My school life was hell, as you already know.
I've talked about it before, haven't I?
That doesn't mean I was the only one who suffered.
I was there to witness someone else's story reach its bitter end. And believe me, every time I saw someone else's misery, I found myself accepting my own situation, convincing myself that someone else had it worse.
A day that began as bright as any other ended in darkness.
As usual, I arrived at hell (school) in the morning, driven by my mother.
She was eager to get to her important meeting; it seemed like she might be getting a promotion.
The moment I got out of the car, she drove off without waiting even a second, leaving me there while I was about to wish her good luck.
I swallowed my words, which got stuck in my throat.
Walking toward the school gate with my head bowed, I carried my heavy bag on my arched back, weighed down by an unnecessary load of books I didn't even need.
"What will you do during breaks? What if a teacher doesn't show up for some reason? Do you want to waste your time playing around?"
That's what she said when I told her I didn't need all these books.
Once the guard recognized me, he let me in.
I found someone waiting for me.
"Good morning, Emiric."
"Good morning, John."
John was one of my friends. I mean, when someone else shares your misery, doesn't it make sense to stick together?
That's what I did in my final year. I decided to break my isolation in hell (school) after that Scum, Null, graduated and left.
It wasn't just him. In my last year, there were about four of us undergoing surgeries and medications.
No one openly talked about it, of course, but with just one look, we could recognize each other. It was the only group I ever joined, And it's obvious, the last.
We puked blood together in the bathroom.
We failed exams together.
We laughed at our vampire-like pale faces together.
We joked about our zombie-like movements together.
I wouldn't be exaggerating if I said my final year was the best year I had in school, all because of them.
I even imagined us hanging out together after finishing school, after our bodies were "factory reset" and fixed. But who could've guessed that on this very day, I'd wake up from those dreams?
After exchanging greetings, we met with the others. While waiting for the bell to ring and announce the start of the school day, we exchanged glances in silence, focusing on John. He looked… different.
I'll never forget his expression. It was something I'd never seen before.
After holding back for a while, I couldn't take it anymore and asked him,
"John, are you feeling extra tired today? Don't worry, the class will go by fast, and soon it'll be time for your next dose. You'll feel better then."
We always encouraged each other like this.
Mood swings were one of the side effects we could do nothing about except endure with patience.
Usually, when one of us said something like this, we'd give a faint, lifeless smile that was still filled with hope—hope that our suffering would end.
But he didn't smile. He turned to me and said,
"Always stay strong."
Confused, I searched his eyes, trying to understand the strange thing I saw deep within them.
Then, the piercing sound of the bell broke the moment, marking the start of the day. Without explaining anything, he went to class, leaving us no chance to ask further.
That evening, while leaving hell (school) with the other three, we joked about John, who said he needed to go to the bathroom.
The jokes ranged from questioning his preferences to teasing that the medications were messing with him, and even suggesting that post-"factory reset," he'd start sleeping on his stomach—all because he hugged me before heading to the bathroom.
It has become a habit for us to entertain ourselves with such jokes. Sometimes I was the target; other times, I was the predator.
"Boom."
A loud crashing sound shattered our fun.
Screams and cries erupted, and students ran in the opposite direction, colliding with us. With our weak bodies, we usually avoided crowds to prevent unnecessary injuries, but someone's scream made me change my path.
"Someone's collapsed! Isn't anyone going to call an ambulance?"
The four of us pushed our way through the crowd, and our bodies froze when we recognized the person lying in a pool of blood.
"John, John, John, John."
I repeated his name, shaking his shoulder, waiting for him to wake up and tell us it was just a joke.
But the dead don't joke.
In the school's announcement, they said he hadn't eaten breakfast that morning, felt dizzy, and lost his balance.
"We mourn this loss, and let this be a lesson to you, children: always eat breakfast before leaving the house."
I read that announcement over and over, and each time, my anger grew. It felt like they were mocking us.
After the incident, I learned the school had always known about our health conditions and had never informed the authorities.
Somehow, they managed to cover up his case.
At first, I thought he slipped and fell because of the medications and surgeries.
That was until I opened my email and found a message from John:
"I'm done living. Sorry, my friend, for leaving you alone in this cruel world."
Remember when I said I could distinguish between looks if I'd interacted with someone before? I had learned to identify negative gazes from everyone around me and positive ones like love, friendship, and loyalty from my friend John.
When he left, he took everything I'd learned with him.
I could no longer distinguish between expressions except for one—that thing I saw in his eyes.
