13 APRIL 2092
The classroom buzzed with faint murmurs and the soft scratch of pens against notebooks. Sunlight filtered through the window blinds, striping the floor in dull golden bands.
In the very last row, tucked in the corner where shadows gathered, sat a boy with glasses.
His head was low, chin nearly touching the desk.
"I'm Jhan… and this is my shitty-ass school."
He mumbled as he glanced up. The teacher was at the board, scribbling out multiple equations.
The teacher's voice cut through the haze like a whip.
"Jhan. Stand up."
The classroom quieted just a bit.
"I said, stand up! Answer this question on the board."
Jhan rose slowly, but his gaze never left the floor. His lips stayed shut. Nothing came to mind.
The teacher sneered, shaking his head.
"Well, we all know you're good for nothing, Jhan."
Laughter.
Like a wave, it crashed over him—mocking chuckles, whispers, snorts. Jhan didn't flinch. He just stood there, the sound echoing in his skull.
"I hate it. Curse you, teach... Curse you. Teachers are supposed to motivate students and help them. They're not here just to humiliate us..."
The bell rang for lunch break, echoing down the hall like a signal of temporary freedom. Students poured out of the classroom, their voices mixing into a loud mess of laughter and chatter.
Jhan walked out slowly, his bag hanging loosely off one shoulder, eyes fixed on the floor.
And then—he stopped.
A group stood in front of him.
Three boys. One girl.
Their expressions were anything but friendly.
"Hey buddy," one of the boys said, grinning as he stepped forward. "Come with us for a while."
Jhan didn't reply. His gaze stayed low, as if the floor held more interest than the people in front of him.
"Oh, come on," another boy scoffed. A rough hand landed on Jhan's shoulder.
Before he could react, they were already dragging him down the hallway, ignoring the few students who pretended not to see.
He was thrown into an empty room—one of the unused clubs. The door shut behind them with a soft click.
Jhan hit the wall with a dull thud and slid down to the floor. The four stood over him, grinning.
"These bastards… Noah—the one who always starts with that fake smile. Liam—the musclehead who does whatever he's told. Jhon—the one who dragged me here. And this bitch Sofia… Curse you. Curse you all."
"Now you'll buy us food, right? Our dear friend?" Noah said with a smile that didn't quite reach his eyes.
Jhan didn't respond. He just kept his head down, hands clenched tightly at his sides.
Tension lingered in the air like smoke. The laughter of the others echoed faintly in the back of his mind, distant yet loud enough to sting.
Sofia clicked her tongue.
"This bastard is ignoring us again? Hah… looks like someone needs another reminder."
She took out her phone.
"Take off your clothes, pig," she said, her voice sharp with authority.
Jhan was forced to obey. With shaking fingers, he began unbuttoning his shirt.
"Curse you, bitch... Curse you..."
He sat there, naked, as they laughed around him.
Sofia took a few pictures with her phone.
"Now, if you ever reject us... these pics will go viral," Liam smirked.
"Now get back your clothing, you disgusting pig," Sofia added with a look of disgust.
Jhan dressed slowly, silently.
"Just how much time do you even take to dress yourself? Or is it that your mama still dresses you every day?" Liam mocked, prompting more laughter.
Jhan slowly got to his feet, adjusting the frame of his glasses—only for the cracked lens to fall loose. He stared at it blankly in his hand. The impact with the wall must've broken it. Not that it mattered.
Without a word, he stepped out of the room. His face was unreadable. Expressionless.
It's always been like this for me… ever since that day.
The corridor was noisy, filled with students chatting, laughing, living their ordinary lives. But the moment they saw him—bruised, dirtied, silent—they recoiled, whispering, avoiding eye contact. Some gave him looks of disgust. Others just ignored him completely.
He noticed everything. Every single glance. Every word muttered under breath.
And yet, he said nothing.
His eyes lowered to the floor as his steps echoed through the hall.
Curse you all... I swear, you'll pay one day. I'll make sure of it.
He entered the cafeteria. The crowd was loud and busy, but he didn't look up. He stood in the lunch line like anyone else.
A group of boys behind him shoved past.
"Let us be ahead, asshole," one of them snarled, pushing Jhan.
Still, Jhan stayed silent. Not a flinch. Not even a glare.
