Histori stepped out of the basement, tossing a few words my way that I couldn't quite grasp.
He left as quietly as he had entered, clicking the door shut with a gentleness that stood in stark contrast to my other siblings, who nearly tore it off its hinges every time they passed through.
As I sat back down on my mattress, I looked around, my face falling.
"Does he actually care about me?" I wondered aloud.
It was a fair question, given everything he had done—and everything he hadn't. He was the only one who didn't bully me, the only one who never laid a hand on me in anger.
I stood up and moved toward the spot Histori had been searching moments ago. He had opened the glass jar of cinnamon sticks—the ones I used to keep the basement's damp smell at bay.
I reached out and touched the glass. Because of the humidity, Histori's fingerprints were still visible on the surface, though you'd have to squint and look very closely to see them.
A small, almost happy smile tugged at my lips.
"He really does care... but he won't help me because of them."
I pulled a piece of bread from my pocket—something I'd managed to snag from the kitchen fifteen minutes earlier—and sat down to eat.
I barely chewed, swallowing the dry chunks whole in the desperate hope that it would take my stomach longer to digest them. I needed this to last. I had to survive another three days on this alone.
***
The next morning, I woke to the same alarm and the familiar thud of footsteps echoing through the ceiling of my gloomy basement.
I got up and pulled on my thin clothes, grabbed my tattered bag, and slipped into my black shoes. I had wrapped my right foot in bandages instead of socks; the sole of my right shoe was worn through, and the friction of skin against the pavement was agonizing without the extra padding.
I splashed some water on my face and took a long drink from the same basin.
As I stepped through the palace gates, a heavy shoulder slammed into me. I hit the ground with a sharp, broken gasp.
Looking up warily, I saw Arthur's back. He didn't even look back as he headed toward the sleek black car that ferried my siblings to their private academy.
Arthur was the last one in. My eyes involuntarily darted toward the window, searching.
Histori was there, sitting by the glass, staring down at a book as he always did. For a fleeting second, our eyes met—his piercing red gaze locking onto mine.
I saw nothing in them. No pity, no anger, no emotion at all.
He looked away, the engine roared to life, and the car sped off, leaving me in a cloud of exhaust.
I struggled to my feet, my left knee throbbing and already beginning to bleed. I let out a pained sigh but kept moving.
For a moment, the urge to crawl back into bed and sleep forever was overwhelming, but I forced myself forward. School was my only lifeline. I needed it to survive.
And no, I don't mean for the education.
Damn a full mind when the stomach is empty.
***
The school bus was already pulling away from the stop by the time I arrived. It was rare for me to be on time, and today was no exception. I began the thirty-minute trek to the school on foot.
When I finally arrived, there was no guard at the gate, and the doors were still unlocked. Everything seemed normal.
I walked inside, already bracing myself for the teacher's inevitable punishment. As I moved down the dilapidated hallway, the paint peeling off the walls like dead skin, I heard a loud commotion coming from my classroom.
I hesitated at the door, surprised. The teacher wasn't there yet. She was late.
I breathed a sigh of relief; for once, luck was on my side.
But as I stepped inside, the noise didn't die down. Instead, it shifted toward me. As I made my way to my usual seat in the very back, the familiar whispers began to rise.
"He's late," a boy in the front row sneered.
"As always," another replied, leaning back in his chair.
"He gets uglier every day," a girl whispered to her friend, her voice carrying just enough for me to hear. "My mom says birthmarks like that might be contagious."
"I didn't see him on the bus," her friend whispered back, giggling behind her hand. "Maybe he's under quarantine, like back during COVID. Haha!"
I kept my head down, wondering where the "kind soul" was in this room full of monsters.
Where was the enlightened person who was supposed to stand up against this? Was that just a myth from stories about reformed criminals? Did people like that even exist in the real world?
Where the hell were they?
As I sat down, my hands trembling, the boy in front of me turned around.
"Hey, you."
"Y-yes?" I stammered.
He smirked, his sharp eyes scanning my face. It was Keryan's friend, the one with the curly hair.
"Are you really a Martinez? I didn't believe it when that woman showed up. Is she actually your mother? Or is she just a prop to fool the teachers? Maybe you're adopted."
I swallowed hard, my fingers fumbling as I tried to pull my notebook from my bag. I didn't say a word.
Keryan, who was sitting nearby, chimed in.
"Adopted? Why would a beautiful woman like her choose a monster like him? He's probably some distant relative no one wanted. A nephew or a cousin they got stuck with."
I heard these things every day, but today, the words felt sharper, more potent.
"By the way," Kiara whispered, leaning toward Keryan. "That poem you read was beautiful. Do you really love poetry that much?"
I looked at her, my heart sinking.
She was doing it on purpose. Kiara was the only one who knew that poem was mine, not his. I couldn't understand what she was playing at, especially when she spoke again, louder this time.