I realized what it was: the gaze of someone who had lost all hope in life.
It's something I've never seen in Amy's eyes, no matter how closely I looked.
"Just do it."
My words caused a slight shift in her expression, something she quickly masked, but I'd already noticed it, which only boosted my confidence that she wasn't truly suicidal.
"Do you… think I wouldn't dare?"
Haha. At least try to speak confidently, like the last time.
Focusing on the details, I could see the difference.
The pigs around me, however, noticed nothing.
"No, no, you misunderstood me. I'm not doubting your ability to do anything. I'm just saying, do whatever you want. Just make your decision quickly—I'm in a hurry. I'll still know who you are. I'll make sure to torture and threaten your family. I have a lot of work to do."
I know she doesn't want to kill herself, but that doesn't mean I'll say it out loud.
She might act out of spite or desperation, and who knows, she might go through with it in a moment of despair.
"I… I don't have a family. Nice try."
I turned my head left and right as if searching for something, putting on a look of surprise.
"Really? How did you come into this world? Could it be that you descended from the heavens?"
Some laughter spread around, giving me the perfect chance to create an air of intimidation and control the situation.
I stroked my chin and scanned her body from head to toe.
"And here I was wondering how someone could have a body like yours. Turns out you're an angel. By the way, where are your wings? Playing with them after your death is going to be fun."
"Stop with the nonsense."
She shouted, anger washing over her face.
Realizing she'd lost her temper unnecessarily, she quickly composed herself.
"Oh, is that your strategy? Quite disappointing."
"I say what I will do, nothing more, nothing less. I'm an honest man, and I've spent my life building my reputation. If I promise something, I'll fulfill it, even at the cost of my life."
Playing the honesty and promise card always works.
Even if she doesn't believe me, simply putting the idea in front of her will make her brain subconsciously consider it a last option when she feels cornered.
"Hahaha."
Her sweet laugh echoed around us—a tactic to suggest she wasn't taking the bait.
The pigs around me might believe it, but it doesn't work on me.
"Believe my backside. You're the last person who should talk about honesty."
I placed a hand over my chest, closed my eyes, and put on an expression of pure innocence.
"They gave you a false impression of me, and it breaks my heart."
I think a yellow halo appeared over my head from her perspective. I deserve an Oscar for this complex performance.
Something like a ghost darted across my side, heading toward her, trying to grab her, but she noticed and stepped back until she hit the wall again, pressing the knife harder against her neck, so much so that blood started to pour out.
"Dexter, stop where you are."
My command struck him like lightning, forcing him to freeze.
I looked at him indignantly, motioning with my hand for him to return to his place. Without a moment's hesitation, he obeyed.
"As I said…"
I deepened my voice to force Amy's focus back on me.
"If you kill yourself, I'll be left with no information. That'll make me very angry, and to vent my rage, I'll start playing with your corpse. And when I get bored, I'll hand it over to the starving wolves standing behind me."
Her gaze shifted to the men behind me, and her mind tricked her into seeing their eyes as those of ravenous predators.
"I don't care. What's the point of honor after I'm dead?"
Though she struggled to get the words out, her face seemed sincere.
I'd forgotten we weren't in the Middle Ages, where women cared about their chastity during their lives.
I also overlooked the fact that she had already used her body to fulfill her desire… her desire?
A light bulb lit up in my mind, and my eyes gleamed.
I'd figured it out.
"Really? My apologies, I thought you had some honor."
"How dare you—"
I quickly cut her off.
"What about your family?"
"I don't have a fami…"
"What about your neighbors?"
"I don't have neighb…"
"What about your friends?"
"I don't have frien…"
Every time she tried to deny something, I interrupted to highlight the absurdity of her responses.
Once more, with the same performance, I said,
"Just do it."
Confusion showed on her face.
Good. Now to end this.
"After your death, I'll take a photo of you and spread it all over the internet, offering a huge reward for any information. Sooner or later, I'll find out who you are and who's connected to you. I'll leave it to your imagination what I'll do to them."
I delivered the last sentence with the widest evil smile I could muster.
"You won't succeed. You can't find anything…"
She'd fallen into the trap.
"So, you're from one of the big families."
"...."
Fool. Any response would have been better than silence. Her quietness confirmed my guess.
I started clapping, then turned to address everyone.
"The plan has changed. We'll take photos of you all playing with her corpse and post them online."
"Are you insane?"
I turned to her, feigning surprise.
"Why?"
"They'll know who posted it, of course!"
