When I asked the question, "Teacher, is there a god?" he chuckled and answered, "Well, Axel, there's gotta be someone responsible for all this shitshow, right?"
❂❂❂
Losing their sense of identity is the worst thing that could happen to a person. Those who lose their essence—whose emotions are manipulated and whose goals and desires are played with like clay, resemble wounded stray animals with no salvation: They don't know what tomorrow will bring, and they are tossed wherever the wind blows.
I sat at my desk, dropping my bag onto the chair beside me. The first class was five minutes away, and the classroom hummed with chatter. Rows of wooden desks filled the space, their surfaces scratched with years of scribbled names and half-carved doodles, and a few strangely well drawn penises. Some students leaned against the windowsill, watching the rain streak down the glass, while others gathered in clusters, talking about homework, sports, or whatever drama had unfolded over the weekend.
"Hey," a voice called from behind. "Did you do your homework?"
I didn't respond. There was no way in hell that question was meant for me. I was the loner in the class, the kind of guy people glanced over without a second thought. Pretty sure half of them didn't even know my last name—maybe not even my first. Not that I blamed them. I didn't know theirs either, except for a few class clowns whose names had been burned into my brain thanks to teachers calling them out every other minute.
As I pulled my books from my bag, a hand clapped onto my shoulder. I tensed, but when I turned, it was just James—one of those clowns. My only classmate who made the effort to talk to me. Calling him a friend still felt too soon. It was just the second month of my new high school.
"Axel," he greeted me with an easy grin. "You look like you didn't get a damn second of sleep."
"Because I didn't," I muttered, setting my biology book on the desk.
"You worked again?" He plopped into the seat beside me, nudging my bag out of the way. "Dude, you gotta stop doing that."
"Give me two hundred bucks every day, and I won't work. Can you?" I replied with my usual dull voice.
His smirk widened. "I mean, I can. I'm kinda rich, you know?"
"I bet you can, James. I bet..."
He was 185 centimeters tall, -I was just ten short of that- broad-shouldered, built like a guy who should be throwing punches in a ring instead of sitting in a classroom. The blonde hair and piercings, which blatantly ignored school policy, made him look like some street punk. But he wasn't. Not even close.
The only thing he cared about was his weird obsession with the stock market. Even though he didn't need the money, he still went on about it like his life depended on it. One second we'd be talking about a game, and the next, he'd be connecting it to investment strategies, telling me which stocks I should throw my hard-earned cash into. Not saying he was a weirdo, but… he was a strange guy, to say the least.
"Hey," he nudged me, snapping me out of my thoughts. "How'd you do on the biology exam?"
I shrugged, flipping open the textbook. "Bad. You?"
"I bombed it. Hard." He let his head drop back with a dramatic groan. "Ms. Jeany's gonna kill us. Or worse. Torture us."
"Yeah," I said. "She will."
I glanced left, watching the rain hit the window. The sky was nothing but thick clouds, the sun nowhere in sight. In the reflection, I caught a glimpse of myself—half-lidded eyes, an expression as flat as ever, messy brown hair that barely passed for decent. Just… normal. Not ugly, not handsome. Just there to fill the gaps.
A boy entered the class and sat at the desk in front of me. "Morning, Scarhead."
I sighed before even looking up.
Mark, the class asshole, smirked. "You look like shit, Scarhead."
"Hmm."
Scarhead. He was talking about the scar on the right side of my head. The bullet wound. Hair wouldn't grow there, the damage too deep. Most of the time, I could cover it by letting the longer strands of my hair fall over it, but not always. The scar started at the edge of my eyebrow and ran to the back of my head.
Courtesy of my mother, who accidentally shot me while showing off her gun.
The most American way to almost die.
Fuck me.
"Yo," James muttered, leaning in slightly, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. "I think it looks cool, man. Like—you're a veteran or something." His eyes flicked to my scar, a rare seriousness in his expression.
"You think so?" I deadpanned, my voice as flat as ever. "I'm so relieved. You have no idea."
His eyebrow shot up. "Was that sarcasm?"
"Yes, James. It was."
"You little bastard," he huffed, throwing a light punch at my shoulder.
James rolled his eyes and dug into his bag, pulling out his own textbook. He glanced at mine, flipping through to find the right page, then grabbed his pen and started twirling it between his fingers. The clicking sound filled the lull in our conversation. After a while, he let out a dramatic sigh and dropped the pen onto his desk.
"Did you check the email I sent you?"
"Email?" I asked. "Are you seventy or something? Who even emails in this day and age, James?"
"Me," he said, pointing to himself with exaggerated pride. "And the people I coach in stock marketing." Then his eyes lit up. "Oh, by the way, you should totally buy Kelovonara stock. The price is—"
I held up a hand. "I'm gonna stop you right there."
His mouth snapped shut, but he grinned.
