The rain had stopped by morning, but Harry felt like it was still pouring inside him.
He woke up sweating. His bedsheet was tangled around his legs, and his heart was racing. His dream or nightmare was filled with Jessica's cruel laughter, the pain in his chest when he saw the viral video, and the moment that man from the accident injected something into his neck. That cold feeling. That serum. The red glow. The floating text only he could see in his vision.
[ Strength is lock ]
[ Level :0 ]
He sat up and stared at his hand. It looked the same. No glowing, no superhero changes. Just a regular hand, trembling slightly.
Harry stood, walked to the mirror, and looked at himself. His eyes had dark circles. His cheeks looked a little sunken. He looked like someone who had been kicked while he was already down.
But deep in his chest… something felt different.
Something was burning, slow and low, like a fire waiting for air.
He got dressed for college anyway.
He knew people would be talking. Laughing. Whispering. The video Jessica posted her fake love confession, the cruel prank, his fall and broken heart it had exploded online.
Millions of views. "#HeartbreakPrank." She was now some kind of influencer. And he? Just the idiot who believed her.
He didn't even eat. He just packed his bag, slipped on his hoodie, and walked through the gate.
The moment he stepped into the college grounds, the whispers started.
"That's him…"
"Bro, I saw the clip she really played him."
"Why would he even think a girl like Jessica would like him?"
Harry didn't respond. He didn't even look up. He just kept walking, each step heavier than the last.
His heart felt tight. But something else stirred inside his body a heat in his chest, moving toward his fists.
He reached the main courtyard.
Jessica was there, standing with a group of friends. Laughing like nothing had happened. Acting like she wasn't the reason he hadn't slept in two nights. Like she hadn't destroyed him just for likes.
She didn't look at him.
That hurt more than anything else.
Then, from behind, came a voice Harry remembered too well.
Tyler.
Jessica's friend. The one who had pushed him the day of the prank. The one who laughed the loudest in the video.
"Well, well, look who showed up. Didn't think you had the balls to come back, rat."
Tyler stepped in front of him, arms spread out like he was welcoming him to hell.
"You should've just disappeared, bro. Save yourself the embarrassment."
Harry didn't reply. He just stared at him. His fists were clenched, but not in fear this time.
Something was humming under his skin.
Tyler shoved him.
Hard.
Harry stumbled back a step but didn't fall.
His shoes scraped the concrete, his balance held, and he slowly looked up at Tyler.
Tyler raised his hand, mocking Harry in front of the crowd.
"Want me to fix your face again, loser?" he sneered, the crowd chuckling behind him.
Before Harry could respond, Tyler shoved him hard.
Harry stumbled backward, bumping into a locker. The hallway erupted in laughter.
"Oops," Tyler said with mock innocence, "did that hurt?"
Before Harry could steady himself, one of Tyler's friends a bulky guy in a sleeveless hoodie stepped forward and punched him in the stomach.
Harry doubled over, gasping for air.
Another punch came from behind. A kick hit his shin.
They circled him like vultures, laughing.
"Fight back!" one of them yelled, grinning. "Come on, hero!"
Harry tried to push one of them off, but his hands were shaking. His ribs hurt, his lip was bleeding.
Jessica stood nearby, arms folded, pretending to care.
"Oh my God, stop it," she said lazily, making no move to actually help.
She looked more annoyed than worried.
Tyler leaned down beside Harry, who was now on his knees.
"You should've stayed in your trash can, freak," he whispered.
The crowd watched, some cheering, some filming. No one stepped in.
Harry's fists clenched on the cold floor. His whole body burned not from pain, but from something deeper.
Shame.
Rage.
Something snapped.
He stood up slowly, eyes fixed on Tyler.
"You done?" Harry muttered, voice low.
Tyler laughed. "What'd you say, punk?"
Harry didn't answer.
He swung.
One punch.
Straight to Tyler's jaw.
CRACK.
Tyler flew back like a sack of bricks, crashing into a locker. He slid to the ground, groaning.
Silence.
Phones stopped recording.
Jessica gasped.
Tyler's friends stepped back in shock.
Harry stood there, chest heaving, blood dripping from his mouth.
He didn't smile. He didn't move. He just stared at the damage.
Then...
A teacher rushed over. "WHAT'S GOING ON HERE?! WHO STARTED THIS?!"
Everyone began talking at once. Harry stepped away, hands raised.