"Don't you think his birthmark looks bigger today?"
Keryan turned to look at me, and suddenly, all twenty-nine students turned in unison. It was an automatic, terrifying movement.
Tears pricked my eyes, but before they could fall, a heavy hand grabbed my hair and yanked my head back.
It was the large boy whose name I could never remember.
"You ran away from me last time! How about we settle this now?"
He dug his fingers into my scalp, pulling hard. I squeezed my eyes shut against the pain, but then a stern voice cut through the room from the doorway.
"Jason... get to your seat."
The grip on my hair vanished. The entire class scrambled into their places as the teacher walked in.
She tossed her coat over her chair and clapped her hands.
"Alright, listen up. If you stay quiet, you can leave early today. Let's get through this without any trouble."
She dragged her chair across the marble floor with a piercing screech and sat down, rubbing her temples. She didn't even bother to lower her voice as she muttered:
"Damn this job..."
Jason leaned toward me, his voice a low, venomous hiss.
"At recess, you're dead."
It wasn't the first time I'd heard that. Sometimes, I wished I had just died the first time he said it.
I watched the teacher as she sorted through her papers, her chalk scratching harshly against the blackboard.
She was a tyrannical, biased woman. If she had any sense of justice, she would have punished Jason. In Japanese schools, the standard punishment for troublemakers was to make them stand in the hall, sometimes on one foot.
But she never did that to him. Never.
***
Fifteen minutes into the lesson, there was a knock at the door. Another teacher poked his head in.
"Ms. Cross, do you have a moment?"
"Oh, certainly," she replied, standing up.
She looked back at the class, gesturing for silence, and pointed at Kiara.
"Stand at the front. If anyone makes a sound, write their name down."
Kiara rose with a sweet, innocent smile.
"Of course, Sensei."
She stepped onto the wooden platform, the boards creaking under her weight. She stood there with her hands tucked neatly behind her back.
One minute passed. Then two.
The whispers began to creep back in—faint, cautious, childish.
"The teacher's taking forever," a girl whispered.
"Maybe she's not coming back," a boy added, tilting his chair.
The room began to stir. The sound of shifting chairs and rustling paper filled the air. The class was growing restless.
Kiara suddenly clapped her hands, a wide grin on her face.
"Hey guys, the teacher's busy and I'm bored. Want to play a game?"
"What kind of game?" a boy asked, leaning on his elbow.
"A game to help someone de-stress," Kiara said, stepping down from the platform.
"A game? But the teacher..." Charlotte, one of her friends, started to protest.
"Oh, come on, Charlotte," Kiara laughed. "I can't hear them anymore. They're probably in the principal's office. Who knows?"
I watched from the back, staring out the window, hoping to find some small piece of beauty to cling to.
Kiara was gathering a crowd around her. She was so social, so charismatic—it would have been admirable if she weren't a demon wearing an angel's mask. I still remembered the last time she had humiliated me.
Kiara began handing out slips of white paper to everyone in the room. When she reached my desk, she set one down with a playful wink.
"We're going to play a game to lower someone's stress levels."
I looked at the paper, my suspicion mounting. She started handing out pens—thirty of them. I had no idea where she'd even gotten them.
"It's called the Fear-Burner," she announced.
"The what?" someone laughed.
"Fear," Kiara repeated calmly.
The laughter died down when they saw how serious she was. I looked around. Some kids were smiling, others were winking at each other.
One of them held his paper, not knowing what to do with it, while others placed it directly under their notebooks. But what really caught my attention was those who wrote directly without any hesitation.
I found myself doing the same when Kiara stated the rules.
"Huh? Some are writing even before I tell them, but it seems you understand it from the name. Everyone writes their deepest fears on the paper. Don't worry—everyone is using the same black ink, so no one will know who wrote what. And don't be stupid and write your name on it. When we're done, we'll take the pile out to the yard and burn them."
She clapped again.
"Let's play!"
I hesitated, but everyone else was already writing. Some looked tense, others were smirking as they scribbled.
"Hey, stop looking at mine!"
"Who cares about your stupid secrets?"
"You're only afraid of your mom anyway."
The bickering eventually faded into a heavy, strange silence. The only sounds were the scratching of pens and the rustle of paper.
I found myself asking: *What am I actually afraid of?*
My family? School? The bullying? It all felt so cliché. But when it came down to it, there was only one honest answer.
I wrote it down before I could talk myself out of it.
"One minute left," Kiara called out. She looked at Keryan. "Write something. Don't give me a blank page."
"Write what?" Keryan smirked. "I'm not afraid of anything."
Kiara leaned in and flashed her own paper at him for a split second. "Don't lie," she whispered. "Just write."
Keryan sighed, scribbled a few lines, and flipped his paper over.
