Riley frowned as he stepped out of the supermarket, his footsteps slowing against the pavent.
He lifted his gaze to his hands, staring at his open palms for a long mont.
A strange heaviness lingered there, as though the encounter in the manager’s office had carved itself into his skin.
’What a weird feeling,’ he thought to himself. His fingers curled slightly, and he exhaled, shaking his head.
He had never been one who stood out among the crowd. Not in school, not at work, not anywhere.
Ever since his parents died, he hadn’t done anything that drew much attention.
In fact, he had lived most of his life in the shadows, quietly, without fanfare.
He had grown used to being overlooked, used to being the one no one rembered unless they needed sothing.
But still... it had never been this bad.
That woman was the very one who had employed him, and yet she didn’t even recognize his face.
It was as if his existence was already fading away, little by little, like he wasn’t even supposed to be there in the first place.
"Perhaps... I don’t know if this is ant to be a good or bad thing," Riley muttered under his breath, his voice barely audible.
He gave a small shrug as if trying to brush it off, though the weight in his chest didn’t disappear.
His steps slowed again, and he tilted his head, eyes narrowing slightly.
’Perhaps I should just head to school... might as well attend that class,’ he thought.
A soft sigh escaped his lips, carried away by the breeze. With that decision lingering in his mind, he continued walking, his expression faintly distant as he moved through the busy street.
Eventually, he hailed another transport, climbing into the bus.
The driver barely spared him a glance as Riley settled into his seat, leaning against the window.
The engine sputtered to life, and the vehicle rattled forward, carrying him down the familiar, exhausting route toward school.
Minutes later, the bus slowed to a stop in front of a massive gate.
Riley stepped down, his shoes crunching softly against the pavent.
He lifted his gaze and stared at the towering structure before him.
Carved in bold, gleaming letters above the arch were the words Stanville College.
Beside it was the school’s proud emblem, a stylized crest with a book and a rising sun, shining faintly against the dull morning sky.
His eyes narrowed, expression unreadable, and after a mont he adjusted the strap of his bag and walked forward.
The crowd of students stread in and out of the gate, their chatter filling the air, but Riley moved quietly among them, blending into the flow without a word.
A few minutes later, he reached the building of his faculty. His steps echoed faintly against the tiled floor as he began to make his way toward his classroom.
Just as he turned into the corridor, his shoulder brushed roughly against another body.
The impact jolted him back, and he stumbled a step. His glasses slipped from his face, clattering sharply against the ground.
His vision blurred instantly, the hallway spinning into vague, colorless shapes. "I’m sorry," Riley muttered, bending down to reach for his glasses.
Before his fingers could touch them, a sharp hiss broke through the air.
The one in the middle—a tall guy with spiky blonde hair—brought his foot down and kicked Riley’s glasses aside, sending them skidding across the floor.
The three beside him chuckled cruelly, pointing their fingers at Riley as they mocked him.
Riley froze, his eyes widening behind the blur. Slowly, his face tightened, his brows furrowing as his lips pressed into a hard line.
Riley slowly lifted his head, his teeth pressing lightly against his lower lip as his hands curled into tight fists at his sides.
His knuckles whitened, the veins in his arms faintly bulging as the air around him grew heavier in his perception.
His vision was still blurry without his glasses, so the faces of the figures before him lted into vague outlines.
Yet even through the haze, he could still make out their postures, their movents—the cruel slant of their shoulders, the mocking tilt of their heads.
He couldn’t see them clearly, but he could recognize their hair and their voices.
Especially his.
’Charles...’ Riley’s thoughts hardened, carrying a sharp edge that dug into the back of his mind. ’Why the hell is he here?’
Of all the people he could run into today, it had to be him.
Charles Lenin. The na itself carried a weight among the students of Stanville College.
Charles ca from money, a rich family whose influence stretched far beyond the walls of the school.
He was the type who could walk into any room and act however he pleased without consequence.
Teachers turned a blind eye. Students either gravitated toward him for protection or avoided him altogether.
And because of that, Charles had long since grown accustod to treating people like tools—or worse, obstacles to trample over.
Riley knew this better than most.
Charles was in the sa class as him, though they almost never interacted.
Their paths rarely crossed, and Riley had always preferred it that way. But the few tis they did? It never ended well.
Charles always made sure to remind him of his place. Every word from his mouth was ant to belittle, to cut deep, to reduce Riley into sothing smaller than he already felt.
Since Riley was here on a scholarship, and wasn’t like the majority of the students who were from either wealthy or at least well-to-do backgrounds, he was mainly
And now here he was again, standing with his little entourage, blocking the hallway like it belonged to him.
Riley drew in a sharp breath, about to speak, but the words caught in his throat when Charles suddenly let out a scoff, his voice dripping with disdain.
"Who’s this loser anyway...? How dare you bump into ?"
The words stabbed at Riley’s ears, casual yet venomous, and his brow twitched almost instantly in annoyance. His eyes narrowed faintly, though the blur of his vision made it hard to focus on Charles’s expression.
’So he doesn’t even recognize ...’ Riley thought, the irony biting into him like cold steel.
His mind flashed back to the incident at the supermarket, to the woman who had been his boss, the one who had stared at him blankly as though she had never seen his face before.
’Just like her...’
It was strange—far too strange to ignore. But unlike then, this scenario at least made so sense.
Charles never cared enough to rember him.
They had almost no aningful interaction in all their ti sharing the sa classroom, so it was more natural for Charles to look down on him now without even recalling his na. Riley could accept that.
Riley exhaled heavily, his chest rising and falling as he fought down the irritation building within him.
His fists loosened slightly, though his knuckles still ached from how tightly he’d been clenching them.
A weary sigh slipped past his lips, breaking the tense silence between them.
’Whatever...’ he thought to himself bitterly. ’It’s best to avoid trouble with him. Nothing good ever cos from getting involved with Charles Lenin.’
The boy had power, influence, and the arrogance that ca with both.
Riley had learned long ago that even if he sohow managed to stand his ground, the aftermath would always leave him worse off. It wasn’t worth it. Not now. Not yet.
Straightening his posture, Riley muttered quietly, his voice calm but firm. "I’m sorry... once again."
He didn’t wait for a response. He stepped to the side, ignoring the mocking sneers of the group, his eyes narrowing on the faint glint of his glasses lying a few feet away on the polished floor.
When he finally reached them, his chest tightened.
The fra had already cracked again, one of the lenses split down the middle. That kick from Charles damaged them even more than they already were.
Riley bent down slowly, his fingers brushing over the broken tal. His lips pressed into a thin line.
’Again...’ he thought with a faint sting of frustration. ’But... I’ll just have to manage.’
His hand reached down fully, ready to lift the glasses, when suddenly—
—his body tensed.
A prickling sensation raced down the back of his neck, and he felt that sothing was approaching him from behind.
His instincts scread.
Riley snapped his head around just in ti to see it—
—a fist, flying straight toward him, cutting through the air with violent speed.
His eyes widened, his pupils contracting sharply as the blow closed in.
For a brief mont, ti seed to slow. His body moved before his mind caught up, his right hand shooting upward like a reflex, clamping tightly around the incoming fist.
The impact never ca.
Instead, the boy’s knuckles collided with Riley’s palm, and his montum was brought to a dead stop.
Riley’s intention had been simple—just to stop the punch from connecting, just to protect himself long enough to move away.
He hadn’t thought beyond that. He hadn’t ant for anything else to happen.
But then—
Crack!
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