The teacher pointed at him. "You—come with me. Counselor's office. Now!"
Harry nodded. Still silent.
As he walked through the parting crowd, the whispers followed him again.
But this time, they weren't laughing.
They were afraid.
And as he walked away, something flickered in his eyes.
Not anger.
Not pride.
Just the quiet satisfaction of a person who had finally fought.
He whispered under his breath, only for himself to hear:
"The weak die silent.
But I'm not weak anymore.
The counselor's office was colder than he remembered. Maybe it was always this way. Or maybe… he had changed.
Harry sat in the stiff wooden chair across from the empty desk, the fluorescent lights above humming faintly. His fingers were still curled slightly, like they hadn't gotten the memo that the fight was over. The ache in his knuckles wasn't from pain it was something else. Something deeper. His body had moved without thinking. His punch had landed too perfectly, too powerfully, like it wasn't even his own hand.
He could still feel it the impact.
The cracking sound.
The way Tyler is hurt by the puch.
He didn't feel scared.
He should have.
Instead, he felt… quiet.
Not calm. Not peaceful. Just hollow. Like the storm had already passed and left him behind.
His eyes drifted to the counselor's wall. Certificates, motivational posters, one crooked photo of a beach sunset. A fake potted plant in the corner wilted under the chill of the AC.
The door clicked open.
In walked Mrs. Royce the school counselor. A woman in her early 40s, neatly dressed in a brown cardigan, hair pinned back, glasses resting on her nose. Her eyes were tired, but sharp. The kind of tired that comes from listening to too many lies, too many excuses.
She didn't sit down immediately.
Just stood at the edge of the desk and looked at him—like he was an unsolved problem.
"You know why you're here, don't you?" she asked.
Harry nodded slowly.
"I didn't hit him first."
"That's not what the students are saying."
He didn't answer. He could still hear Jessica's laughter echoing in his head. The way she turned away from him, her arm wrapped around Tyler's. The way the red rose he had brought was crushed in her fist, petals torn, humiliation painted across her smirking lips.
The ache in his chest wasn't heartbreak. Not anymore.
It was something… sharper.
Mrs. Royce finally sat down across from him. Her tone shifted—less cold, more clinical. "I've watched the video. You hit him hard enough to make him spit blood."
"I know."
Her eyes narrowed. "Harry… that kind of hit breaks jaw. Tyler's mom says they're considering filing charges."
"I didn't care when I hit him," Harry replied flatly. "Still don't."
"Harry," she said, voice gentler now, like she was talking to a stray dog that might bite, "this isn't like you. Last year you barely spoke in class. You were polite. Quiet. You didn't even raise your voice when that senior stole your project. You just… took it. What changed?"
He looked at her for the first time.
There was no fire in his eyes. Just steel.
"I got tired of being nothing."
Silence.
Mrs. Royce leaned back in her chair. "That's not a healthy way to deal with anger."
"I'm not angry," he said.
She raised an eyebrow. "Really?"
"I was. For a long time," he admitted. "When my dad left. When my mom started skipping dinners and forgetting my name. When the teachers forgot I existed and the students only remembered me to laugh."
He paused. His throat felt tight, but not from emotion. It felt like something inside him was growing, rising. Like whatever had woken up during the fight wasn't done yet.
"I lived invisible for so long," he whispered. "And the one time someone actually saw me… it was just to laugh."
Another pause.
"And now?" she asked.
"I'm not angry," he repeated. "Not anymore."
Mrs. Royce studied him carefully. She folded her hands together. "Has anything… unusual been happening to you lately? Sudden headaches? Dizziness? Strange dreams?"
Harry tilted his head slightly, caught off guard. "Why would you ask that?"
Mrs. Royce hesitated.
"There was something about the video," she said slowly. "The moment before you hit him—your arm shimmered. Just for a frame or two. I thought it was a glitch… but—" She stopped herself. "Never mind. Maybe I imagined it."
Harry didn't speak.
Mrs. Royce sighed and stood up. "Look, I need to call your mother. And there's going to be a disciplinary hearing. You'll probably be suspended. Maybe more."
Harry nodded.
Before she left, she paused at the door.
"There's still time to change this path, Harry," she said. "Whatever you're going through… don't let it define you."
He didn't reply.
just that moment red hologram blinked in his vision.
[You have successfully defeated tyler]
[Strength Level :1].
The storm inside him wasn't over.
It was just getting started.