Ethan Walker had long since accepted his place at the bottom.
At Lincoln High, there was an unspoken hierarchy, a system as rigid as it was merciless. The strong ruled. The weak suffered. And Ethan? He was the perfect victim.
Scrawny, quiet, and painfully average, he had no social standing, no powerful friends, and no reason for anyone to fear him. The world had chewed him up and spat him out long ago. Teachers ignored him. Students barely acknowledged his existence—except when they needed a punching bag.
Like now.
Ethan's back hit the lockers with a loud metallic clang, pain shooting through his ribs. His books slipped from his grip, pages fluttering as they scattered across the dirty tiled floor.
Laughter echoed in the hallway.
Logan Carter, Lincoln High's golden boy, stood over him, the usual cocky smirk plastered across his face. The perfect student—handsome, rich, a star athlete. The type of guy people gravitated toward. The type of guy who had everything handed to him.
And the type of guy who loved making people like Ethan suffer.
"Oops," Logan said, voice dripping with fake sympathy. "You really should be more careful, Walker. Someone might think you're trying to trip people on purpose."
The laughter grew louder. Behind Logan, his usual entourage—Tyler, Chase, and a few cheerleaders—watched with entertained smirks.
Ethan clenched his jaw, forcing down the boiling rage inside him. He knew better than to fight back. He had tried once. A long time ago.
It had only made things worse.
He bent down to pick up his books, but before his fingers could reach them, Logan's foot came down, kicking them farther away. The textbook skidded across the hall, stopping near the feet of a passing student.
A girl.
Madison Reed.
For a brief moment, hope flickered inside Ethan. Maybe—just maybe—she would help.
Madison was different. Or at least, he had thought she was. They had been friends once, back in middle school. Before high school swallowed them whole, before social status divided them.
Before she started pretending not to know him.
She hesitated, looking at the book, then at him.
And then, without a word, she stepped over it and walked away.
The hope died in his chest, leaving behind only a dull, hollow ache.
He should have expected it.
He should have learned by now.
"God, that was brutal," Tyler laughed, clapping Logan on the shoulder. "You really thought she'd help you? That's hilarious."
Ethan's nails dug into his palms.
Logan grinned. "Let's make this a lesson, Walker. People don't help losers like you. They step over them."
Another sharp kick struck Ethan in the side, sending him sprawling onto the floor. Pain flared through his ribs, but he bit his tongue, refusing to give them the satisfaction of hearing him cry out.
He lay there, face pressed against the cold tile, while the laughter slowly faded as they walked away.
It was always the same.
No one would help him. No one would stand up for him.
And worst of all…
He couldn't do anything about it.
Weak. Powerless. Helpless.
The perfect victim.
Ethan slowly pushed himself up, breathing heavily. His fingers trembled as he gathered his books, ignoring the few lingering students who walked past, sparing him only fleeting, indifferent glances.
By the time he reached the classroom, the lesson had already started. The teacher, Mr. Grayson, barely looked up as Ethan slipped into his seat at the back of the room.
"Late again, Walker," Grayson muttered, flipping through his papers. "Try not to make a habit of it."
Ethan didn't respond. There was no point.
His eyes burned as he stared down at his textbook, the words on the page blurring together. His ribs ached, his stomach twisted in knots, and all he could think about was how unfair it all was.
What had he ever done to deserve this?
Why did people like Logan get to have everything while he got nothing?
Why was the world so goddamn broken?
While thinking all this he get out of school
Ethan walked home alone.
The streets were quiet at this hour, the cold wind biting through his worn-out hoodie. His ribs still ached from Logan's kick, but he was used to the pain by now. It had become a part of him, just like hunger, exhaustion, and the constant feeling of being unwanted.
His footsteps echoed against the cracked pavement as he passed through the cheaper side of town—the place where people lived when they had nowhere else to go.
The city's wealthy district, with its shining skyscrapers and luxury cars, was just a few miles away. But here? Here, the streets were lined with run-down apartments, flickering streetlights, and forgotten souls.
This was where Ethan lived.
Not in a house. Not even in a proper apartment.
But in a rented single-room unit in a decaying building, where the walls were thin, the heating barely worked, and the neighbors screamed at each other every other night.
He reached the rusted metal door of the building and pushed it open. The stench of dampness and cigarette smoke hit him immediately, along with the distant sound of a baby crying somewhere on the second floor.
Ethan ignored it. He was too tired to care.
He climbed the stairs, avoiding the broken step near the third floor, and reached his room—Room 406.
The door creaked as he pushed it open.
The room was barely big enough to be called livable. A small mattress on the floor. A broken desk with an old lamp. A single window, cracked in the corner, letting in a cold draft.
He dropped his bag and collapsed onto the mattress, staring at the stained ceiling.
This was his life.
Go to school. Get beaten. Come home to nothing.
No parents. No family. No one who gave a damn whether he lived or died.
He had been in and out of foster homes until he was old enough to be dumped into the system. When he turned sixteen, he aged out of the foster care program. The government gave him a small stipend—barely enough to afford rent, food, and school supplies.
It wouldn't last forever.
By the time he turned eighteen, even that little support would be gone. And then?
Then, he'd be just another homeless kid on the streets.
Ethan exhaled shakily, pressing a hand against his ribs. The pain was still sharp. He should have taken a painkiller before leaving school, but Logan had smashed his pills earlier in the week.
His stomach growled. He hadn't eaten since yesterday.
Sitting up, he reached for the instant noodles on the desk—his last pack. He filled a dented kettle with water from the tiny bathroom sink and set it to boil. The light in the kitchen area flickered, barely holding on.
The kettle hissed softly, filling the room with a faint warmth.
It was pathetic.
Everything about his life was pathetic.
He gritted his teeth, gripping the edge of the desk. Was this all he was ever going to be? A nobody? A punching bag for the strong? Someone who struggled just to survive while others lived without a care in the world?
It wasn't fair.
It had never been fair.
A sharp ringing sound suddenly pierced his skull.
His breath hitched.
At first, he thought it was his exhaustion catching up to him. But then, the air around him felt heavier. It was like the room itself had changed—like something unseen had shifted.
And then—
[System Synchronization: 1%...]
His eyes widened.
"What…?"
The text appeared out of nowhere, floating in his vision.
It wasn't on his phone. It wasn't on his computer. It was just… there.
He blinked, shaking his head. Maybe he was hallucinating. Maybe it was just his brain playing tricks on him after another terrible day.
But then—
[System Synchronization: 2%...]
The percentage increased.
And the air around him grew even heavier.
Ethan's heartbeat pounded in his ears.
Something was happening.
Something he didn't understand.
But one thing was clear—
His life was about to change.
Forever.