A round pink fruit, covered in spiraling, vein-like engravings, appeared on the table in front of Vorden.
Vorden eyed the fruit, his lips curling in disgust.
It slled as if gutter juice had been mixed with fish water—absolutely vile. He was beginning to doubt whether eating it was even worth considering.
"Well, I spent an awful lot of cash on it. It'll be a waste if I don't... ugh." He shivered.
He lifted the fruit toward his mouth, squeezing his nose shut as if that would sohow make it more bearable.
Then—
Before he could take a bite, a notification popped up beside the fruit.
**⚠️ WARNING ⚠️**
**SIDE EFFECTS OF EATING THIS INCLUDE:**
**SEVERE HEADACHE**
**INCREASE IN ADRENALINE**
**SLOW RESPONSE TO STIMULI**
**65% CHANCE OF CARDIAC ARREST**
Silence.
"..."
"HA! HA! This must be a joke. Okay, cut the caras."
Vorden hoped—no, prayed—that soone would jump out, yelling 'Gotcha!' or sothing like that.
It was in vain.
"A rush of adrenaline and a slow response to stimuli at the sa ti? How is that even possible?" He shook his head. "Well, forget it. I can try to rember everything myself, but things are moving so fast. This might be the best way forward."
He stood up from his seat, contemplating the best approach.
Deep breath.
Eyes clenched.
He took a bite. Then another. Then another, as fast as possible.
Soon, there was nothing left.
"That wasn't as bad as I thou—"
BOOM!!
Suddenly, it hit him.
The world was too loud, too bright, too much.
He staggered back, each footstep thudding like a drumbeat in his skull. Light stabbed into his eyes like needles, forcing him to fumble for the curtains and yank them shut.
The pain wasn't just a headache—it was a living thing, clawing at the inside of his head, pulsing with every heartbeat.
He pressed his palms to his temples, as if caging the throbbing beast inside, his nails digging dangerously close to his skin.
Nausea churned in his gut. Even the faint hum of the refrigerator in the next room felt like a jackhamr to his brain.
With clenched teeth and shallow breaths, he collapsed onto the table, scattering the papers, praying for silence, darkness—anything to make it stop.
But he forced himself up.
Gripping the pen, his hand trembled violently as he began to write.
Layla (Real and Ga version), Daniel, Claire, the giant, the ugly girl who invited to her room, the Italian militant, the tutorial, Jerry, the man I tied to a tree...
Vorden scrawled every detail he could recall, fighting past the relentless pounding in his skull.
But he didn't stop.
He wrote. And wrote. And wrote.
The students counted themselves.
Thirteen.
"Okay, let's get on with the task for today—" soone began.
"Wait a minute. Aren't we only twelve in our normal class?" another interrupted.
"Now that you ntion it, we do have more than usual," Daniel noted.
"It's hard to tell with how different everyone looks," Claire murmured, uncertainty creeping into her tone. "What do we do?"
"Maybe we should talk to the teacher?" soone suggested.
"That would be the best course of action," the others agreed.
One student ran off to check on the teacher. He returned after a while, face twisted in confusion.
"What happened?" Daniel asked, surprised by the expression.
"He is... writing."
"Writing?" Daniel raised an eyebrow.
"Yeah. But he looks like he's in pain. It's really strange. I don't know what to do."
"Did you try calling him or tapping him?" Daniel pressed.
"I did. I shouted his na, tapped his shoulder—I even threw a light punch—but nothing."
"This will be difficult..." Daniel thought long and hard.
"Let's just do the tasks he assigned us, and if anything cos up, we'll et here to figure sothing out. Sound good?"
"Sure," the others agreed, parting ways slowly.
Daniel sighed, staring at the ceiling before focusing on his work.
His eyes drifted toward the cupboard—toward the sledgehamr and other instrunts.
Sothing surfaced in his mind, but he shook it off and continued forward.
Peter followed beside him, glancing at the sledgehamr for a mont.
"Mhm..."
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