The moment Christan stepped into the classroom, the suffocating stench of sweat hit him like a wall.
From the hallway, the noise had already been deafening— shouts and laughter. But the chaos inside was overwhelming. Fights erupted here and there, and no one seemed to care.
His heart pounded as his gaze traveled to the back of the room. Two students knelt on the floor, surrounded by a circle of their peers.
Their faces with signs of violence, Swollen cheeks, split lips, and bruises. And yet… no one intervened.
The indifference of the onlookers deepened his fear of this new school. If this was what happened in plain sight, what awaited him in the shadows? The thought made his skin crawl.
He didn't realize some students had already noticed him. Conversations faltered. A few nudged one another, glancing his way with a mixture of curiosity—and something else. Amusement. His slim body seemed out of place.
Lost in a daze, a sharp movement of wind came at high speed toward him. His body was faster than his brain, and he immediately sidestepped, just as a tennis ball flew past him, narrowly missing his face.
Gasps echoed around the room. A couple of students sat upright, eyes wide—not in concern, but in excitement.
"Did you see that?"
They had been watching, waiting to see him flinch. Waiting to laugh, however, they were left surprised.
The boy who had thrown the ball was sitting on a desk near the window, one leg lazily propped up. He looked at the obvious newcomer standing stiff in the doorway.
He hadn't expected the kid to move. The boy blinked, surprised. That wasn't luck, he thought. That reaction was too natural and too quick.
Christan turned his eyes toward the doorway where the ball had headed. However, it hadn't hit the wall. Instead, someone was standing there.
A tall figure, maybe a couple of inches taller than him, with striking silver hair that looked almost unreal.
He held the tennis ball in one hand. His deep eyes—the colour of an ocean—remained fixed on the ball he had just caught mid-air. His expression was so distant.
For a second, Christan forgot the sting of being picked on, the whispers, and the staring. He was just… staring at him.
He had never thought he could recognize beauty in another guy, but looking at this one, only one word came to mind: Unusual. It was a realization that even stunned him.
The silver-haired guy didn't say a word. He simply tossed the ball over his shoulder.
"Argh, this snob!" The boy at the window who owned the ball cursed in frustration as his ball was tossed away.
The silver-haired boy cast an unreadable glance at Christan before turning away to enter the classroom.
Snapping out of his daze, Christan realized he was still awkwardly standing in the doorway. He scanned the room and quickly made his way toward an empty seat.
Just as he made his way, a mischievous boy stretched his foot out to trip him, a grin curling his lips as he imagined Christan falling.
Instead, Christan stepped over the boy's foot and continued forward.
The boy's forehead wrinkled. He had clearly expected to see Christan stumble. "Hey!" he called out, irritation colouring his tone.
Christan ignored him, keeping his focus ahead.
"I'm talking to you, newbie!" the boy's voice rose, demanding attention.
Finally, Christan turned, meeting the boy's glaring eyes.
"Didn't they teach you how to act in someone's space?" the boy sneered.
Christan raised a brow, genuinely confused.
Suddenly, the room went silent—the kind of silence that didn't belong to this place. Not after the shoving, the yelling, the laughter. It was as if the entire room had been placed under a spell.
Christan blinked, scanning the room. Students were straightening in their seats, eyes forward, voices swallowed.
Even the boy who threw the ball had slouched back into his chair, arms crossed, lips pressed together. No one said a word.
Then he saw why. A man stood at the front of the room. Middle-aged, bald with a sharp moustache, dressed in a dark blazer. He didn't speak. His presence alone was enough.
Christan quietly made his way to the back of the classroom, every step feeling louder than it should. He lowered himself into the seat next to the silver-haired guy, back straight, trying not to draw attention.
The teacher walked slowly to the blackboard, picked up a piece of chalk, and turned his back to the class. With calm strokes, he wrote a single word: Mathematics.
"I left you a question for homework," the teacher announced, his voice calm yet carrying a weight that pressed on the room. "It was about differentiation. I'll come around and check."
The classroom's temperature dropped further. A quiet rustle filled the room as students hesitantly opened their books.
Christan exhaled, relieved. It was his first day, so it wouldn't be his problem. He glanced at his seatmate, who had already opened his notebook and was patiently waiting for the teacher as he stared outside through the window.
As the teacher made his rounds, Christan observed him inspecting the students' work, correcting mistakes, offering subtle nods of approval, and even giving the occasional compliment.
When he reached Christan's desk, the teacher paused, his gaze piercing. "You haven't opened your book," he stated matter-of-factly.
"I'm a new student," Christan replied, his voice trembling more than he intended. "I arrived today."
The teacher's expression softened momentarily before he nodded and moved on, leaving Christan to release a breath he hadn't realized he was holding.
Then, the teacher approached another student at the back—a boy with a larger build than most around him. He shifted nervously under the teacher's steady gaze.
"Where is your homework?" The teacher's tone remained calm.
"This is my first day. I had no idea about homework," he replied.
The teacher didn't move on. Instead, he stood there, his gaze intently fixed on the boy. The silence pressing on him was enough to make him feel smaller.
"What's your name?" the teacher asked, his gaze intense, as if he were seeing through him.
The boy replied uneasily, "Humphrey."
Before anyone could process anything, the teacher's hand moved with lightning speed, landing a heavy slam with his palm on Humphrey's face. It was as if his palm was a hoe and Humphrey's nose a nail.
Stunned silence enveloped the classroom, heads turning slowly, eyes wide with disbelief.
Christan felt his breath catch in his throat. He was too confused to process what he had just seen. There was blood. Real blood splattered on Humphrey's desk and his nose.
Humphrey sat frozen, shock written all over his features, before he slumped against the floor, his chair crashing down behind him.
The teacher stood over him, unfazed by the chaos he'd ignited. He wiped his hand with a handkerchief, his face unreadable. "Class representative."
A student in the front row immediately stood.
"Assign some students to get a stretcher and carry Humphrey to the infirmary. And remember to mark his attendance."
The matter was settled just like that. The teacher turned back to the blackboard as if nothing had happened.
Christan couldn't understand. He had no homework either, and he had used the same excuse of it being his first day; however, he didn't receive the same punishment. A cold sweat ran down his spine. Would he be next?
Not long after, a few students came with a stretcher, placed Humphrey on it, and carried him out.
This wasn't a school. If it was, Christan was sure there weren't any student rights. And if there were, they didn't take them seriously.
Was this the school he had to endure for three years? Just the thought made his heart pound louder.
For the rest of the lesson, he couldn't understand a single thing as he imagined the days ahead.