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Chapter 12 - CH12 - Familiar past

Small Town of Willowrest, Guild plaza.

Walking down through the guild plaza, Shanz found himself weaving through a sea of adventurers.

Some were clad head to toe in gleaming armor, while others wore light leathers with bows slung across their backs.

Weapons of every kind clattered against belts and sheaths—swords, axes, even staves humming faintly with magic.

The plaza itself was alive with noise: groups of adventurers gathered in tight circles, laughing, debating over quests, or even shouting at each other in heated arguments.

A few stood apart, sharpening blades or checking their gear with serious expressions, their faces marked by experience.

Meanwhile, Shanz drifted quietly among them, his eyes darting around, scanning the chaos.

Compared to the bustle of grown warriors, he looked like a small shadow slipping through a crowd too large to notice him.

Still, curiosity tugged at him, and he let his gaze linger, observing the life of the guild with a faint grin tugging at his lips.

Eventually, he reached the fork in the plaza where the road split into two distinct paths. He slowed his pace, stopping right at the divide, and glanced left, then right.

"So this is it…" he muttered under his breath, his voice low and thoughtful. "Left or right—front gate or rear entrance…"

His eyes narrowed slightly, weighing his options. Then, with a small nod, he whispered to himself,

"I guess I'll go to the rear. No point drawing attention. Less eyes, less trouble… better to avoid suspicion."

Adjusting his katana carefully at his back, he turned toward the quieter path and began walking with steady steps, fading into the flow of the morning.

Shanz kept himself quiet, each step measured as he made his way toward the rear entrance. His hand subtly shifted behind his back, fingers brushing the hilt of his katana as he tried to keep it hidden from plain sight.

Every so often his eyes flicked left and right, scanning the crowd, careful not to bump into anyone who might start asking questions.

The path took him through the busier part of downtown. He walked steady, not too fast, not too slow, blending in with the rhythm of the street.

Guards patrolled here and there, their armor glinting under the sun, spears in hand, sharp gazes sweeping over the crowd.

Shanz lowered his head slightly whenever one passed, pretending to be just another boy out for a walk.

The deeper he strolled, the less crowded it became. The bustling chatter of merchants and adventurers faded little by little, replaced by the steady clatter of wagon wheels and the creak of carts.

A few delivery men trudged past, balancing crates on their shoulders or guiding horses that pulled heavy loads.

Shanz glanced at them—goods from another town, maybe even from a kingdom far away. Others seemed to be runners, darting off to deliver small packages, letters, or bundles to waiting hands.

It wasn't silent, not yet, but the lively pulse of the plaza had shifted into something slower here, calmer. And Shanz, ever cautious, matched that rhythm as he pressed on toward the rear gate

Some time later, after weaving his way down the narrow streets, Shanz finally reached the stretch leading to the rear entrance.

From a distance, the outline of the gate stood firm, its shadow cutting against the bright light of day. Step by step, the view grew clearer—until he realized just how tightly guarded the place was.

Four soldiers stood firmly stationed at the gate itself, their armor catching the sunlight, while several more patrolled the surrounding area.

Their measured footsteps echoed faintly across the stone. The air around the rear district carried a heavier feel than the livelier parts of town he'd passed earlier.

On either side of the path, the houses leaned in on themselves—weathered walls, cracked wood, and windows half-boarded, as though they were clinging to life. It was obvious this side of town belonged to the poor, the forgotten.

Shanz's eyes scanned his surroundings with careful, almost cautious movements. People sat slumped against the walls, watching with tired eyes.

Others lingered in alleys, muttering, bartering, some outright robbing one another in the open.

He could feel the weight of glances settling on him as he walked, their eyes sharp, calculating, curious about the boy who didn't seem to belong.

Shanz adjusted his grip, subtly hiding the katana on his back as best he could, all while keeping his pace steady, like he wasn't fazed. But inside, his thoughts stirred.

Tch… great. Everyone's staring. Just what I need—a parade of eyes on me when I'm trying to sneak out.

Thinking of another plan, Shanz slowed his pace, his eyes flicking toward the guards at the gate. Four of them, stationed like hawks…

If I just walk up, I'll get caught. Maybe if I make some kind of trouble to distract them? But… how?

His gaze wandered, searching the surroundings for an opening. But then, a strange sensation crawled into his chest. The air, the faces, the worn-down alleys… it felt familiar.

Flash of his—memories hit him.

His old self.

Gamz Cohen.

