As Ayaz and I walked toward the classroom door, it suddenly flung open. A teacher with an angry expression clutched books to his chest and stormed past us with sharp steps.
Ayaz was observing people closely, and I found myself thinking this might actually be a hobby of his.
Noises had already begun to seep through the half-open door. Ayaz took a cautious step and reached for the handle. While I hesitated to walk in directly, Ayaz stepped ahead and led the way. It made me think of how kind-hearted he was.
And just as I thought that, I remembered — I had thought the same of Zenan once. What truly made someone trustworthy or not? Ayaz turned toward the joking students at their desks and slowly fixed his eyes on a spot.
In the back left, there was an empty desk, not hard to notice. Among all the other desks, it looked especially orphaned and neglected. Folded papers, plastic bottles, broken colored pencils scattered on it, and right in the middle — a dried super glue stain.
As I followed Ayaz into the classroom, I let my short-cut hair fall in front of my face as much as it could. As if that could shield me from the cruelty of this wild school, of these savage students.
"I think you're sitting in the back," Ayaz said, and as I lowered my gaze, he began walking toward the empty desk. Eyes from nearby desks locked onto him, watching every step. He examined the mess on the desk, then turned his eyes toward the window beside it. A small plant stood there. He smiled faintly at it—just then, Kale's loud voice cut through the room.
"No one sits there!"
I flinched at the sharpness of his tone. Ayaz calmly placed his bag on the desk and turned around. His eyes met Kale's cold, black stare.
"Why not?" he asked, his voice now devoid of the gentleness he'd shown me earlier.
It was no longer just a glance—it was a challenge.
"That seat's only for low-class t*rds!"
I saw a twitch in Ayaz's expression. But he controlled it. He smiled slightly, a faint mark at the corner of his mouth. "Sorry for sitting at your desk."
Kale's laughter echoed at the classroom threshold. Tension thickened, but Ayaz didn't seem tense at all. Kale raised an eyebrow and unclipped the strap of his watch. One of his friends closed the classroom door. He began walking toward Ayaz.
"What did you say? Say it again," he grinned wickedly.
Ayaz didn't flinch. "I said—you're nothing but a bastard."
Just as I shut my eyes, I thought Kale's punch would land squarely on Ayaz's face.
But there was no sound.
I opened my eyes slowly, holding my breath. Kale's fist was suspended in the air—caught in Ayaz's strong grip.
"Do you want to play golf?" Ayaz asked, his gray eyes flashing.
Kale clenched his jaw and swallowed. He was stunned—I could see it.
Losing his cool had pushed his fury to another level.
"Golf is a rich kid's sport! And you… I wouldn't play sh*t with you unless I knew you were rich," Kale sneered.
"Actually," Ayaz said, narrowing his eyes. "I'm not rich. I got in with secondary honors." He let go of Kale's hand roughly. Then turned to the class and spoke clearly, deliberately.
"Bullying isn't really my style."Then his eyes slowly found Kale again."You don't have to play with me. But if you refuse, I'll assume a rich brat like you is scared."
"If you don't watch your words, you won't have a nose left," Kale growled between clenched teeth.
At that moment, driven by fear, I grabbed the sleeve of Ayaz's shirt.
"Please stop!"
Ayaz glanced down in surprise at my hand clutching his sleeve, then looked away again.
"We'll play at the school's golf lounge sometime. Let's see how good the school's top bully is at golf."
Kale's face twisted into a sinister grin. "What's the wager?"
The moment I heard those words, a wave of nausea washed over me. I bolted toward the restroom, gagging.
I remembered that day... two years ago.
TWO YEARS EARLIER
The golf lounge was shrouded in darkness, veiled by heavy curtains. A gloomy, cold atmosphere ruled the room. When Kale turned on the lights, pale faces bathed under the neon glow.
Silver-stitched lines ran across the ceiling, giving the lounge the illusion of stretching into infinity. A massive screen stood at the far end, velvet textures underfoot added a quiet luxury. Golden flags on the floor shimmered in the dim light. As I examined them, I felt a tightness swell in my throat.
To the left, the VIP spectator seats were packed with students. The area extended so far back, I couldn't gauge its length. I saw students dressed like personal trainers, a drink service station, and the latest digital clubs entering my field of vision. I felt a wave of disgust at my own decision.
"Still want to play?" Kale asked. "This is for grown-ups. You know what the goal is? Get the ball in the hole with the fewest strokes. I like it simple—and since this is my kingdom—" he spread his arms wide, lifted the silver-colored club above his head, and shouted, "Bam!" enjoying every second. "You scared?"
Then I remembered why I was here.If I won... no one would ever bully me again in this school.But if I lost, I'd forever keep my head down and kneel before him.That was the deal.
I'd volunteered because I had seen it in a dream. And my dreams… always came true. Everything felt like it was playing out exactly as I'd envisioned.
With a foolish calm, I said, "I'm not scared! I've played golf before!"
In my mind, I saw my grandmother—who had passed long ago—practicing with a golf club. She wasn't rich, and my father made her suffer all her life. But beneath her gentle beauty was a quiet nobility. She played golf in her tiny room. My eyelids trembled. I was on the verge of tears. It hurt so much.She used to say: "Always play. This game takes your thoughts to where they belong."
