Beacon Hills is a town where supernatural events have become the norm... It is the story of a young man who moved to a town home to werewolves, hunters, and many supernatural creatures, and was forced to live among them.
The sun was high, and there was a spring breeze in the air. Sean McCall, along with his friend Stiles and his brother Scott, got into Stiles' jeep and set off toward school. The friendship between the trio was the kind that could make anyone jealous.
Stiles smirked, "So... where should I drop you twin brothers today? Or should we head to our house, eh-hehe."
Sean smiled and hit him on the shoulder, saying, "I guess some people still haven't learned the difference between dying and getting a beating, what do you think, Scott?"
Scott chuckled and just rolled his eyes at the two. But one of his hands was on the bite at his waist. Yesterday was truly very strange.
Stiles notices this. "So Scott? What happened yesterday? You said a wolf attacked you? Here in Beacon Hills?"
Scott shook his head. "Yes, I'm sure. I saw a wolf," he said, turning his gaze out the window to the trees passing by.
As Sean looked at his brother's profile, he sensed something odd about him. "By the way, Scott... it seems like your breathing is very easy today? Did you drop your asthma along with your inhaler in the forest?"
Scott paused for a moment, reached into his pocket, but felt only emptiness. "Really... it's not with me. But strangely, I feel better than I ever have."
Stiles parked his veteran jeep in the school parking lot with its usual noise. When the trio got out of the vehicle, the courtyard of Beacon Hills High School was in its usual morning rush. However, this routine was interrupted by a sharp, ear-piercing screech of tires.
A gleaming silver Porsche pulled into the empty space right next to Stiles' clunker with a sharp maneuver. When the roar of the engine faded, Jackson Whittemore stepped out of the driver's seat with his usual arrogant manner. He slowly lowered his sunglasses and smirked at the trio.
"God, what was that noise?" Jackson said, pointing at Stiles' jeep. "Did a car park, or did a junkyard explode? McCall, is that smell you or that walking wreck?"
Stiles was just about to open his mouth to give a biting response when Jackson was already standing over Scott. Scott, with the exhaustion and confusion from last night's bite, was just looking at the ground. Jackson scanned Scott's faded t-shirt and continued mockingly:
"Hey, Scott... You look a bit pale today. Did you have an asthma attack, or is the thought of sitting on the bench already making you sick? Although for a 'nobody' like you, even the bench is a luxury, isn't it?"
Sean stepped forward when he saw his brother's shoulders slump. He fixed his gaze on Jackson's ice-cold eyes. "Jackson, you're picking on the wrong person to feed your ego this morning. That shiny car of yours might make you faster, but it certainly hasn't made you smarter. Go on your way. Or would you like the whole school to hear you crying like last time?"
Jackson looked at Sean for a brief moment, then pulled back with a curl of his lip. "The McCall brothers... One can't breathe, and the other speaks for him. See you on the lacrosse field, boys. That is, if Scott can make it off the field alive."
As Jackson walked away with a swagger, Scott noticed something strange. Every step of Jackson's, every heartbeat, and that heavy scent of alcohol in his cologne reached his nose as if it were just centimeters away.
Scott whispered, "Sean... I could swear I just heard his heartbeat."
Stiles, looking after Jackson in surprise, suddenly turned to Sean. "Hey Sean! Jackson again? Or did you make the guy cry again?" he asked, his voice containing both curiosity and a secret admiration.
Sean looked at Jackson's retreating back and smirked slightly. "Just a bug, Stiles. He would never dare to face me alone. You know what happened the last time he messed with me, don't you?" his voice was ice cold. Then, immediately softening his gaze, he turned his worried and questioning eyes to his brother Scott.
In Stiles' mind, the image of Sean from that day came to life. Jackson's bloodied face, the trembling knees of the friends beside him as they looked at Sean, and Sean's terrifying expression at that moment... Although Stiles couldn't help but smirk every time he remembered that day, he couldn't deny that Sean's dark expression back then made him slightly uneasy.
The inside of the classroom was filled with the usual morning hum. Sean sat side-by-side with Stiles, absently doodling in the notebook in front of him. However, the state of Scott, who sat directly in front of them, was not normal. Scott gripped the edge of the desk tightly with his hands, clenching his teeth as if trying to drown out thousands of outside sounds at once.
