They always overlooked him.
The loud ones drew attention. The charming ones gathered followers. The cruel ones got away with everything.But the quiet one? He sat at the back of the class, eyes half-lidded, expression unreadable. Just another face in a crowded room.
No one ever asked what he was thinking. No one ever wondered what he saw. And he saw everything.
He noticed the bruises hidden under sleeves. The forced laughter echoing down the halls. The fear in some eyes, the arrogance in others. He watched the teachers look away. He watched justice rot under excuses. And he said nothing.
To most, he was just a boy repeating his final year—silent, unmotivated, forgettable.
Let them think that.
Because when the screaming began, when the tears and begging started, every victim had the same question:
"Who's doing this to me?"
But there was never an answer. No one ever suspected the quiet one.
He didn't want praise. He didn't want thanks. He didn't want forgiveness.
He simply made sure monsters paid for the pain they caused. And when he was done, he moved on like nothing happened.
He wasn't a hero. He wasn't a villain. He was the blade they never saw coming.
He was the Quiet Reaper. And his story was only beginning