Alam woke the next morning in Nurse Bright's office. Her ghoulish face hovered inches above his, close enough that he could feel the faint warmth of her breath on his cheek. He gasped the moment his eyes snapped open.
She forced an awkward smile. Her teeth were dark and rotting, mottled like decaying wood. A wave of breath—thick, sour, and rancid—hit him full in the face, smelling like garbage left to stew in the sun. Every sag, wrinkle, and pore in her dry, flaky skin was visible in the harsh fluorescent light. Her complexion was a strange shade of gray—almost zombie‑like, but not quite, as if life clung to her reluctantly.
"G-good morning, Nurse Bright," Alam stammered, sitting up so fast the room tilted.
"Good morning, Mister Lestari," she replied, leaning closer. The smell slammed into his nose like a sledgehammer.
Alam gagged and recoiled, covering his mouth.
"S-sorry. I wasn't feeling well last night, and Cindy said I should sleep it off here," Alam said, voice thin.
"Oh, that's alright," Nurse Bright said, her tone oddly cheerful for someone who looked half‑embalmed.
"Aren't you gonna ask what happened?" Alam asked.
"Already know what happened," Nurse Bright replied casually. "I've been tellin' them to fix the gas leak in that old attic for years," she said, annoyed.
"Gas leak?"
"That's right. You're lucky Cindy found you when she did. I could have been a lot worse. Seen some people run out into the woods in their birthday suits."
"What?! Really? In those woods?" Alam questioned in disbelief, imagining people streaking through the woods being chased by Hindie.
"Ha! Count your stars, boy," Nure bright replied.
"I should get going, I don't want to be late for classes," Alam said, rubbing the sleep from his eyes.
"Classes? It's already dinner time," Nurse Bright replied.
"What? How long was I out?" Alam asked, blinking rapidly.
"Whole day, I imagine," Nurse Bright replied.
Alam's eyes widened. "What?! Why'd you let me sleep the whole day?"
"You just looked so peaceful," she said, smiling again.
Alam leaped up, wobbling slightly as blood rushed to his head. He headed for the door, pausing with a sigh as the weight of the upcoming tribute settled on his shoulders like a stone.
"Thank you for letting me sleep," he said before heading out.
Alam stepped into the courtyard. The sun was sinking behind the academy buildings, painting the sky in streaks of orange and purple. The PA system crackled overhead, its static buzzing through the cool evening air as the announcement told everyone to head to the cafeteria for dinner.
"What a week," Alam muttered, voice heavy.
He groaned and started toward the cafeteria, his footsteps dragging slightly across the stone path.
"There has to be a way to stop these tributes," he whispered under his breath.
"Hey!" a voice called.
Alam looked up to see Echo storming toward him, boots thudding sharply against the ground.
"W-what do you want?" Alam asked, tension creeping into his voice.
Echo grabbed Alam's shoulder, fingers digging in. His eyes were intense, darting around as if checking for witnesses.
"You need to go to your room and stay there," he said.
"What? Why?" Alam asked.
"It's for your own good! Just go!" Echo snapped, shoving him back a step.
"Well, well. Looks like you found him."
Alam turned to see Fitz thundering toward them, Ledga trailing behind with his usual smug grin.
Echo sucked his teeth and looked away. "I told you to go," he muttered under his breath.
"Good job, Echo," Fitz said, clapping a heavy hand on Echo's shoulder.
"Listen, Alame. We've got a problem," Fitz said.
"What do you mean?" Alam asked.
"I mean, you've been stealing food from me."
"I've been stealing food from you?" Alam repeated, disbelief cracking his voice.
"Tch, tell him what I'm talking about, Ledga," Fitz said.
Ledga stepped forward, flipping open his journal. He traced a finger down the page, then stopped.
"Right here: Alame, 888 grams missing for the week."
"See there, Alame? I missed out on 888 grams of food this week 'cause a you," Fitz said, slamming his fist into his palm with a loud smack.
"It has to be some kind of mistake!" Alam protested.
"I don't wanna hear it, Clubbie," Fitz growled, stepping closer.
"Please, I'll make it up to you next week," Alam begged, voice cracking.
"Wait a minute," Fitz said, pausing. "Weren't you supposed to be giving me double food?"
"I-I—" Alam stammered.
"Ledga?!" Fitz barked.
"Yep, it's right here, boss," Ledga said, pointing at the note.
"How much food does he owe me?" Fitz asked.
"A lot!" Ledga replied.
"Hmm… Maybe I should eat him to make up the missing calories."
"You don't wanna do that, Fitz," Echo said.
"Since when do you disagree with me?" Fitz asked.
"It's just— look at that disgusting foot of his. You might vomit trying to eat that," Echo said.
Alam lowered his head, shame burning his cheeks.
"You're right. Maybe I should eat Ledga instead for not remembering," Fitz said with a soft chuckle.
"You don't wanna do that, boss. I'm more valuable to you in the long run," Ledga said quickly.
"Decisions, decisions," Fitz said, stroking an imaginary beard.
"I've got an idea," Echo said, glancing at the flagpole.
"Yeah, we haven't played Lift the Loser in a while," Fitz said.
"Sorry, bro," Echo whispered into Alam's ear before driving his fist into Alam's stomach.