Her voice echoed in my head, giving me strength. As the match neared, I felt more grounded. I wanted to reclaim my freedom. I had the right to live with dignity at this school. Just like anyone else.
"Want to start?" Kale asked, spinning the club in his hand, watching me between narrowed eyes.
The neon lights gleamed on his face. An electronic track blasted from the speakers. I flinched at the sudden sound, clutching the hem of my school skirt. I'd be the one to iron it later—if it even mattered.
I reached for the club."How many rounds?" he asked.
But the way he said it—it wasn't a player's tone. It was a gambler's. Everything about him, from his posture to his voice, screamed manipulation. Trust was a tangled net that spanned from my family to so-called friends.
I wanted to do something for myself. I grabbed the club. The cool metal felt strangely familiar against my skin. My heart began to pound.
I told myself: You have to do this. Losing would degrade you even more. They'd mock your body. Call you names. You'd become someone who willingly humiliated herself.
I had to erase fear. I needed calm. His one look—full of rage, pride, and cruelty—could shatter that calm in a second. That gaze reminded me of my loneliness. My mother's death. My father's beatings. My grandmother's soft goodbye to life. I shut my eyes tight and tried to breathe.
I took a step back.Planted my feet shoulder-width apart.Bent my knees gently.Kept my back straight.My body, which had been tense moment by moment, finally relaxed.
I looked at the target.I remembered how my grandmother held the club.Left hand on top, right hand below, grip gently.Like a nursery rhyme stuck in my mouth. Her voice always gave me power.I positioned my hands just like she did.In seconds, my fingers and palms found perfect balance—not too tight, not too loose.
My fingers tingled.
I felt trapped, unsure of what to do.My heart thudded in my mouth, voices buzzed in my ears.If I lost, the bullying would grow worse. The laughter. Kale's dangerous manipulations.
There was a rumor he'd once knocked someone's teeth out. I didn't think it was a myth. Hurting others was his hobby.
"Aren't you going to start?" he asked coldly. "The longer you wait, the more excited I get. I feel like I'll explode. All you have to do is swing," he snapped. "Click. That's it."
His impatience darkened into a looming shadow above me.
I turned my shoulders and drew a clean, perfect arc with the club.Focused.Aligned the ball to my eye.Swung carefully.The ball soared into the air—and dropped directly into the hole.
Breathless, I planted the club's tip into the ground and looked around. Kale's eyes were locked on me, intense.
"Nice shot. My turn."
He reached for a club and mimicked my move.Time slowed.Before I could even blink, his motion played out like a choreographed dance.
He got the ball in on the first try.But something bothered him.His face tensed. Wrinkles formed on his forehead.
"A tie is boring," he said. "How about one more round?"
I hesitated. My fists clenched.
"We agreed on one round," I said, sweat on my brow. "And if I win—" I dropped the club. "The bullying ends."
I gripped the club again, and without warning, power surged from within me.I stepped back.Aligned my body.Drew another perfect arc.The ball flew—but something was off.It struck the stand and rolled toward the hole—then stopped just at the edge.
My pupils shrank in fear.Time collapsed inward like a black hole.My body and soul shattered.All I could remember was the wrench pulling a side tooth from my mouth.The taste of blood on my lips.That sick, awful feeling.Everything drowned in darkness.
Pitch black.The taste of blood.And the certainty of defeat.My teeth—those white, healthy teeth I'd cared for since childhood.
I felt myself faint. Maybe from the pain, or the fear.But the one thing I knew for certain—It had all been real.
Returning to the Present
Leaving the classroom brought some relief.
Memories scattered in my mind like sugar crystals. I leaned on the bathroom sink. In the mirror, I stared into my foggy green eyes, freckles speckled across my face. Each spot felt like a scar in my life. I opened my mouth, unintentionally replaying that event from two years ago.
My heartbeat quickened with the memory. I had watched Kale's ball roll into the hole as I lay on the floor. It had all felt like a scene from a horror film.
I blinked, and the motion sensor turned the tap on. The cold water splashed with a hiss. It slid over my skin like a smooth, flawless layer of makeup.
I didn't know Ayaz well.He seemed kind.But I couldn't let him be drawn into this kind of game.I would not let that happen.
I didn't want him playing golf with a monster who didn't even know the danger he was walking into.
The water stopped. I walked toward the bathroom door.My steps halted when a figure appeared in front of me.
I flinched.My skin crawled.Eyes wide with fear."Y-you? What are you doing here?" I swallowed hard.
"You suddenly got sick. I wanted to check if you were okay."
I tucked my hair behind my ear and frowned. "Don't play golf with him. Ever. Look... what I went through..."
"What you went through?" he echoed with a soft smile. "I'd like to hear."
"N-no. It's all terrible."I looked around, took a deep breath, clasped my hands. "Horrible things."
He listened with furrowed brows, eyes narrowed in concern.
"I'm listening," he said gently.
"If you are, then don't play golf with him. Cancel it."
"Why?" he asked.
My silence lingered.Then he spoke, lips parting softly.
