At 8:20 a.m., Rosary School received one of the strangest absence emails in its history.
It came from a newly transferred student.
Subject: Absence
From: Well Ahmed
Hi Principal,
I'm kind of tired and probably won't be attending for the next couple of days because of my mother's funeral and all.
Oh—did you know they wash the dead before burying them? It's hilarious.
The principal froze, her coffee hovering inches from her lips.
She couldn't tell whether it was a cruel joke or the genuine words of a deeply unstable child.
She leaned back slowly in her chair.
That kid isn't stable, she thought.
Neither is his father.
And I shouldn't get involved.
Four red-marked files lay on her desk.
Rain.
Well.
Alice Love.
And, at the bottom—Reo Abyss, the school counselor.
She picked up Well's file.
It was thin.
Too thin.
Several "accidents" from his previous school were listed—each one quietly resolved.
No police.
No parents.
No explanations.
The final incident couldn't be buried.
Well Ahmed had stabbed an upperclassman in both eyes with a pencil.
At the same time.
The report claimed self-defense.
The victim's family never pressed charges.
Neither did the school.
The boy vanished from the records shortly after.
The principal had never wanted to accept him—but his father's influence outweighed her refusal.
She exhaled.
Watch him. That's all you can do.
She entered the classroom to announce the news.
The room existed in its usual half-living state—sleeping bodies, vacant smiles, unfocused eyes.
Rain didn't look up.
"I'm sorry for the interruption," the principal said softly. "But I have unfortunate news."
She paused—just long enough to sound sincere.
"Well Ahmed's mother passed away yesterday. He'll be absent for several days… possibly weeks."
Rain rested her head against her desk.
"That's interesting," she murmured, a faint smile touching her lips.
The room erupted.
"So that's why he was weird."
"Poor guy."
"That explains a lot."
"Finally something worth talking about."
The principal's eye twitched.
There's no hope for them.
Then—
The door opened.
Silence fell like a blade.
Well stood there, breathless. Sweat slid down his forehead.
"Oh—sorry I'm late," he said calmly.
"My mother's funeral took longer than expected."
He smiled.
Too wide.
His left eye twitched.
At the hospital, Aizak packed his clothes in silence.
His scar burned—untouchable, permanent.
Ash hadn't visited him since that night.
When they passed in the hallway, she looked straight through him.
Like he had already stopped existing.
I was just something she used.
Yesterday, he followed the sound of screaming.
He wished he hadn't.
A man in his fifties was crying.
So was Well.
They clung to each other—grief and violence tangled together.
Well's face was red. Bruised. Smiling.
Aizak turned away.
I can't let him see me like this.
I can't see him like that.
He smoked through the night.
Now, bag packed, he reached for the door.
It opened before he touched it.
The brunette nurse smiled.
"There you are," she said, gripping his wrist.
They stopped at Room 645.
Locked.
Sounds leaked through the door.
Ash's voice—
and another voice.
Too familiar.
"Who's better," the man laughed softly,
"me… or my son?"
Aizak froze.
That's my father.
The nurse pressed a key into his trembling hand.
"If you want the truth," she whispered, "open it."
She walked away.
A voice echoed inside him.
She played you.
Just like your mother.
Don't be a scared child again.
His hand shook.
Then—
Aizak opened the door.
Ash and his father.
Touching each other the same way she had touched him.
It meant nothing, he thought.
The worst part?
They didn't notice him.
Not the open door.
Not his breathing.
Not his existence.
The bed where Well's mother had died was now theirs.
His legs gave out.
Faces blurred.
Hands trembled.
Finally, they noticed him.
Ash didn't bother to cover herself.
His father stood frozen.
Their faces faded—
flattening into hollow, featureless shapes.
"Not now," Aizak whispered.
"Not now… I need to see your faces."
His father stepped forward, naked and shaking.
"Aizak… son… it's just an affair. Close the door. Someone might see."
Aizak laughed and slammed his head against the wall.
Blood spilled down his face.
"I can't see," he whispered.
"Faces…"
He collapsed.
"What's the point of living," he said quietly,
"if I can't see the ones I love or despise?"
Ash approached him slowly.
"Aizak, raise your head."
But he heard another voice.
Gentle.
Devoted.
Loving.
He looked up.
Ash smiled.
"Who are you?" he asked.
"I can be whatever you want," she whispered, kneeling.
She embraced him.
"I had to do it. Forgive me."
His father fled the room, half-dressed.
"Lunacy," he muttered.
Aizak tried to pull away.
Why isn't my body responding?
"I love you," Ash whispered.
I don't love you, he thought.
She licked the blood from his face.
"You're mine."
Darkness swallowed him.
At school, Well attended class as usual—smiling as if nothing had happened.
No one could look at him.
During fourth period, Rain turned toward him.
"What's wrong with you?" she asked quietly.
"I'm fine," Well replied, eyes playful.
Left eye twitching.
After class, Rain dragged him into the abandoned bathroom.
"Why are you here?" she demanded.
"You didn't even grieve."
Well lit a cigarette.
"What will emotions do to a corpse?" he said softly.
"She was a shitty mother anyway."
Rain stepped closer.
"Then you're a shitty son."
Well leaned in.
"Aren't we all?"
She punched him.
Blood spilled.
He laughed.
Later, alone, he found the spider eggs.
He burned them.
"The law of nature," he whispered,
"is no different from ours."
Footsteps echoed.
A tall, exhausted man stood behind him.
"Hello, Well."
Well sighed.
Fuck my life.