"And if they do…?"
My coldness and childlike questions drove her mad, making her wonder if I truly was deranged.
"They'll come after you for revenge."
I shrugged in response.
She didn't know what to say or do. I'd deduced that she was from one of the big families for two reasons: her beauty and her actions.
Rumors said the royal bloodline and the Four Families shared the same lineage, known for producing men and women with exceptionally high rates of beauty.
The second reason? She was about my age and trained in martial arts. The big families were known to teach their children from a young age.
Her ability to infiltrate this place and attempt to kill me—she'd clearly planned it herself without any help.
What I ruled out was as follows:
She wasn't from the police.
If she were, she could have recorded our conversation, providing evidence for my arrest and prosecution.
She wasn't part of the common folk.
Those people move in groups, more organized and upfront. They confront you face-to-face and record videos to promote the idea of "taking the law into our own hands."
Her reaction when I mentioned family was suspicious.
Regular citizens feel loyalty to the kingdom, not to specific families. Only the Four Families or the royal lineage exhibit such familial pride.
She didn't care about the honor of her body, but what about the honor of her family?
Her mind raced, thinking and overthinking. She'd done this to make them proud of her. But now, if this spread across the world, it would make her family a laughingstock.
In her mind, she imagined posts of her photo and headlines on digital news outlets:
"A member of one of the Four Families caught after a failed assassination attempt on a businessman who hasn't even been convicted of treason."
She didn't succeed in stopping the threat to her kingdom, nor did she preserve her family's honor.
Her mind raced to find an escape, but her thoughts were empty. Until, suddenly, from the darkest corners of her mind, a glimmer of hope emerged—something she never thought she'd consider.
I gave her a knowing smile, as if I could read her mind. Her body trembled, filled with terror at what might happen to her. Yet she saw no other way out.
"Promise me you won't involve my family in this."
I raised my right hand as if taking a sacred oath.
"Promise. This will stay between us. Extracting information will depend on my skill and your endurance."
Everyone watched, tense, waiting to see what would happen.
Amy hesitated. Our eyes met, and the room fell silent.
Slowly, she lowered her hand. She hesitated for a moment longer, then threw the knife away and collapsed to the floor in surrender.
She broke down, realizing her game was over and she'd lost this round.
The silence hung heavy for a few moments, broken only by Dexter's heavy steps as he approached Amy.
He grabbed her by the neck like a punching bag and started hitting her in the face and stomach.
"bom,bom"
"Stop, stop! What are you doing?"
Dexter froze, looking at me in confusion, as though I'd interrupted his daily routine.
His answer to my question nearly killed me.
"I'm punching her."
"….."
"Take her somewhere suitable for her kind. I still have a meeting to attend."
I waved my hand, and he moved according to my command.
I was about to sit in my chair when a shiver ran through me.
This psycho might do something to her while I'm here. Better make sure he follows orders to the letter.
"Wait."
He stopped, puzzled, and looked at me as if to say,
"What now?"
I ignored his expression.
"Open the way. Show me where you'll put her."
I followed Dexter, ignoring the pigs standing like streetlights.
The farther we went, the colder it became.
We descended a staircase into the basement.
I thought he'd leave her there, but he approached a wall instead.
He ran his hand across it, triggering the sound of movement.
The mechanical shift revealed a long, dark passage lit by a few torches on either side.
I kept walking behind Dexter as the smell of rot and filth hit my nose, accompanied by faint sounds of screams.
"Sir, spare me."
"Sir, please stop."
I looked around, trying to make sense of where I was.
"A prison? Is there a prison beneath the mansion?"
**************************Words with parasitic********************************
Emiric: Come on, this is confusing, man. Is it 'palace' or 'mansion'?
Author: I don't know, man. I think palaces are for royal families, so it'd make more sense to say mansion since you're not one of them.
Emiric: Leave it as 'palace'.
Author: Don't you hear? Palaces are for royalty.
Emiric: Fine, 'palace' it is. Don't change it.
Author: Man, why are you making such a big deal out of something so simple now?
Emiric: You're the one making it a problem, not me. A writer who doesn't know the difference between 'palace' and 'mansion'—that's the real issue.
Author: First, English is my second language, secondly, You're the one narrating the story, and you're the one who described it as a 'palace' the first time.
Emiric: And you're the writer—you should know if I'm the one talking nonsense and then correct me.
Author: Look...
Emiric: Just leave it as 'palace.' I like it.
Author: Will someone say something to him, please?