"Calm, composed, and presentable... isn't that all they ever wanted to see?"
Two comfortable couches faced each other; on one sat a woman, while the other was occupied by a teenage boy. He lounged lazily, spouting nonsense, while the therapist listened with a forced sense of patience.
Morning sunlight streamed through the stained glass window behind the teenager, illuminating the room.
After years of enduring his ramblings, the therapist had long grown weary of his behaviour. Yet, she maintained her composure, suppressing the urge to unleash a tirade against the unhinged young man before her.
"Mr Sky," she interrupted, her voice measured. "Have you ever considered taking a trip? Bulgaria, Budapest, Venice... Perhaps a sabbatical would do you some good."
Sky laughed abruptly, springing onto the couch and peering out of the window at the opposite building. He was notably short, standing at 5'5".
"That sounds nice, but unless you're willing to fund it, I doubt I'll be going anywhere."
Dressed in a white sweatshirt and matching sweatpants, he smirked mockingly.
The therapist scowled, her hands clenching into fists as she fought back her irritation.
She could hardly be blamed; spending over two years dealing with a lunatic had been nothing short of exhausting.
Under the latest government policy, all individuals aged thirteen to nineteen were required to attend therapy sessions. The rationale was simple: those in this age group were deemed psychologically unstable and, therefore, unfit to defend the world against the Exiles—should the military fail.
Twenty years ago, Earth had come under attack by entities so indescribable that humanity had no choice but to label them demons—Exiles.
For the first time in history, military forces across all seven continents united in a desperate bid to hold them back. These beings possessed godlike abilities, but thanks to humanity's advanced weaponry, the battle for survival had continued. However, no one could say for certain how much longer they would last.
Even now, wars raged across the globe, and only a handful of locations remained safe. No significant breakthrough had been made in the fight against the Exiles, and the world was anxiously awaiting one…
"What if, just what if, a military missile were to suddenly strike us? What would you do? We'd all be dead, wouldn't we?"
A sinister smirk curled Sky's lips.
The therapist visibly tensed, her hands trembling as her face turned pale. That wasn't just unsettling—it was deeply unnerving.
"W-what kind of thought is that?" she asked, though it was more rhetorical than anything else.
"The same kind of thought as you telling me to travel the world, as if world peace actually exists. Missiles aren't a love language. And considering that all aircraft have been grounded by law, tell me—how exactly am I supposed to go anywhere, and why the hell should I?"
Disgust laced his tone.
The therapist silently cursed him. This insufferable brat...
Sky suddenly burst into laughter, a rich, almost amused sound, before pulling out his phone.
"Oh! It's 8:30 AM. Time for school. Pasta la vista, ma'am."
Before she could respond, he leapt off the couch and dashed out the door.
Slam!
A notification immediately flashed across his phone screen:
Today's Test Results
Start Time: 5 AM ADHD Level: 80% (No noticeable improvement) Sociopathy: Severe
[Patient requires intensive treatment and additional therapy sessions. Recommendation: withdrawal from school.]
Sky grinned, then dropped his phone onto the floor and stomped on it, shattering the screen.
"Good progress."
His actions, however, were not entirely unprovoked—he was being stalked. Some weirdo, most likely a woman, had been following him.
Despite his short stature, Sky possessed striking features: a sharp jawline, full pink lips, an athletic physique, and piercing blue eyes. A silver ring was always attached to his lower lip.
It wasn't surprising that people often mistook him for an idol.
Once, he had even been ambushed by photographers desperate to capture his image. Since they had invaded his privacy without permission, he had made sure they paid for it—quite literally.
Sky rushed down the brightly lit hallway towards the lift. Pressing the button for the ground floor, he waited impatiently. As soon as the doors slid open, he sprinted out onto the street, grinning as he leapt from side to side, moving to the rhythm of music that only he could hear.
Pedestrians cast him wary glances, exchanging silent judgments.
Suddenly, the therapist's head poked out from the fifth-floor window of the building he had just left.
"Oi! Sky, you forgot your bag!"
Sky glanced back to see her waving it in the air.
"Throw it down!" he called.
"What!? What if something inside breaks?"
"Who gives a damn? Just drop it!"
She shook her head, muttering under her breath before retreating inside.
Sky exhaled sharply in frustration, tapping his foot against the pavement impatiently.
Two minutes later…
He was mid-battle with the wind, throwing kicks and punches as if sparring with an invisible opponent, a manic grin plastered on his face.
The therapist stepped outside and caught sight of him.
"Here's your bag," she said flatly, handing it over.
Sky snatched it without a word and took off down the street.
By the time he arrived at school, the gates were shut.
Stepping back, he took a running start, vaulted up, grabbed the fence's edge, and hoisted himself over. Landing lightly, he dusted off his hands and cast a glance at the security guard—who was fast asleep in his chair.
"Sleeping at this hour? He must be exhausted..." Sky muttered before jogging down the school pathway, lined with neatly trimmed hedges.
Two identical white buildings loomed ahead—one for senior students, the other for juniors. He headed towards the senior block.
As he entered, he took in the minimalistic décor of the lobby before making his way up the staircase to the second floor. The hallway was lined with tall windows, allowing ample sunlight to stream in.
Reaching the second classroom, he cautiously peered through the window, keeping his head out of sight.
Inside, a grumpy middle-aged man was scrawling equations on the board.
Mathematics.
Sky's least favourite subject.
Especially geometry.
Scoffing, he slung his bag over his shoulder in an attempt to appear responsible. The majority of students inside wore red and white uniforms—trousers for the boys, skirts for the girls—while he remained in his casual attire.
Thankfully, the back door was open. Keeping low, he crawled into the classroom towards his seat.
"Sky... you late bastard," a blonde-haired boy whispered, glancing at him.
Sky ignored him and slipped into his chair, tucking his bag neatly behind the table.
"If he turns around now, you're screwed," the blonde added.
At that precise moment, Mr Mike, the grumpy maths teacher, turned to face the class—only to be met with the sight of Sky hurriedly scribbling in his notebook.
"You absolute menace! Get out of my class and report to the staffroom, NOW!"