"You know... sometimes kids ask something to their parents. If they don't get an answer, if they're brushed off—they stay curious. And sooner or later, that curiosity gets them into trouble."
There was a dusty smile at the corner of his mouth.We stood at the far end of the corridor, and in the dim light, his lips looked almost gray.
"I-I can't talk about it," I said, my shoulders sinking as if sharing it was something impossible.
"Yes, you can," he replied. "Sharing helps people. And I think… we're friends. Aren't we? Or haven't you accepted our friendship?"He frowned slightly, eyes fixed on the strands of hair falling over my forehead. His gaze lingered, sharpened."Did you hit your head somewhere?"
Just another mark of the bullying.
He slowly raised his hand, about to push my hair aside, but I quickly stepped back, letting my hair fall over my face again.
"It's nothing." I buried my fearful breaths deep inside.
As my chest trembled, he asked, "Nothing?" Then added, "Alright, I get it. You won't talk. Then how about I start instead?" He nodded to himself, then asked, "Wanna go to the canteen?"
I didn't know. I didn't want to see any more bullies there."N-no," I answered.
He paused a moment, digesting that. "Okay then, let's go to class."
"No," I said again, fear tightening in my chest at the thought of that awful place.
"Is someone threatening you?" he asked suddenly. His brows furrowed. A shadow from his hair fell over his forehead.
I shook my head. "I've always thought… my very existence was a mistake…" My words fell from my lips, trembling. I tried to breathe, to shake off the thoughts, but couldn't."I've always felt like everyone fit into this world… except me." My lips trembled, I clenched my jaw to keep from crying.But that just reminded me of the tooth Kale had ripped from my mouth.
"You're a good person. That's probably why," he said, turning his head and walking toward a bench by the hallway."Come on. No one's around here."
His footsteps called me. He sat down and waited for me to join.Unintentionally, my feet followed him.
"Come," he said again, even more gently, trying to persuade me.Like someone telling a bird, "Don't be scared. I won't hurt you."
I smiled, despite myself.He noticed."Oh! You smiled for the first time."
He smiled with me."It suits you. But don't worry—I'm not one of those toxic people who say, 'Smile more! Be happy!' all the time.I was supposed to go first, wasn't I?"He paused and ran a hand through his hair, trying to gather his thoughts."I guess I don't even know where to begin."
I cut in. "Why did you transfer to this school?" I asked, genuinely curious.
"I heard the hierarchy here is terrifying."
Fear washed over me.My chest throbbed, my fingers trembled, curled inward.
"That's a reason not to come," I said in warning.He couldn't unknowingly become prey in this wretched game.
"I also heard about the rich students' horrific traditions," he continued."Hair cutting. Nail pulling. Bone breaking. Teeth pulling. Ridiculous amounts of money… bets exchanged back and forth.They live like kings, with money from mommy and daddy. This is one of the most prestigious schools in the world.I wonder what else they think they have the right to do."
I nodded involuntarily. Then quickly shook my head. "Never get involved with them," I said."Promise me you won't."He noticed the tremor in my voice. His eyes widened slightly. He turned toward me. The sunlight behind him made his face glow softly.
"They must've really hurt you."
That answer was obvious.No lie could cover it up.No door could hide my face, my feelings, my shame.This school had stripped me of my humanity.
"Why don't you treat me like the others?" I asked, lowering my head.I clenched my fists.Shut my eyes tight.I was sweating. Shaking. Afraid.
"Why don't you insult me? Call me a disgusting slut?Shake me like I'm some kind of freak? Why? Why?"My voice broke. I started to sob, one hiccup after another.I let go. The tears came. It was raw, from deep within.
"Why?"
His gaze softened with compassion.But not the kind of pity you offer a lost cause.His compassion was alive.
"Because I want to get you out of this."
"Get me out?" I echoed mockingly through sobs.I didn't believe it.Even if he saved me from this school, how would he save me from my father?
"Can people really just escape from everything?"My voice quivered. My throat ached under the weight of those words.Even my breath hurt.
He slowly reached into the pocket of his school pants.I watched his movement closely, my brows furrowed, eyes wet with tears.My eyelids blinked heavily.
It felt like a slow-motion film.
"There's a movie playing tonight. Maybe we can go together."He held up a ticket barcode.I glanced at it, confused.
"A movie? I-I…"
"Is that a no, too? What if I told you I'll share a secret?"
I shook my head quickly."I don't like movies."
"Have you ever watched one?"
I shook my head again."No."
"Then—"
"My father won't let me," I said. "He'll kill me."
His expression darkened at my words. "These marks—"
"My dad did it. And so did the people here. Okay? I'm not someone worth being around.Go find someone else. Someone who hasn't sunk as low as me.Someone who still has their humanity.Someone strong."
The word strong twisted in my throat."Because I'm broken."
I stood up suddenly, ready to leave.
"I'll wait for you," he said calmly.He leaned back against the wall, changed his posture, interlaced his fingers, opened and closed them slowly.He smiled gently, almost pulled at the corners of his mouth like a thread.
I sniffled.He didn't look up.His eyes stayed on the tiled floor.
"The movie starts at eight."