The euphoria of the Olympiad victory didn't last just a day or two. For Thomas, that gold trophy was a license declaring he belonged to a different caste than the other humans around him.
In Class 9-B, Thomas's presence no longer sparked awe. Instead, the air felt stifling whenever he stepped inside. No one trembled at the sight of him; there was only a sense of disgust held back at the tip of everyone's tongue. Since becoming the top student and winning the competition, Thomas had transformed into a figure who always sought to be above everyone else, making anyone want to roll their eyes the moment he began to speak.
That morning, Mr. Raka entered carrying a stack of Math daily tests. The papers began to be distributed one by one, moving from the teacher's hand to the students' desks like a verdict that could not be contested. A single sheet landed on Thomas's desk. 100.
Thomas wasn't surprised. Instead, he deliberately shifted his paper slightly to the corner of his desk, positioning it so that anyone passing by could clearly see the perfect red number.
Sounds of complaint began to ripple around him. "Damn it... I only got a 62." "I'm in remedial again, I'm screwed."
Thomas crossed his arms over his chest, leaning back with arrogance. He didn't care about their fate; he only enjoyed the stark contrast between their grades and his own.
"Thomas," Mr. Raka's voice cut through the commotion. "You are the only one who received a perfect score in the two classes I taught today. Excellent work."
Thomas felt a pleasant warmth spread through his chest as every head turned toward him. He loved this moment—when he became the center of gravity in the room.
"Would you mind sharing some tips with your friends, Thom?" Mr. Raka asked. "How do you study to stay this consistent?"
Thomas's ego soared. This was the stage he had been waiting for. He stood up slowly, letting the silence hang for a few seconds to ensure all attention was locked on him.
"Actually, there are no special tips, Sir," he said, his tone feigned to sound as light as possible, as if the achievement were trivial to him. "I'm just disciplined. After school, I study; I don't play or hang out. I know where my priorities lie."
Thomas paused for a moment, glancing at his classmates in the back row with a faint smile laden with self-admiration.
"The problem is, many people have high expectations but zero effort," Thomas continued, his voice now sounding piercing. "Often, they just complain that the questions are too hard or unreasonable, when in reality, they simply didn't try hard enough."
The class went dead silent. That sentence wasn't motivation; it was a declaration of superiority. Thomas wasn't helping; he was underscoring the distance between himself—the "great" one—and those he considered "lowly."
Mr. Raka nodded, oblivious to the arrogance overflowing from those words. "Correct. Discipline is key. Listen to that, class."
His classmates could only look down with annoyed faces. A sickening sense of resentment blanketed the room, but they were forced to swallow it because, technically, Thomas was the best academically. For Thomas, that score of 100 wasn't a result of learning; it was a crown he wore to ensure everyone felt small in his presence.
***
The bell for recess rang.
Although the atmosphere was heated, Thomas remained in his seat calmly. He seemed indifferent—or perhaps too arrogant to realize—that his friends were starting to keep their distance. However, dependency outweighed hatred. If it weren't for his brain, which they still needed to solve difficult assignments, Thomas would have certainly been left alone.
Rudi let out a long sigh. He was stuck on the Math worksheet in front of him. After glancing at his friends who looked equally confused, he dragged his feet heavily toward Thomas's desk. He had no choice; the grade for this assignment was too important to ignore.
"Thom, how do you solve number five from yesterday?" Rudi asked softly, keeping his voice down to avoid attracting more attention.
Thomas glanced up. Just for a split second. The look was brief, but laden with disdain that made Rudi regret coming over.
"A question that easy?" Thomas asked. His voice was flat, yet loud enough to be heard by the students around them. "Seriously, Ru. That's basic logic. If you still don't get it, maybe the problem isn't the question."
Awkward silence blanketed the class again. A few students who heard him just exchanged glances, then looked back down at their books with sour expressions. They wanted to defend Rudi, but they didn't want to lose access to Thomas's answers in the future.
Rudi smiled stiffly. "Yeah... I was just asking."
"Well, think before you ask." Thomas closed his book with a deliberate, slow motion, creating a solid thud. "Don't make a habit of burdening others just because you're slow."
The word "slow" echoed, cold and sharp. Rudi didn't reply. He simply turned around and sat back down, swallowing the pride that had just been trampled on.
From the seat near the window, Chelsea watched it all unfold in silence.
Her eyes were fixed on Thomas's back with a dim gaze. Previously, Chelsea had felt relieved. She had thought Thomas had transformed into a better person—a genius who was confident yet humble.
But I was wrong, Chelsea thought painfully.
in that second, Chelsea realized a terrifying truth: Thomas had never changed.
Her memory drifted back to elementary school. Back then, Thomas bullied Dimas to make his friends laugh, simply so he could get attention and feel acknowledged. Now, Thomas was tripping up his friends' self-esteem, for the exact same purpose: so he could feel that he 'existed' and was valuable.
This was a new form of oppression. Thomas was committing intellectual bullying.
His methods had changed, his weapon switching from his foot to his brain, but the goal remained the same: lowering others to ensure he stood taller. Behind that score of one hundred and the gold trophy, Thomas was still the same little boy starved for validation, just as pathetic as before.
And that realization wrapped Chelsea's heart in an overwhelming sense of sadness and disappointment.
***
That day passed with a bitter taste for Chelsea, but for Thomas, every second was a victory. Finally, the sun set and rose again.
The next day, P.E. class arrived.
It was the one subject Thomas hated, because here, his brain was useless. His physique wasn't very strong. He could not be king of the field.