Just that same, empty stare.
The plates rattled in Jhan's trembling hands—four of them, stacked carefully, each filled with food he could no longer afford for himself. His vision was blurry without his glasses, making it hard to navigate the bustling cafeteria.
And then—crash!
He bumped into someone.
Hot soup spilled.
"Oy! Can't you see, nerd?!" the boy shouted before landing a harsh punch to Jhan's face.
The world spun. Jhan hit the floor. Plates clattered. Food splattered.
Laughter rang out. He couldn't even tell if it was real anymore—or just inside his head.
His face stung. His chest ached. But still… he said nothing.
Silently, he pushed himself up, trembling. He gathered the broken remains of the plates and dropped them into the trash can.
Then got back in line.
Again.
I won't have any money left for my own food… he thought, sorrow pressing down on his chest. But still, he said nothing.
Eventually, with four fresh plates in hand, he returned to them—Noah, Liam, Jhon, and Sofia.
"Finally," Jhon sneered. "What took you so long, jerk?"
"Break's almost over," Liam added. "Next time, be fast—or we'll teach you another lesson."
Jhan lowered his gaze.
"Sorry," he mumbled, handing them the plates.
He returned to class and sank into the last seat by the window. Head low. Stomach empty. Soul even emptier.
Then, the teacher entered.
"Hey! Why the hell are you sleeping? This isn't your damn house!"
Jhan jolted upright. Lips sealed. No argument. No excuse.
He just sat there quietly for the rest of class, his body present but his mind long gone.
And finally—school was over.
He waited until everyone had left. Slowly, he walked out last, slipping through the gates with his head down, just to avoid their eyes… just to exist without being seen.
The orange hue of the evening sun painted long shadows across the cracked pavement as Jhan walked home, his steps slow and weary.
"This… this is my usual school routine."
The same streets. The same ache in his chest. The same silence trailing behind him like a ghost.
When he finally reached the familiar, aging door of his house, he took a deep breath and pushed it open.
Click.
"But the hell doesn't end yet."
Inside, the television was on. Laughter from a sitcom echoed through the living room. His father sat on the couch, remote in hand, while his mother busied herself beside him.
Jhan hesitated in the doorway, his eyes lingering on them before he walked closer.
"Mom…" His voice cracked. "I'm hungry… Can I have something to eat?"
His mother barely glanced at him.
"What? We give you lunch money every day, don't we? And you still come home hungry? That's on you. You're not getting anything now."
Jhan opened his mouth to explain… to plead—
"But—"
"You brat." His father's voice cut in, cold and sharp. "Just get the hell to your room. We don't even know where the hell you go after school. You think we're stupid? School ended over an hour ago."
He turned to Jhan's mother and muttered,
"This brat's getting out of hand. You better do something before I lose it."
Jhan didn't respond. No anger. No words. Just a quiet, hollow look as he turned away and walked toward his room.
He lay curled on his bed, the fabric of his pillow soaked with quiet tears no one would ever notice. No warmth. No comfort. Just the hollow sound of his own breathing filling the silence of his dim room.
Eventually, the tears dried. Sleep dragged him under like a tide—heavy, cold, and cruel.
Jhan didn't reply. No anger. No words. Just a quiet, hollow look as he turned away and walked toward his room.
Jhan lay curled on his bed, the fabric of his pillow soaked with the quiet tears no one would ever notice. No warmth, no comfort—just the hollow sound of his own breathing filling the silence of his dim room.
Eventually, his tears dried. Sleep dragged him under like a tide, heavy and cold.
When he opened his eyes again, the sun had long since set. The house was quiet. His stomach twisted and churned, empty and desperate. Slowly, he got up and walked out of his room, holding onto a thin thread of hope.
Maybe… maybe there's still dinner.
In the kitchen, he saw his mother at the sink, casually washing the last of the dishes.
"Hey… Mom," he asked, voice small. "Food?"
"Oh, we're already done eating," she replied without even turning around.
His heart skipped. "But… you would've left my share, right?"
She laughed lightly. "No. I threw it in the trash. Let this be a lesson—you should've been on time."
Jhan just stood there.
Not a single word came to his lips.
He turned around slowly, walked back into his room—and as soon as the door closed behind him, he collapsed onto his bed and buried his face into the pillow.