"What email?" I asked.
"The Lost 100," he said, lowering his voice like he was telling a ghost story by a campfire. "Heard of 'em?"
"Folklore type of thing?"
"Folk… what is that?" His nose scrunched up. "Don't talk to me in weird English. Talk to me in math. My math is good."
I sighed. "Is it like a myth or something?"
"Oh, yeah, it is." His grin widened. "In this very school, one night, a hundred students disappeared—" He snapped his fingers. "Just like that."
I raised an eyebrow. "And?"
James blinked at me. "Dude. Did you not hear what I just said? A hundred people vanished. And today…" He leaned in for dramatic effect. "Is the 100th anniversary of their disappearance."
"That's… wild," I replied, my tone as dull as possible. "Wow. Truly. Wow."
James narrowed his eyes. "Is that—"
"Yes," I interrupted. "It was sarcasm."
Before he could respond, the door swung open with a sharp creak, and Ms. Jeany strode in, her heels clicking against the floor. Her expression was already tight with frustration, a bad sign.
"Everyone," she called, setting her coffee down so forcefully that some of it sloshed onto the desk. "Be quiet and sit down. It's time for us to talk." She inhaled deeply, then let it out in a slow, pointed exhale. "Talk about your future."
A student in the back hesitantly raised a hand. "Uh… what happened, Ms. Jeany?"
Her eyes narrowed, scanning the room before landing in our general direction. "You," she said, her voice sharp. "How did all of you manage to fail the exam? How?"
A heavy silence filled the room.
"All of you!" she snapped, throwing her hands up in disbelief.
James leaned over, whispering, "We're done in, my friend. Even Ada failed…"
"Yeah."
Hearing her name, I looked to the left and saw her, my childhood friend. She was the smartest one in the class, yet somehow, she'd still failed biology. Her large eyes were fixed on the teacher, as if she was waiting for her to say it was all just a joke.
"I think this is my chance to strike up a conversation with her. What do you say?" He asked with a smile. "Like, I can ask to—ask, uh, I don't know, borrow her notes or something."
"Hmm."
Ms. Jeany straightened, adjusting the sleeves of her blouse like she was physically restraining herself from throwing the entire class out the window. "The headmaster and I have decided to give you a punish—a little help."
The way she slammed her coffee down again told me it was more of a punishment than a help.
"You will all remain here after the last class. We will have an additional biology lesson."
A groan rippled through the class.
"Aw, come on…" someone grumbled behind me.
"I am disappointed in you," Ms. Jeany said, shaking her head. "All of you."
She let the words hang in the air, heavy and suffocating.
Well, we weren't exactly the brightest. We were Class F—the worst of the second years. Teachers already had low expectations, but somehow, we'd managed to dig ourselves even deeper. Whatever was coming our way… yeah. We probably deserved it.
❂❂❂
As the last bell rang, signaling the end of our regular lessons, most students gathered at the windows, watching others leave the school grounds. I walked to the far end of the classroom, fishing out my phone to call my boss. After a few rings, he picked up, sounding annoyed even before he spoke.
"Hey, Mr. Olim," I said, keeping my tone even. "I, uh, won't make it to work today. Got an extra lesson 'cause—"
"Okay, Scarhead," he cut me off brusquely. "It'll come out of your paycheck."
"Yes, sir," I replied, staring blankly at the ceiling. "Thanks."
"Uh-huh," he muttered before hanging up.
"Scarhead? Jerk," I said under my breath, slipping my phone back into my pocket.
"Talking to yourself?" Ada's voice came from beside me, her presence sudden yet somehow calm.
"My boss," I replied, meeting her eyes for a moment. "Let him know I'm gonna be late."
Ada's dark brown hair was styled into a pixie cut, sharp and neat, framing her face in a way that highlighted her high cheekbones. She was medium-height, her posture always slightly slouched, but there was a certain alertness in her dark eyes, like she was always half a step ahead of the conversation.
"I'm thinking of just… sneaking out," Ada said, a small smirk playing on her lips. "Pretend I'm sick or something."
"Hey!" James appeared, practically bouncing over. "Ax! And, uh, Ada. Hi!"
"Hey," Ada said, giving him a polite nod. "James, right?"
"Yeah!" He grinned, scratching the back of his neck awkwardly. "Surprised you remember my name."
"I'm not like Axel," she teased lightly. "I've got enough room in my brain to remember a few names."
"Har-har," I deadpanned, already moving back to my desk. "Gonna catch some shut-eye."
Settling in my seat, I put my head down, hoping to nap, but sleep just wouldn't come. I shifted, leaned back, sipped some water, even put on my headphones—nothing worked. Finally, I pulled out a book I'd borrowed from James and started reading. Outside, the weather turned gloomier, dark clouds casting a heavy shadow over the school as the last few students trickled out, and the security guard closed the front gates, retreating into his booth.
