The morning air smelled faintly of old rain and cheap cafeteria grease.
Oliver slung his backpack over one shoulder, hood drawn up, earbuds in — no music playing, just a prop to avoid conversations he didn’t want. His shoes squeaked as he walked down the hall, passing laughter, perfume, body spray, and drama like he was a ghost skimming the edge of a party he’d never been invited to.
Class 3-C.
He slipped in through the side door. The room was already noisy, buzzing with energy like always.
Girls were crowded near the windows, fussing over their makeup in compact mirrors or snapping selfies with cat-ear filters.
"Did you see Emma’s story last night?"
"Oh my god, she and Zach are totally a thing now."
At the back, a group of guys were loudly arguing over a video game boss fight.
"No, no, if you stack fire buffs, the DPS doubles during phase two!"
"Dude, it’s not that simple. You need crit rate too!"
A pair of known otakus were reenacting some anime scene in the corner, waving imaginary swords and talking about dating sim waifus with deadly seriousness.
Oliver took his usual seat — second from the last row, by the window. Close enough to be overlooked. Far enough not to get bumped into.
No one glanced up. No one waved. No one cared.
’It didn’t really bother me that no one talked to me in class.
Not really.
But sometimes... sometimes I thought maybe it wouldn’t be so bad if someone did.
Even one person. A friend, maybe.’
His gaze wandered.
Daniel Blake stood in the center of the room like a living spotlight. Tall, bright, handsome, full of confidence. His laugh made girls lean in. His voice made teachers relax. He was good at everything — sports, grades, popularity.
The kind of guy who could accidentally smile and get a girl’s number without trying.
’Daniel was everything I wasn’t.
Class topper. Extrovert. The golden boy.
Well, that didn’t concern me.
It had nothing to do with me.
But I wanted him dead.’
Oliver looked down at his hands. Pale. Normal. Forgettable.
’He never did anything to me. Never bullied me. Never even looked my way.
But the way he stood there, laughing with all those beautiful, busty, thicc girls...
The way he collected affection like a magnet for lust while I sat here alone...
It ticked me off.
I just thought — wouldn’t it be better if he didn’t exist?’
He leaned on his desk, chin in hand, eyes blank.
’These thoughts of mine are extreme... right?
Believe me — you’ve only heard the tip of the iceberg.’
He glanced toward the girls by the windows again — short skirts, perfect hair, lip gloss shining as they gossiped about weekend plans, boyfriend drama, and Instagram filters.
’Girls... women in general...
They didn’t even acknowledge I existed.
As an introvert, my only solace was games and anime. But as I grew older...
The games turned into eroges.
The anime became hentai.
And with them, my desires grew too. But all I had was my hand.
My hand and a vivid imagination.’
One of the girls near Daniel laughed loudly and leaned forward, arms squeezed tight against her chest, cleavage peeking out from her uniform. Oliver’s eye twitched.
’And then there’s a guy like him, hogging all of it.
All the attention. All the warmth. All the girls.
How could I not want him dead?
How could I not want to fuck every single one of them myself?’
A sharp breath.
’In my dreams.
Yes, I know.
I’m aware.
A guy can dream, right?
That’s what I believed.
Up to this point.’
The door opened with a mechanical creak.
Ms. Evelyn Graves, homeroom teacher and rumoured man-eater in heels, strode in. Tall, long legs wrapped in black tights, her blouse just formal enough to hide the curves that still made half the boys nervous, and the other half erect.
Her dark hair was tied back in a bun tight enough to suggest violence.
She dropped a stack of folders on her desk with a loud thwack.
No one stopped talking.
Then her palm slammed against the desk with a thunderous clap.
"SILENCE."
The class froze. No one dared to breathe wrong when she used that voice.
Students scrambled to their seats. Phones vanished. The buzz of the room cut off like someone hit mute.
Oliver blinked and sat upright.
That’s when he noticed it.
A faint red glow beneath his desk.
It pulsed — dim at first, like embers under glass. Not light, exactly... more like a stain bleeding through the floorboards.
He frowned and leaned forward, eyes narrowing. His hands were trembling slightly, though he couldn’t tell why.
What is that...?
He glanced around.
The same markings were under everyone’s chairs — circles, runes, symbols too intricate for graffiti, too ancient for any school prank. They linked together, forming one massive ritual array across the classroom floor.
Still, no one noticed.
Until the glow deepened.
The room’s fluorescent lights flickered.
The hum of the AC choked and stopped.
Then the symbols flared — crimson, violent, alive.
A scream rang out. "What the fuck is this?!"
A boy kicked his chair back, but it was too late.
The array erupted.
Light burst up from the floor like volcanic beams of molten red. They enveloped every student — thick columns of light that reached the ceiling, swirling with noise that wasn’t sound but something... older.
Screams distorted. Bodies froze mid-motion.
Oliver’s vision was swallowed by red.
He tried to move.
Couldn’t.
Something cold, enormous, and unseen wrapped around his spine.
He couldn’t even scream.
What the hell—?!
And then—
White flash. Silence.
Room 3-C was still.
Empty.
Desks untouched. Bags left behind. A pencil slowly rolled off a desk’s edge and hit the floor with a soft tap.
No blood. No smoke. Just the silence of a place suddenly without anyone.
The light was gone. The buzzing, the laughter, the heat, the noise — all erased like chalk from a board.
Class 3-C, a heartbeat ago filled with life, now stood like a tomb.