"Aaaaaagh!"
A raw, broken scream tore through the fabric. "Why… why does it have to be like this?!"
Tears returned, burning hotter than before.
But then… his sobs stopped.
His breathing steadied.
His eyes sharpened—red and swollen.
"No… I won't die like this," he muttered. "I will eat."
With trembling hands and silent footsteps, he crept into his mother's room. He opened the almirah, slowly pulled out a few pieces of jewelry—a necklace, a pair of gold earrings.
He clutched them to his chest for a moment.
Then slipped them into his bag and returned to his room, heart pounding louder than the storm inside him.
He couldn't sleep that night.
The next morning — April 14, 2092
Jhan woke with a start, the pale sunlight creeping into his room.
His heart dropped.
"Crap… I'm late…!"
There was no time to wash up or fix his hair. He just grabbed his bag and dashed out of the house, shoes barely tied, heart thudding against his ribs.
The teacher's going to humiliate me again… in front of everyone…
He sprinted through the streets, legs burning from hunger and exhaustion—but he didn't stop.
By the time he reached school, he was drenched in sweat and panting.
He burst into his classroom.
Thud.
A chalk-filled duster fell straight onto his head.
A cloud of white burst around him like smoke from a bomb. His hair, clothes, face—all coated in chalk dust.
Silence.
Then—laughter.
"Ha! Got him again!"
"Look at his face! What a loser!"
One boy punched his shoulder. Another tripped him lightly as he passed.
But Jhan didn't react.
He didn't say a word.
He just dusted himself off and walked to the last bench—his usual corner of invisibility.
It's always the same… he thought.
Lunch break.
For most, it was a time of joy. For Jhan, it was a sentence.
He quietly packed his books, trying to avoid attention—but it was already too late.
"Yo, Jhan! Come here!"
Noah's voice.
Jhan's hands trembled slightly.
Outside the class stood Noah, Liam, Jhon, and Sofia.
"Alright, our favorite errand boy is here," Jhon sneered.
"You know the drill," said Liam. "Food. Now."
Jhan hesitated. "I… I don't have any money left…"
The silence was sharp.
"What did you say?" Sofia stepped forward. "Are you seriously saying no to us?"
"I… I spent it yesterday…"
Jhon grabbed him by the collar and slammed him against the wall.
"You think you get to say no?" he growled.
A hard punch landed in Jhan's stomach.
He buckled.
"Next time, don't even come to school if you can't serve us," Noah muttered and shoved him to the floor.
Jhan didn't fight back.
He never did.
I'm not a servant… I'm not a toy… I'm a human being…
The cafeteria buzzed with life. Not his.
Jhan sat alone, an empty tray before him.
Then—Clack.
A tray was placed in front of him.
He looked up.
It was Jina, his classmate.
She's never talked to me before…
"Here," she said softly. "Have something to eat."
Then she turned and walked away.
Jhan stared. Then reached out, trembling, and took a bite.
The warmth of food hit his tongue.
Tears welled up again.
It's just food… but it feels like so much more…
He finished every bite. For once, his stomach wasn't aching.
Back to class.
The teacher entered with a stack of papers.
"Test results, everyone."
Jhan's chest tightened.
"That's Rio," he noticed, glancing sideways.
A walking disaster. All brawn, no brain. Yesterday was peaceful without him…
Names were called. Papers passed.
When Jhan's turn came: 8 out of 100.
I studied so hard… and still…
He returned to his seat, silent, broken.
Rio's turn came next.
He looked at his marksheet—and his face twisted with rage.
Crack.
The paper crumpled in his fist.
He stormed back to his seat.
Then turned—and walked toward Jhan.
"Hey, mind coming outside for a second?" Rio asked with a forced smile. "Teacher's still busy."
Jhan didn't reply.
Rio's grin stiffened.
He suddenly grabbed Jhan and dragged him out.
They went into the sports storage room.
Inside, Rio opened the small changing room door and locked it behind them.
"Listen," Rio said, stretching his fingers. "I failed. And someone's gotta help me cool off."
"Wait—please—" Jhan whispered.
Pain silenced him.
A fist. Then another.
This guy… frustrated because he's dumb. So he turns to fists. What kind of human are you… curse you…
Another punch—deep into his stomach.
