In a classroom full of students, a young man named Shoin sat quietly at his desk, his head down. The teacher was writing on the board, and Shoin dutifully copied each word into his notebook.
Suddenly, a paper plane struck him square on the head. Startled, Shoin froze, his pen hovering above the page.
He slowly turned to his side and found a girl smirking at him, her lips curled into a mocking grin.
Before he could react, she shifted in her chair and extended her leg under the desk. With a sharp jab, her foot connected with his shin, forcing him to suppress a wince of pain. Shoin clenched his fists beneath the desk, his knuckles turning white.
The teacher remained oblivious, continuing to scribble formulas on the board, droning on about a subject Shoin didn't care to register anymore. Around him, muffled chuckles rippled through the classroom, a background noise to his ever-present misery.
Shoin glanced at his notebook. The words he had been copying were now marred by a shaky line his pen had drawn when the paper plane hit him. He let out a slow, quiet breath, willing himself to stay calm, though the edges of his vision blurred with the heat of frustration.
It was always like this. No matter how much he tried to blend in, to disappear into the background, they always found a way to single him out.
The girl leaned in closer and whispered, her voice laced with mockery, "What's wrong, loser? Gonna cry?"
Shoin didn't respond. Instead, he stared blankly at the blackboard, his nails digging into his palm as the humiliation bubbled inside him. His breath quickened for a moment, his hands trembling with anger.
But then, with a practiced motion, he shook his head and suppressed it all. He had learned long ago that fighting back would only make it worse.
Moments later, the bell rang, signaling the end of the day. Shoin gathered his things quietly, avoiding the eyes of the students filing out of the classroom.
This was his last year of school. He was 17 now, counting down the days until it was all over. But even that thought brought him no relief. If the world outside school was anything like this, he wasn't sure he wanted to face it.
Shoin was an orphan, his entire life funded by the government. They paid for his education, his meals, his lodging. On paper, he had everything he needed. But the reality of being alone meant there was no one to shield him from the cruelty of others.
Outside the school walls, his world was no different. No friends. No family. Just a quiet existence as a loner.
And then there was her. The girl who had just mocked him was the queen of his personal torment. She wasn't just another bully—she was the bully. The most popular girl in the class. Beautiful, confident, adored by everyone.
There had been a time when Shoin admired her from afar, just like the other boys. A time when he'd worked up the courage to ask for her number.
He still remembered that day vividly. She hadn't just rejected him; she'd done it with a cruel laugh in front of the entire class. From that day forward, she made him her favorite target, ensuring everyone else followed her lead.
Shoin tightened his grip on his bag as he walked out of the classroom, his head down. The laughter, the whispers, the stares—they all followed him.
Outside the school, the cool air brushed against his face, but it did little to calm the storm inside him. Lost in his thoughts, Shoin paid no attention to his surroundings, his mind replaying the events of the day.
After walking some distance, he finally stopped, letting out a shaky breath. He turned back toward the school, his gaze lingering on the place.
That's when he noticed it—a sleek, black luxury car pulling up to the entrance. It was the kind of vehicle that turned heads, its polished surface gleaming in the sunlight. The driver stepped out and opened the passenger door, revealing a woman who carried herself with an air of elegance.
Shoin froze, his eyes widening as she stepped out of the car. She was breathtaking.
Her long, wavy blonde hair cascaded over her shoulders, framing a face that seemed untouched by time. Her sharp features, flawless skin, and full lips radiated maturity and confidence. She wore a tailored dress that hugged her figure perfectly, exuding a sensual allure that turned every passing glance into a lingering stare.
It didn't take long for Shoin to recognize her. She was the mother of the girl who had bullied him earlier.
From the corner of his mind, Shoin recalled the rumors he'd heard around school. They came from a wealthy family, and her mother was often described as the epitome of beauty and grace.
But seeing her in person was something else entirely. Compared to her daughter, who was still in the awkward, unpolished stage of youth, this woman was like a fully bloomed flower—radiant and commanding.
Shoin's gaze lingered for a moment too long, his thoughts swirling.
She's even more stunning than her daughter, he thought, a strange mix of emotions stirring within him.
The woman didn't notice him, of course. Her focus was on her daughter, who had just emerged from the school building. They exchanged a few words, and then the girl got into the car. The woman followed.
As the car pulled away, Shoin stood frozen.
The mother of my bully… he thought, a faint smirk tugging at the corner of his lips.
It was then that he felt it again—that strange, otherworldly sensation. A faint glow appeared in the corner of his vision.
[Target acquired: Initiating profile analysis.]
Shoin blinked, startled by the sudden voice that echoed in his mind. His heart raced as he froze in place, his gaze darting around to see if anyone else had heard it. But no one was near him. The street was quiet.
Before he could process what was happening, a glowing blue window materialized in front of him, hovering midair. Its translucent surface flickered with strange, otherworldly text:
[Name: [Classified]
Relationship: Mother of Primary Bully.
Compatibility: Optimal.]
Shoin stared at the glowing text, his mouth slightly open.
"Is this… a dream?" he thought, his mind reeling. His fingers twitched at his sides as if trying to confirm whether he was awake or imagining things. He reached out hesitantly, and his hand passed straight through the glowing interface, leaving no trace.