"Kids, today we're going to the 'Fight' soccer field behind the school. We're going to discuss athletics!" shouted Mr. Jonathan.
They walked together out of the school gate toward the public field. As they almost arrived at the location, Thomas's steps stopped abruptly. His eyes narrowed, his blood rushing hot.
On the edge of the field, a skinny figure was visible in shabby clothes with a gunny sack on his shoulder. It was Eben. His older brother was picking up used plastic bottles left by people exercising.
Thomas's chest tightened with explosive shame. His heart raced faster than during a sprint.
Eben... Why do you always haunt me?! Thomas screamed internally. Why here? Why when I'm with my friends?
He imagined his friends—who had been worshipping him as the untouchable genius—seeing Eben. His perfect image would crack. He didn't want them to know that "King Thomas" had a scavenger brother with a mental disability.
Thomas had to avoid this. Right this second.
"Sir! Mr. Jonathan!" shouted Thomas while holding his stomach, his face instantly pale thanks to the panic. "Can I be excused to go to the toilet for a bit? My stomach hurts really bad, Sir."
Mr. Jonathan turned. "Oh my. Alright then, go find a public toilet or go back to school. Don't be too long!"
"Yes, Sir!" Thomas immediately turned around, walking fast, half-running away from the field.
"Hey Thomas! Where are you going?" Dustin's shrill voice was heard. He suddenly appeared beside Thomas. "I'm coming too! I'm too lazy to run around the field. It's hot."
Thomas stopped abruptly, staring at Dustin with a murderous look. "I need to take a dump, you don't need to come, Tin. Go away."
"Come on, I'll wait outside the toilet. Chill out," whined Dustin, insisting.
"Don't, Dustin!" snapped Thomas, holding back his voice. "If you follow me, I won't help you with school assignments anymore. Never again."
Dustin was startled by the threat. His face went pale. His source of free grades was threatened. "Eh... okay. Okay then. Why so fierce?" Dustin retreated back to the line.
Thomas ran fast. But not to the toilet. He turned to the side of an old unused building near the field covered in wild bushes. He broke through, not caring that his uniform got caught on twigs. He hid there, peeking through a crack in the wall like a fugitive.
His breath was ragged. He saw Eben from a distance, his brother's figure looking so small and pathetic. Go... Go away quickly, Stupid! he cursed in his heart.
Fifteen minutes passed. Thomas waited with gritted teeth, cold sweat soaking his back. Every second Eben was there was torture for Thomas's ego. He felt dirty just looking at him.
Finally, after his gunny sack was full, Eben walked away with dragging steps, leaving the field. Thomas let out a long breath, sliding down to sit on the ground, relieved as if he had just escaped death.
***
That afternoon at home.
Thomas was sitting in the living room, watching TV. His eyes stared at the screen, but his mind was still boiling from the incident earlier that morning. That shame turned into fuel for anger.
The front door opened. His brother's face looked tired, sweat mixed with dust on his forehead, but he smiled innocently when he saw his younger brother.
"Afternoon, Thomas..." greeted Eben cheerfully.
Thomas looked away, refusing to answer. Sickened.
Eben walked past Thomas toward the kitchen. Because his body was tired, accidentally, Eben's dirty foot stepped on Thomas's toe which was stretched out.
"ARGH!" shouted Thomas loudly, pulling his leg reflexively.
Eben was scared half to death. "Ouch... Sorry Thomas! Eben didn't mean to! Eben didn't see!"
That apology didn't register in Thomas's ears. The physical pain in his foot was just a small trigger. What actually exploded was the accumulation of shame, the fear of being found out, and the hatred for the fact that they were brothers.
Thomas stood up, his face beet red. The veins in his neck bulged.
"YOU BAST#RD, BEN!" snapped Thomas. His voice shattered the silence of the house, so loud that the window glass seemed to vibrate.
Eben backed away in fear until his back hit the wall, his body trembling violently. "Th-Thomas..."
"USE YOUR EYES WHEN YOU WALK! YOU MOTHERF*CK#R!" Thomas took a step forward, pointing at his brother's face with a finger trembling with emotion. "Can you not bother me for just one day?! Hah?!"
"Sorry... Sorry..." Eben bowed deeply, covering his head with his hands, a pathetic gesture of self-defense.
"You idiot! Cripple! You piece of trash!!" The stream of harsh words flowed without brakes, poison that had been settling in Thomas's heart all this time. He took out his fear of the world's judgment on the only person who would never fight back.
"I already told you, look for those bottles on Abadi Street! There's a lot of trash there! Why did you go to the school field this morning?!" Thomas shouted illogically. He let it slip. He looked for a technical excuse to cover the real reason: I'm ashamed you exist near me. "Why do you never listen to me?! You shrimp-brain!"
Eben didn't dare answer. He just stood silent, accepting the abuse.
After Thomas's breathing started to regulate and his insults ran out, a gripping silence enveloped the room. Eben slowly gathered the courage to move forward. With a trembling and dirty hand, he touched his brother's arm gently. An attempt at peace.
"Thomas... Eben is sorry..." he said softly, his voice sincere and innocent, without a shred of resentment. "Eben promises not to do it again. Don't be mad, okay..."
Thomas slapped the dirty hand away roughly. Smack!
He sat back down. He straightened his crumpled uniform. "Okay. Don't do it again," answered Thomas coldly, without looking at his brother.
There was no guilt in Thomas's heart. Not a bit. To him, Eben was a threat to his reputation, and threats must be taught a lesson. The most important thing to him right now was that his perfect image out there remained preserved, clean without a stain, without a trace of a brother who scavenged for trash.