Jhan screamed.
Footsteps.
A guard.
"Hey! What's going on in there?!"
The door cracked open—
"Oh, we were just playing around, sir," Rio said calmly, dusting off Jhan's shoulders like it was nothing.
The guard glanced, shrugged. "Keep it down."
They're supposed to protect us. But he didn't ask a single question. Didn't even look at me…
Another blow landed as soon as the door shut.
"Don't you dare scream again, freak," Rio muttered.
Jhan left school early, bruised, shirt torn.
He walked the empty road, sunlight fading, shadows long.
Tears spilled down his cheeks.
"I can't take this anymore…"
Then—
He saw it.
An arms shop, tucked between closed stores.
His breath hitched.
His pain boiled into rage.
"I'll fucking murder every one of those bastards…"
He stepped in. Traded the stolen jewelry. Got a handgun.
Now, a lot of you might be thinking—
"How did a schooler buy a gun like it's nothing? 🤓"
Kindly STFU. My story has no flaws. HCR was taken down by Addiction and Zica Amberian in 2089. This world's different.
He walked home, gripping the bag tightly.
The door creaked open.
His parents were at the dining table.
Then his father stood.
"You tore your shirt again?! That's the tenth time this month! Where are your glasses?!"
Smack.
Smack.
The slap echoed across the room.
His mother didn't even flinch. She just sat there, eyes blank, mouth unmoving.
Jhan yanked himself free from his father's grip and ran—no, fled—to his room.
There, he collapsed onto his bed. The sobs came fast, broken, like a dam had given way inside his chest.
The time flew by in the tears and he didn't even realize that it was night now.
The tears eventually dried, leaving only a hollow ache behind.
"...Curse you all," he whispered.
And then he smiled. A dry, cracked smile.
"I'll write their names down… yeah, I'll write every one of their names on my suicide note. That'll ruin them. They'll suffer. They'll all suffer..."
He grabbed a pen and paper, hands shaking but certain.
He began to write.
In his mind, he imagined it all.
His mother, crumpling to her knees, sobbing in front of his lifeless body.
His father, screaming—desperate.
Those five monsters from school, getting arrested, exposed.
Disgraced.
It was… sweet…. Filled his heart with warmth
He was crying and smiling at the same writing the note
After finishing the note, He first went to the fridge and picked up a few cans of beer of his father and brought them into his room and gulped them
Then picked up the gun and stepped quietly out of his room. Parents were watching movies in the living room as usual; he made sure to stay quiet.
Each footstep up the stairs to the rooftop felt heavier than the last.
"I had tried complaining to the principal…"
The memory played in his head like a bitter flashback.
He stood in the principal's office, eyes pleading. The man behind the desk didn't even look up as he spoke.
"You all are friends. A little roughhousing is normal," the principal said with a lazy smile.
"B-But sir… this is way beyond what you'd call friendship. They beat me. Humiliate me."
"Then handle it yourself. I'm busy."
Just like that—the door was closed on him.
Jhan blinked. Another memory.
"I even tried telling my parents…" he muttered, moving one step higher. His grip on the railing tightened.
"You must be doing something wrong," his father had said without a second thought. "No one targets someone without a reason."
"Yeah, your father's right. Maybe if you weren't such a failure…" his mother had added. "I regret giving birth to you."
He returned to the present.
The rooftop door creaked open.
"Well, it ends tonight… mother." A faint smile curled on his lips, one born not of peace, but pain.
"No one ever believed that I could be someone, and have my own existence."
He gripped the gun tighter.
The rooftop greeted him with its cold night air. Stars shimmered above, and a full moon cast its pale glow across the cityscape. Skyscrapers blinked quietly in the distance, too far to care.
Jhan raised the gun to his head.
His finger hovered near the trigger.
Tears trickled down his cheeks, unending.
"This all ends now… I hope every one of you suffers after I'm gone…"
He whispered it with every ounce of hatred and grief packed into one trembling breath.
His finger began to squeeze.
Click—
But just before the trigger moved any further, a chill ran down his spine. It was as if the air had frozen in time.
A cold presence wrapped around him, pressing against his back like a shadow whispering from behind.
And then—
A voice.
Low. Calm. Bone-deep cold.
"Hey, sinner… I believe in you."