At that moment, Scott suddenly turned his head toward the door. Yet the door was closed, and there was no one in sight outside.
Sean noticed his brother's sudden reaction and furrowed his brow. "Scott? Are you okay?" he whispered, but Scott didn't seem to hear him. He was listening intently behind the door.
At that moment, beyond the classroom walls, deep in the hallway, a girl could be heard lamenting to herself. Allison was rummaging through her bag as she walked with the vice principal, whispering, "Please let me have a pen... Damn it, my dad said he prepared everything, but I don't have a pen!"
To Sean and Stiles, the outside was just a muffled noise. However, Scott quickly opened his bag as if the girl were speaking right in his ear, pulled out a blue ballpoint pen, and placed it on his desk.
Seconds later, the door opened. The vice principal entered and brought that girl, Allison Argent, with him. "Class, this is our new student, Allison Argent."
Allison sat shyly in the empty seat next to Scott. Just as she checked her bag once more and sighed hopelessly, Scott reached out the pen to her without wasting a moment.
"Here, you forgot your pen," Scott said, his voice strangely confident.
Allison froze. She looked at Scott, blinking as she took the pen. "Thank you, but... how could you know that? I just looked in my bag."
Scott stammered, not knowing what to say. "I... I just... I guessed. I mean, people usually forget their pens on the first day, so that's why."
A drop of cold sweat trickled down the back of Sean, who was watching everything second by second from the back row. He leaned toward Stiles, his voice ice cold: "Stiles, the door was closed. The girl was at the other end of the hallway. Scott couldn't have heard her forget her pen... right?"
Stiles' usual joking manner was gone, replaced by genuine shock. "Man, unless Scott has turned into a mind reader, this is getting a lot weirder than we thought."
As Sean looked at the tense muscles on the back of his brother's neck, he realized with certainty that yesterday's bite wasn't just a wound—Scott was now "something else."
The sun shone over the Beacon Hills field while Coach Finstock shouted as usual with the whistle in his hand. Sean sat on the bench with Stiles, his helmet on his knee. For Sean, lacrosse was an activity he joined only because Scott and Stiles wanted him to; he was actually talented, but he preferred observing over wasting his energy running on the field.
"McCall!" roared the Coach, without looking at his clipboard. "No, not the talented Sean! The other McCall! Scott! Get your lazy ass to the goal!"
Scott walked toward the goal, looking a bit clumsy in the heavy padding. The Coach turned to the players beside him and smirked. "Come on, boys! This kid is no different than a target. Who wants to put the first hole in him?"
The players lined up. Sean sighed, thinking his brother was about to be humiliated. "Great," he said to Stiles. "Now we're going to have to take Scott to the hospital."
The first player took his shot. Scott reacted so late he nearly took the ball to the face, but the ball somehow hit his helmet and went out. The Coach and players were laughing. However, the atmosphere changed when the second player stepped up.
Scott caught the ball in mid-air as if everything were in slow motion. Then the third, the fourth... Players came one by one, taking shots, but Scott trapped each one in the net with impossible speed.
"What was that?" Sean said, sitting up straight. He couldn't take his eyes off Scott.
Finally, it was Jackson's turn. Jackson was already fuming that Scott was attracting so much attention. As the team captain, he had to protect his position. He raised his stick and began running toward Scott with speed. Sean saw that ambition in Jackson's eyes.
"Jackson is really going to hurt him," Sean murmured, reflexively squeezing the edge of the bench.
Jackson fired a shot like a bullet. The ball tore through the air toward the top corner of the goal. But Scott leaped up as if gravity didn't apply to him. The moment he caught the ball, that flip in the air and that savage balance in his landing... A deep silence fell over the field.
Coach Finstock whispered, chewing on the whistle in his mouth: "My God... This kid is a beast."
Stiles couldn't sit still, excitedly hitting Sean on the shoulder. "Did you see that?! God, Sean, did you see that flip?! That was impossible!"
Sean, unlike Stiles, had gone ice cold. He was just watching his brother. When Scott took off his helmet, that old, timid, and shy expression on his face was completely erased. In its place was a foreign confidence, even a nearly wild predatory look. Sean slowly stood up, his gaze more serious than ever.
"Stiles..." Sean said, his voice trembling slightly. "This isn't just a good practice. I feel in my heart that something has happened to Scott, and you know... my feelings are never wrong."