Jin Park stared down at the concrete five stories below him, his white knuckles the railing of the school rooftop. Behind him, laughter echoed—the kind that sliced deeper than any knife.
"What's the matter, Jin? Scared of heights?" Devin Matthews, basketball team captain and Jin's personal tormentor since seventh grade, mocked. His disciples—Jin refused to call them friends—formed a semicircle, cutting off any escape route.
"Just leave me alone," Jin muttered, his voice almost a whisper beneath the wind whipping across the rooftop.
"What was that? Couldn't hear you over the sound of you being pathetic." Devin stepped closer.
Jin had made the mistake of correcting Devin's physics homework in class. Public humiliation—obviously an unforgivable transgression in the high school hierarchy.
"Watch out, Devin, seems like Jin's gonna steal your crown," their physics teacher had teased, unaware of the venom behind Devin's tight smile.
Now, three hours later, Jin was suffering the consequences.
"I just wanna go home," Jin cried out, louder this time. He hugged his backpack tighter to his chest, a pitiful shield.
"Home? But we're just starting today's lesson." Devin smiled, but his eyes stayed cold. "Today we're studying gravity."
Jin was shoved from behind, most likely by Blake. He stumbled backward, grasping the railing to catch himself.
"See, Jin, gravity's simple. What goes up," Devin grabbed Jin's backpack straps, "must come down."
"Stop! My homework's in there!" Jin clutched desperately at the bag as Devin move it over at the edge.
"Homework? Always the perfect student. I bet it would be a tragedy if anything were to happen to all that work."
Devin grinned
He let go of the backpack. Jin rushed for it, but his fingers closed around empty air.
Time slowed. Jin watched his backpack fly downward, papers scattering like leaves in the wind. A month's worth of college application essays. Gone.
Something inside Jin snapped. Seventeen years of being the obedient son, the straight-A student, the quiet boy who never fought back—done in an instant.
He turned around. "You absolute waste of oxygen," he spat.
Devin's eyebrows twitched upwards. Shock registered on his face for a moment—before rapidly hardened into something darker.
"What did you just call me?"
Jin knew he had to stop. Apologize. Deescalate. Instead, seventeen years of bottled-up anger poured out.
"You're a nothing but an insecure, privileged brat who peaks in high school and spends the rest of his pathetic life reliving his glory days while working for his daddy's company. You—"
Jin didn't even get to finish the sentence. Devin's face contorted with anger as he lunged at him, hands outstretched. Jin felt them connect with his chest, felt his weight shift backward, felt the railing press against his lower back before it gave way.
The last thing Jin saw was Devin's face transforming from rage to horror—the face of one who never intended for things to go this far but could not turn it back.
Then he was falling, the world rushing up to greet him in a blur of sky and concrete.
'This Isn't Fair', Jin thought with detached clarity. 'I didn't even get to finish my college applications'.
Then nothing.