1. The Weakest Link

The smell of spoiled milk and damp bread filled the cafeteria. It was lunchtime, but for Ethan, food had long stopped bringing comfort. His hands trembled as he clutched his tray, eyes darting across the room, searching for a safe place to sit. But he knew there was no such thing. Not here. Not in Blackwood Academy, where only the strong survived.

His stomach twisted as he saw them—the group of boys sitting at the long table in the center of the cafeteria, their laughter loud, their presence suffocating. Damian sat at the head of the group, his blond hair perfectly styled, his uniform crisp and clean. He looked like a prince, but Ethan knew better. Damian was a monster wrapped in human skin.

Ethan lowered his head and tried to walk past them. If he was fast enough, maybe they wouldn't notice him. Maybe today, for once, they'd leave him alone.

But fate was never kind to the weak.

"Hey, freak," a voice called out, sharp and filled with amusement.

Ethan froze. His heart pounded painfully against his ribs.

Slowly, he turned, his grip on the tray tightening. He saw Damian smirking at him, his sharp blue eyes filled with cruel delight. Beside him, his friends—Logan, Marcus, and Eric—grinned like wolves who had just spotted their prey.

Ethan swallowed. "I— I have to go."

"But we're just starting to have fun," Damian said, standing up. The entire cafeteria seemed to fall silent, watching, waiting.

Ethan took a step back, his instincts screaming at him to run. But where? The doors were too far. The teachers wouldn't help. No one ever did.

"Where do you think you're going?" Logan sneered. He was the biggest of the group, his muscles stretching against his blazer. He stepped forward, towering over Ethan like a shadow of doom.

"I— I just—"

Before Ethan could finish, a sudden force struck his back. Pain exploded through his chest as he fell forward, his tray slipping from his hands. The plate crashed against the floor, the spaghetti and milk splattering everywhere. Gasps and laughter rippled through the cafeteria.

Ethan tried to push himself up, but a heavy foot pressed down on his back, shoving him back into the mess. His fingers dug into the cold floor. His face burned with shame.

"Oops," Marcus chuckled. "Clumsy, aren't you?"

Ethan bit his lip, forcing back the tears.

"Look at this," Damian said, crouching beside him. "You're such a pig, Ethan. Rolling in food like you belong in a farm."

More laughter. More whispers.

Ethan squeezed his eyes shut. He wished he could disappear. He wished the ground would swallow him whole.

Damian's voice was sickeningly sweet as he spoke again. "Since you love the floor so much, why don't you eat from it?"

Ethan's stomach turned to ice. His breath caught in his throat.

"No…" The word barely escaped his lips, weak, broken.

"No?" Damian raised an eyebrow, feigning surprise. "Are you saying no to me?"

The weight on Ethan's back lifted, but before he could move, Damian grabbed his hair and yanked his head up. Ethan gasped in pain, his scalp burning.

"Eat it," Damian ordered, his voice dropping into something dark, something dangerous.

Ethan's eyes darted around the room. People were watching. Some looked away, pretending not to see. Others giggled behind their hands. A few had pity in their eyes, but none of them moved to help.

No one ever did.

Ethan's hands trembled as he looked at the food smeared on the floor. His throat tightened. He wanted to scream, to fight, to run—but he couldn't. He was weak. He had always been weak.

Damian pushed his head lower, forcing his face closer to the filth. "Eat. It."

A sharp pain stabbed through Ethan's chest. Humiliation, anger, despair—it all swirled together, choking him.

His fingers curled into fists.

Then, something snapped.

Maybe it was pride. Maybe it was exhaustion. Or maybe, just maybe, he had nothing left to lose.

Slowly, with shaking hands, he reached out. His fingers scraped against the cold, sticky noodles. His vision blurred with tears as he picked up a handful. His lips trembled. His stomach twisted in disgust.

He brought it to his mouth.

The moment his lips touched the food, a loud roar of laughter erupted around him. Damian and his friends clapped, howling with glee.

"Good boy," Damian grinned, slapping Ethan's cheek mockingly. "See? You do belong on the floor."

Ethan felt something inside him shatter.

He chewed slowly, every bite filled with shame, with hatred, with pain.

And yet, no one stopped it.

No one helped.

No one saved him.

The taste of filth coated his tongue, but the taste of betrayal, of loneliness—was far worse.

His body trembled. His nails dug into his palms, the pain grounding him, reminding him of the truth.

No one cared.

Not the students. Not the teachers. Not the world.

He was truly alone.

Damian finally released his grip, shoving Ethan backward. "You're pathetic," he sneered before turning away. His friends followed, their laughter echoing through the cafeteria.

Ethan sat there, knees bruised, uniform stained, hands shaking.

The crowd slowly dispersed. Some students glanced at him, their expressions unreadable. Others simply stepped over him like he was nothing.

Nothing.

He lowered his head, his shoulders curling inward as silent tears rolled down his cheeks. His whole body ached, but the pain inside—it was worse.

It was unbearable.

He had always known he was weak.

But today, for the first time, he wished he was dead.