No, he wasn't okay. He hadn't been okay for a long time.

Gently pressing his hand on her arms, he ever so slightly pushed her away. "I am fine, Emma. You should go to your next class." He spoke, letting the dusty locks settle messily on his mud caked face.

"But…"

She was interrupted as he held his hand out. "I am fine, really…" He looked around, the mocking, humorous gazes of people prickling into his skin like hot needles, "…I'll go home and rest for today. See ya."

"Klein. Hey Klein…" Her words fell in deaf ears as he picked up pace and started to walk away quickly, letting the sting of shame and helplessness stab into his chest and self-esteem repeatedly.

One step closer to breaking.

(***)

Later That Night

The entire evening passed in a blur. Klein could barely focus on his homework, his mind replaying the humiliation over and over. He'd never been one to care much about what others thought, but today had broken something inside him.

He wasn't like Emma, who could brush off the world's cruelties with a smile. After all, she was just an observer while he was the one who was actually the subject to that said cruelty.

He felt miniscule. He felt like he was just... nothing.

He stared out the window at the darkened campus, his reflection barely visible in the glass. It felt like he was trapped in some endless loop, stuck in a life where nothing ever changed.

And then it happened.

The ping of his laptop sliced through the silence. Klein was on his feet before he could fully process it, his pulse quickening. He had been expecting nothing—another scam email, another reminder that life was indifferent.

But the subject line caught his attention immediately.

An Opportunity to Change Everything

The sender was untraceable, the address marked as [CLASSIFIED]. With a deep breath, he clicked open the email.

[You have been chosen for a unique program designed to push the limits of human potential.

Location: Kathmandu, Nepal.

Travel arrangements have been made. Further details to follow.

Respond within 24 hours.]

Klein blinked at the screen, unsure if his eyes were deceiving him. Chosen? What kind of joke was this?

He skimmed the email again, his heartbeat quickening. He should've closed it immediately. It could have been a scam—a carefully crafted trap designed to prey on the desperate. But something tugged at him. Something deep inside urged him to stay.

Attached to the email was a video file. With shaking hands, he clicked it open.

The screen flickered, and for a moment, the video quality was grainy, as though it was filmed on an old camera. The scene revealed a cold, sterile room, lit by harsh fluorescent lights. In the centre of the room stood a single figure, his hands cuffed, and a muzzle attached to his mouth.

The figure didn't move at first. But then as the doors to the side opened with a buzzer sound, he shifted.

What followed was a blur of movement—a series of strikes so fast, so precise, it was as if the man was a force of nature. Each motion flowed into the next, effortless and violent, dispatching five guards one by one. It was over in seconds, the men crumpling like ragdolls.

The video ended abruptly, leaving Klein breathless. The screen flashed, and a single line of text appeared.

[This is what you could become.]

A storm of thoughts battered against his skull, memories of every humiliation, every jeer, every time he'd been crushed under the weight of someone else's malice.

They had made him into this—small, powerless, nothing. And yet, beneath the rubble of his broken pride, something darker brewed like a storm. A festering resentment. A hunger that had been smothered for too long.

What did it mean? Why did it matter? This wasn't about meaning. It wasn't about purpose. It was a chance to break the cycle. Even if this was all a lie… he was done being stomped on.

His throat tightened, the faces of those who had laughed at him flashing before his eyes. Michael's sneering grin, the cafeteria erupting in laughter, Emma's pitying gaze—it all blurred together into a cacophony of shame and rage.

He wasn't running toward salvation.

He was running to escape this suffocating abyss.

The room felt too bright, the sharp edge of his desk pressing into his palm too cold. But the email glowed in perfect, calming symmetry—an order amidst the chaos. His thoughts spiralled—justice, injustice, control, a chance to rewrite everything.

The words "I'm in" appeared on the screen. He couldn't remember typing them, but there they were, glowing with a grim finality.

For the first time, Klein felt something close to clarity. Desperation and anger weren't just emotions anymore; they were fuel, feeding something feral and unrelenting inside him.

His teeth grinded against each other.

This wasn't about becoming someone else—it was about destroying what he'd become.

His middle finger hovered over the enter button, his chest heaving. This wasn't the decision of a hero or a dreamer. It was the act of someone who had been backed into a corner for too long, clawing for a way out.

Letting out a long breath, he pressed the button.

The email vanished into the void, and with it, Klein felt the faintest flicker of relief. Not hope—hope had died long ago. But this...this was something else. Something primal.

He would burn his old self to the ground if it meant crawling out of the ashes.

[Welcome to The Excidium Protocol]