Air exploded from Alam's lungs. He collapsed to his knees, gasping, vision swimming. Fitz grabbed him by the collar and dragged him toward the flagpole, his shoes scraping helplessly across the ground.
"Wait, stop!" Alam cried, kicking and struggling.
"Ain't happening," Fitz said coldly.
The last sliver of sunlight vanished. Night swallowed the courtyard. Fitz began tying Alam to the flagpole when a low rumble vibrated through the ground. The earth trembled beneath them, growing into a violent roar. The boys widened their stances, arms out for balance.
Alam chuckled softly. "You've done it now," he said with a smirk.
"Done what?" Ledga asked.
"You've made her mad," Alam said.
"Her who?" Echo asked.
"My protector. The girl in black and gold," Alam said proudly.
The rumbling stopped. Silence fell.
"There's no one here, loser," Fitz said, shoving Alam into the pole.
"W-what? I thought she'd—"
"Quiet, and quit squirming," Fitz snapped, shoving him again. He finished tying the rope and began raising Alam up the pole.
"Help!" Alam screamed.
"No one's coming, loser," Ledga said.
Then a sudden rustling tore through the bushes. All of them froze, heads snapping toward the sound.
Mr. McCreedy lurched out of the shrubbery like a newborn deer learning gravity for the first time — pale legs wobbling, socks filthy with grass stains, boxers hanging crooked on his hips. He clutched a nearly‑empty whiskey bottle by the neck, the last inch of amber sloshing with each unsteady step.
"You ain't gotta lie, Craig!" he bellowed at no one in particular, staggering toward the fountain with the confidence of a man who had lost every battle with sobriety. "You just got knocked the f**k out!"
He pointed the bottle at the sky as if delivering a sermon, then misjudged his footing entirely and pitched forward. The splash echoed across the courtyard as he toppled into the fountain, limbs flailing like a capsized toddler.
"Is he ok?" Alam asked.
Then came snoring.
The boys gave each other a puzzled look, then resumed.
"Help! I know you're out there, Cindy!" Alam shouted.
Fitz paused. He and Ledga exchanged a look before bursting into laughter. Echo turned away, jaw tight.
"You think Cindy's gonna come save you?" Ledga mocked.
"She will, just like before! I know it!" Alam shouted.
"You're a bigger lame than I thought," Fitz said, finishing the hoist.
Ledga and Fitz walked away, still laughing. Echo lingered, staring up at Alam with clenched fists and a blank expression.
"Cindy, help!" Ledga mocked, posing dramatically as he followed Fitz.
Echo sighed, then turned to leave.
"She will come," Alam muttered. "Won't she?"
Fifteen minutes passed. The cold night air seeped into his clothes, chilling his skin. His fingers went numb.
"No one's coming," Alam whispered.
His throat tightened. Tears welled, then spilled. Soon he was sobbing uncontrollably, his cries echoing across the empty courtyard.
"W-What did I ever do (sniff) to anyone (sniff) to deserve this life?!" he screamed, voice breaking.
The ground rumbled again—harder this time, shaking the flagpole.
"Finally…" he whispered, relief flooding him.
But the rumbling faded. No figure appeared. No footsteps. No black robe.
"Where are you?" he whispered. "Come on, Cindy…"
Eventually, exhaustion dragged him under.
Alam woke to the sensation of being lowered. The rope loosened. His body descended.
"Huh?" he mumbled, still groggy.
He blinked down and saw Ewan lowering him carefully.
"I got your back, bro," Ewan said.
"Why?" Alam asked as his feet touched the ground, legs trembling.
"Would you even believe me if I told you?" Ewan asked.
"Maybe," Alam said.
"Can't we just be square?" Ewan asked.
"Why'd you lie on me to the Dean?"
"Bruv, that was five days ago. How many times have I had your back since then?" Ewan asked.
"A lot. Which is why I don't get why you lied."
"Look, Fitz is the dean's son, ok?" Ewan said.
"W-What?!"
"Yeah. She thinks her baby boy is some type of angel, and anytime someone tries to report him, she calls them a liar and punishes them instead. Everyone around here basically treats him like a King."
"No way…" Alam whispered.
"I couldn't tell the truth, bruv."
"So that's why no one at the school stands up to Fitz?"
"Now you get it?" Ewan asked.
"Yeah," Alam said quietly.
"Come on, we should get out of here before dinner's over. We don't want them to catch us—"
The courtyard lights flickered as a cold wind swept through, carrying the brisk night air.
A heavy footstep echoed.
Then another.
Then a third, each one vibrating through Alam's ribs.
A shape peeled itself out of the darkness.
"Well, well, well. Looks like we've got ourselves a prison break, boys," Fitz said, stepping out of the shadows with Echo and Ledga behind him.
But to Alam, Fitz didn't just step forward—he emerged, as if the darkness had been holding him, shaping him, feeding him. A dark red aura clung to his frame, raging like an untamed flame.
His eyes burned with a predatory intensity that made the air around him feel thinner, colder. The aura twisted, its edges flickering like living embers, and every pulse of it radiated dread.
Alam's breath hitched. His heartbeat stuttered.
The ground beneath him hummed, a low vibration that felt like the earth itself was recoiling.
Fitz's grin widened, teeth catching the dim courtyard light in a way that felt wrong—too sharp, too eager.
Alam stared at him, unable to blink, unable to breathe.
"Rakshasa…" Alam said, voice trembling.