All the while, James kept rambling to Ada, never quite managing to bring up anything that seemed to interest her. He went on about random topics, and when Ada finally excused herself, returning to her seat, he sank into his chair with a sigh.
"Hey, Ax," James said, looking utterly defeated. "I think I might be an idiot."
"And the sky is blue," I mumbled, not even looking up from my book.
"I talked about the stock market!" He groaned, burying his face in his hands. "Told her she should tell her parents to invest in Kiroma shares… Ax, her parents are fucking dead. I didn't know that. Why didn't you tell me?"
"Never asked," I replied calmly, turning the page. "Could've been worse, though, right?"
He slumped further into his chair. "Man… do you think I upset her?"
Before I could answer, the door opened, and our biology teacher walked in, a serious look on her face. I straightened up, tucking my book back into my bag as the rest of the students fell silent, eyes fixed on Ms. Jeany.
"You might see this as a punishment," Ms. Jeany said, standing confidently in front of the blackboard. "But in reality, this is an opportunity for you to get better. I'm not going to sugarcoat it—you might be in F-class, the worst of the second years, but that doesn't mean you don't have to try."
Ms. Jeany was in her mid-twenties, strikingly beautiful with a kind of elegance that seemed out of place in our dull classroom. Her long chestnut hair was pulled back into a ponytail, and her sharp green eyes carried a mix of disappointment and determination as she spoke, like she genuinely believed we could do better if we tried. It was hard to find these types of teachers in this day and age…
As two minutes passed, James let out a bored sigh and started twirling his pen between his fingers, his attention clearly drifting away. It was obvious he'd had enough of school for today—just like everyone else in the class, myself included.
"Well…" James leaned in, lowering his voice. "How's life at home?"
"Ms. Jeany's gonna notice," I muttered. "Don't talk."
"We're whispering; she won't even notice," he insisted, a small grin on his face.
I shot him a look of exasperation. "James, seriously. Just zip it, okay? I don't wanna—"
"Mr. Millo," Ms. Jeany's voice cut through the air like a blade, her gaze landing sharply on me. "What could possibly be so important that you need to discuss it with your friend right now?"
"I, uh—" I stammered, feeling my face flush. "I was just telling him I'm feeling a bit under the weather, ma'am. Could I go to the restroom for a minute?"
Ms. Jeany narrowed her eyes, skepticism clear. "Under the weather, is it?" she repeated. "Fine. You may go. But be quick about it."
"Yes, Ms. Jeany. Thank you," I replied, throwing a sidelong glance at James, who tried to hide a smirk.
As I exited the classroom, I heard a few students snickering under their breath. Ignoring them, I shut the door behind me and let out a long sigh, heading down the quiet corridors. The emptiness made the place feel almost eerie, the kind of silence that makes you second-guess every step you take. If I believed in ghosts, I'd probably have turned on my heel and gone straight back to class.
I pushed open the door to the restroom and stared at my reflection in the mirror. My brown hair was a mess, and dark circles clung under my eyes like permanent shadows. I wasn't exactly handsome, but I wasn't ugly either—just another forgettable face in the crowd.
Turning on the faucet, I splashed cold water on my face, the chill jolting me slightly awake. I took another glance in the mirror, shaking my head. "What a hassle…" I muttered to myself.
Just as I was about to leave, a flash of bright red light caught my attention through a nearby window. I tried to ignore it at first, but curiosity got the best of me. Changing direction, I moved toward the window, peering outside.
What I saw made my blood run cold—a massive black sphere hovering in the sky, its surface twisted and veiny, as if it were alive, pulsating with some sickly movement. It didn't belong here; it looked like something ripped straight out of a nightmare.
I blinked, and in that heartbeat of a moment, the sphere transformed into a grotesque eye. It snapped open, staring right back at me.
"What in the…?" I whispered, my voice barely audible, disbelief tightening in my chest.
Before I could react, I felt something cold and unnatural beneath my feet. My eyes darted downward, and I saw a dark, swirling hole expanding on the floor, like ink spreading in water. I looked back at the window, and everything outside was suddenly normal again, as if the giant eye had never existed.
Panic surged through me as shadowy hands emerged from the hole, their fingers coated in some kind of dripping black goo. They clutched my legs, yanking me down with a strength that felt otherworldly.
"Help!" I shouted, my voice breaking with fear. "Somebody! Help!"
But my cries were swallowed by the silence. My struggles were useless as the hands pulled me deeper into the abyss, my fingers clawing at the floor in desperation.
Then, as my entire body was engulfed by the darkness, everything went pitch black. I was falling into the void, sure I was done for—gone. And for the first time in my life, I hoped my teacher was right; that maybe, just maybe, there was someone out there responsible for all this shitshow.
❂❂❂