"Happy now?"
Kiara clapped for him, and the class erupted in laughter. When the minute was up, she began collecting the slips. When she got to me, I handed mine over.
She glanced at it and said, her voice loud enough for everyone to hear:
"Wow, someone had a lot to say."
My heart hammered against my ribs.
"Read it!" Jason shouted. "Let's hear it!"
"No, that's not fair," a girl with glasses argued. "If you read one, you have to read them all. Jason, shut up!"
Kiara simply shuffled the deck, mixing the papers thoroughly.
"Rules are rules," she said.
She stood back on the platform and began reading them aloud. No names, just the secrets.
*Wetting the bed.*
*Fear of cats.*
*Fear of the dark.*
*Fear of the teacher.*
Then she reached one that made her pause. Her cheeks flushed slightly.
"Loudly farting... when it's quiet."
The room exploded. Everyone was howling with laughter, pointing fingers, trying to guess the culprit. Even I found myself laughing—until I noticed where everyone was looking.
"Haha! Oh man, this is great," Keryan wheezed. "Who's the farter? Come on, fess up!"
Jason suddenly stopped laughing.
"Wait... why is Leon looking at Jason?"
I froze. Jason's face turned a deep, angry red.
"Hey! What are you looking at, you freak?"
I looked away instantly. "N-nothing! I wasn't—"
"Oh, man!" Keryan laughed, clutching his stomach. "Leon can't lie to save his life. That's the only thing he's good for. So, Jason... was it you?"
The entire class turned their gaze on Jason. He looked at me with such pure, unadulterated malice that I thought he might actually kill me right there.
He lunged forward, grabbing me by the collar.
"Admit it! You wrote that to get back at me, didn't you?"
He shook me violently. I stared up at the ceiling, feeling a strange sense of detachment. The whole thing was so absurd.
"He's such a spiteful kid," someone whispered. "Of course he'd do that to Jason."
"It has to be him."
But then, Kiara's voice cut through the noise.
"No. It wasn't Leon."
The room went quiet. Kiara held up a single slip of paper.
"Do you want to know what his secret actually is?"
"But the papers are all mixed up," a girl protested. "How could you possibly know which one is his?"
Kiara didn't answer. She just began to read.
"I'm afraid that one day I'll die in a dark basement, and no one will even notice until they smell my rotting corpse."
My heart stopped. I tore myself away from Jason and ran toward her.
"Stop! Don't read it! Give it back!"
But Keryan stepped in my way, locking his arm around my neck.
"Relax, kid. I'm curious. I thought you were just afraid of me."
A faint voice from the center said,
"A cellar?"
It wasn't sarcasm. It was a genuine question.
Two seconds passed, then broke.
A short laugh came from Kirian's side.
He didn't raise his voice, just tilted his head slightly, his eyes half-closed.
"A dark cellar?" he said quietly.
Kiara kept reading.
"I don't want to be alone anymore. I just want someone to love me. I had a strange dream once—I want to see him again. A man named... A-Aven?"
She stumbled over the name. "What kind of weird language is this?"
The room erupted again, but this time, the laughter was cruel. They began mocking my words, twisting them into jokes.
By the time the teacher returned, we were all back in our seats, but my name was already written on the board in Kiara's neat handwriting.
"Leon. Out. Stand by the door," the teacher said, not even looking up as she erased the board.
I walked out and stood in the cold hallway. My feet were already starting to tingle. I'd be here for hours. Tears finally escaped, rolling down my cheeks.
How had she known?
The door creaked open. Kiara stepped out, a smug look on her face.
"Don't worry, I didn't come to check on you. But... you're dying to know, aren't you?"
I nodded slowly.
"The pens," she whispered, leaning in. "I told everyone they were black. And they were—except for yours. Yours was the only one with actual black ink."
"But... they all looked the same," I stammered.
Kiara pulled a pen from her pocket and drew a line on her palm. The ink was bright red.
"The casing is black, but I swapped the cartridges. A neat little trick, right?"
She had set me up from the very beginning.
"But why?" I asked, my voice trembling with a mix of exhaustion and grief.
She reached out and caught a tear on the tip of her fingernail.
"Because it's fun."
She turned to walk away, then paused.
"And everyone hates you, Leon. In case you hadn't noticed, we all agreed on this before you even showed up today."
I leaned against the wall, the strength leaving my legs.
"See?" Kiara said, her voice suddenly serious. "If even one person had stood up for you, I wouldn't have done it. But look around. No one did. Consider this a lesson: everyone hates you. Even the teacher. But between you and me..."
She gave me a cold, hollow smile.
"I don't even know why. Your birthmark isn't even that ugly. There's just something about you... you're different. And in this world, being different is a sin. That's what my father says, anyway."
Then, she turned and disappeared back into the classroom.