Elian didn't remember how he got home that night.
The world was a blur of colors.
Of tears.
Of pain.
He stumbled through the narrow streets like a ghost, his stained clothes hanging off his trembling frame, cherry blossom petals still clinging to his hair and skin like cruel reminders.
The laughter still rang in his ears.
Their faces haunted him.
Maya's betrayal.
Liliana's cruelty.
Marcus's false friendship.
The humiliation was complete.
And it hurt.
It hurt so much.
---
At home, his aunt didn't even glance up from the couch.
She was too busy watching a loud drama, a cigarette dangling from her lips, a beer bottle sweating in her hand.
Elian slipped past her silently.
Up the stairs.
Into the small, cold room he called his own.
He locked the door behind him.
Collapsed on the creaky bed.
And finally—
Finally—
Let himself sob.
---
He cried until he couldn't breathe.
Until his throat was raw and his chest ached.
Until even the pillow seemed to reject him, pushing his tears away.
---
When he finally fell asleep, it was not into peace.
But into restless, fevered dreams.
---
He dreamt of fire.
Of voices screaming his name.
Of a woman's laughter — sweet and cruel.
Of hands dragging him down into the dark.
---
He woke up gasping.
Drenched in cold sweat.
His entire body ached from tension.
But somewhere, beneath all the pain, a small ember flickered.
I will never forgive them.
I will never forget this.
One day… I will make them regret everything.
---
The next morning, Elian moved like a robot.
He washed his stained clothes over and over until his fingers were raw, but the glitter wouldn't come out.
He shoved them into a trash bag and wore the same worn-out uniform he always did.
Too big.
Too faded.
Too pathetic.
Still, he tied his shoes.
Still, he shouldered his old backpack.
Still, he left the house and headed for school.
Like a soldier walking into a war zone.
---
When he entered the gates of Aurelia Academy, a heavy silence fell over the students nearby.
They stared.
Whispered.
Pointed.
Laughed behind their hands.
Some even blatantly filmed him, hoping to catch his reaction.
But Elian kept walking.
Expressionless.
Unshaken.
---
And that was when she appeared.
---
"Hey, wait."
The voice was unfamiliar.
Sharp.
Confident.
Elian turned.
A girl stood there.
Tall for her age — maybe sixteen — with dark brown skin, fierce almond-shaped eyes, and her hair tied up into a high, sleek ponytail that seemed like it could whip someone in the face.
She wore the Aurelia Academy uniform but had customized it slightly — her skirt was shorter, her tie loose, a chain dangling from her belt.
Bold.
Fearless.
---
"My name's Zariah Blackwood," she said, smirking.
"Senior year. You?"
"...Junior," Elian muttered.
"Figures."
She crossed her arms.
"Listen, kid. Saw what they did to you."
Her eyes flickered — not with pity, but something sharper.
Colder.
"You wanna survive here?"
Elian stared at her warily.
She stepped closer, lowering her voice.
"You don't survive by playing fair. Or playing weak."
"You survive by being smarter."
"By playing them."
---
Before Elian could answer, she tossed him something.
A small black card.
No writing.
No logo.
Nothing but a number etched in silver across it.
A number he recognized instantly.
It was the number of one of the most secretive Livestream underground sites — Black Bloom.
Where students posted everything.
Fights.
Secrets.
Exposures.
Ruin.
Power.
---
"Think about it," Zariah said, smirking.
"You're more useful than you know, Elian Gray."
"Don't waste it crying."
"Get even."
---
And then, just like that, she was gone.
Merging into the crowd.
Leaving him holding the card.
Holding a weapon.
---
For the first time in weeks, Elian felt something bloom in his chest.
Not hope.
Not yet.
But purpose.
---
He tucked the card deep into his backpack.
Hidden.
Safe.
A seed planted beneath the ashes of his old self.
---
They thought they had crushed him.
But they didn't realize...
You can't destroy a weed.
It always grows back.
Stronger.
Angrier.
And impossible to kill.
---
Above the school, a drone buzzed silently.
Recording everything.
Sending footage to an unknown location.
Where a man in a silver suit watched and smiled.
"Good," he said to the silent room.
"Good."
"He's ready."
---