"If you really need money that badly," a clear, calm, but firm voice rang out.
The entire classroom fell into a heavy silence.
It was Liam.
He sat on his chair like a king on a throne, relaxed and confident, with a group of girls gathered around him, laughing softly. His eyes were cold as he looked at Alejandro and George.
"Then take this," Liam added casually.
He flicked his wrist and threw a few bills toward them. The money landed on the floor with a soft sound, but it felt loud in the quiet room.
Alejandro and George froze. For a moment, neither of them spoke.
George was the first to recover. His face twisted with anger. He snorted loudly and spat to the side.
"I don't want your fucking money," he said irritably. He hated Liam already—hated the way he spoke, hated the way everyone admired him.
Alejandro bent down, picked up the money, and tossed it back toward Oliver without care. The bills slid across the floor and stopped near Oliver's feet.
After giving Oliver one last cold look, the two bullies turned and walked out of the classroom as if nothing had happened.
Oliver slowly crouched down and began picking up his scattered books. Some were fine, but others were torn, bent, and dirty. His fingers trembled slightly as he gathered his things.
His eyes drifted to the money on the floor. For a moment, he thought of picking it up. But after a second, he stopped himself.
That money isn't mine, he thought. It has nothing to do with me.
He turned his gaze away.
What Oliver didn't know was that someone had been watching him closely.
Liam's eyes stayed on Oliver from the moment George and Alejandro left. He felt a strange surprise settle in his chest. He was sure he had never noticed this boy before.
"His name is Oliver," one of the girls beside Liam said curiously. "Do you know him?"
Liam shook his head.
"That's normal," another girl replied. "I spent almost three months in this school before I even noticed him."
Liam didn't respond. His gaze remained fixed on Oliver.
In the few days since Liam transferred to Golden Crest Academy, he had already formed a group. Nine students, including himself and his childhood friend Tommy. They called themselves The Golden Squad, and everyone knew Liam was the leader.
When Liam saw that Oliver had no intention of picking up the money, his brows furrowed slightly. He gestured to one of his boys.
"Pick it up," he ordered. "Buy something for the girls."
The boy obeyed immediately.
Liam leaned back in his seat, his expression dark.
He had always hated weak people—those who couldn't stand up for themselves. And Oliver was no exception. From the first moment Liam noticed him, he disliked him.
Another thing bothered him even more.
While everyone else stared at him, admired him, or tried to get close to him, Oliver hadn't even looked at him once.
Liam didn't accept being ignored.
How dare someone act arrogant toward me, he thought.
Then he paused.
Why am I even thinking about someone so insignificant?
After that day, George and his friends seemed to lose interest in bullying Oliver. They stopped bothering him. Life returned to its dull routine, and Oliver prayed silently that the rest of the year would pass without trouble.
One afternoon, Oliver was walking toward the library when he turned a corner and froze.
Liam and his friends were standing in a deserted area, smoking and laughing.
Oliver's heart dropped.
Without thinking, he turned around quickly, choosing another path.
"You," Liam's voice rang out sharply. "Come here."
Oliver pretended not to hear. He walked faster.
Liam's jaw tightened. Anger flared in his eyes.
Never—not once—had someone ignored him like this.
Now he understood why George and Alejandro always targeted Oliver.
"Bring him here," Liam said through clenched teeth.
Paul moved instantly, as if he existed only to obey. In seconds, Oliver was dragged back and stood in front of them, his head lowered.
Liam jumped down from the wall he had been leaning on and walked closer.
"Look up," Liam said, gripping Oliver's chin and forcing his face upward.
Oliver slapped his hand away.
"Look at me," Liam snapped, his patience thinning.
Still, Oliver refused.
Something in Liam snapped.
His face went pale with rage. He raised his knee and slammed it into Oliver's stomach. Oliver fell hard to the ground, gasping for air, pain exploding through him.
For a moment, he stayed there.
Then—slowly—he forced himself back up, fists clenched, legs shaking.
Liam stared at him in disbelief.
He couldn't stand up to those idiots, Liam thought, anger boiling. But he dares to stand against me?
He grabbed Oliver's shoulder and punched him in the face.
Oliver stumbled backward, his vision blurring as he crashed to the ground again. The pain was unbearable, but still, he didn't beg. He didn't cry.
And Liam hated that.
Liam was not the type to stop until someone broke.
Anyone who entered his black book never escaped easily.
Blow after blow followed. Oliver lost track of time. His body felt heavy, numb. Eventually, he couldn't even lift a finger.
Liam kicked him one final time.
"Stand up," Liam mocked. "If you can."
Oliver didn't move.
"Never let me see you again," Liam said coldly. "Avoid me. Even in your dreams."
Then he turned and walked away with the others, leaving Oliver lying on the ground, still and silent, like a broken doll.
Oliver stared at their backs as they disappeared.
Hatred filled his chest—not for them, but for himself.
He hated how weak he was.
He hated how he was always the target.
He hated himself so much that it hurt.
And that pain stayed with him long after they were gone.