Height: 5'6. Weight: 79 kilos, carrying extra fat with stretch marks across his belly and groin. Black brows over dull, light eyes. Puffy cheeks, no sharp jawline, and a body that slouched under the weight of his own choices.

Gamz had grown up in poverty. His father wasn't much—kind, yes, but foolish, careless. His mother was the only light in his childhood, the person who gave him joy, who showed him warmth even when they had nothing.

But that time didn't last.

His parents were gone before long. Not from "fate." From his choices.

He had four sisters, yet even they were scattered, torn apart, each pushed into their own corner of survival.

Gamz was a good person at heart. But also not. A boy who wanted to do right, but never thought things through.

A coward who let fear guide his actions. Always rushing, always making mistakes that left scars deeper than he realized.

When he was young, he'd been bullied—kicked around, laughed at, made small. And when the chance came, he clung to those very bullies.

Better to be with the wolves than be their prey, he thought. But deep down, he despised them. And still, their influence seeped in.

By the 4th grade, he'd hurt a girl—an innocent—just to keep up with the pack. Guidance office, shame, guilt. All because of his "friends."

The boy who dreamed of a future became a fool chasing approval.

Embarrassment after embarrassment stacked on him.

A cycle of bad choices. A coward, a follower, a shadow of what he could have been.

Flashback.

Elementary school, 4th grade. [Westhaven Primary School], Section 2, Room 4. Gamz sat in his wooden chair, pencil tapping against a notebook, while the teacher gives lessons. The classroom was chaos—kids shouting, some play-fighting, some chatting like it was recess.

Gamz, though, was different that day. His back was straight, eyes on the board. He wanted to learn. He wanted a future.

"Hey, Gamz."

He turned at the sound of a classmate's voice. A boy with a smirk leaned on his desk.

"What are you doing? Studying harder? Heh, actually listening to the lesson, huh?"

Gamz nodded, clutching his pencil tighter. "Yeah. I need to. If I don't, I'll—"

The boy cut him off with a scoff. "Man, you're such a bore. Come on, just skip it. Let's go mess around."

Gamz looked between his classmate and the board. His chest felt tight. He wanted to say no. He wanted to keep going. But the smirk, the peer pressure—it all weighed on him.

And so, once again, he made the easy choice. The wrong one.

Gamz's fingers trembled as he stared down at his notebook.

The lesson was still going on, the teacher's voice drowned out by the restless noise of the class. He wanted to keep writing, to focus—but then his so-called friends leaned closer.

"Hey,"

one of them whispered, nudging his elbow.

"Do something funny. C'mon, don't just sit there like a nerd."

Gamz swallowed. His stomach tightened.

He didn't want to… but the weight of their stares pressed on him, heavy and mocking.

Slowly, reluctantly, he tore out a page from the back of his book.

The sound of the paper ripping felt loud in his ears, like a crime.

He rolled it up, twisting it into a small ball between sweaty palms. His eyes darted nervously around the room.

Who? Who should he aim for?

Then, his gaze landed on her.

A girl, sitting quietly at the front, paying close attention to the teacher. She wasn't like the others. She wasn't noisy or mean. She was just… focused. Innocent.

Gamz hesitated. His chest throbbed with guilt before he even threw it. But the boys beside him were waiting, grinning like wolves. He couldn't stop now.

With a weak flick of his wrist, he sent the ball flying.

Thwip.

It smacked the back of the girl's head. She stiffened, her hand immediately rising to rub the sore spot. Confused, she turned around, her eyes scanning the room. Searching.

Gamz quickly straightened his back, forcing his expression blank, pretending to copy notes from the board. His heart hammered in his chest.

"Who did that?"

the girl whispered, her brows furrowed.

Before she could look further, the boy sitting next to Gamz leaned in, a sly grin on his face.

With a jab of his finger, he pointed directly at him.

"It was Gamz."

The girl's eyes widened, hurt and betrayal flashing across her face as they landed on him.

The teacher's voice stopped. Silence fell, the kind that made every hair on Gamz's neck stand up.

He felt his throat dry up. His hands trembled on the desk. He wanted to vanish, to sink under the floor. But all he could do was sit there, caught, branded once again as the fool.

Betrayal burned like fire in his chest. Gamz's face drained of color, his lips trembling as he sat frozen in his chair.

His eyes quivered, pupils darting in panic, while his palms grew slick with sweat. He wanted to deny it, to shout it wasn't me!—but his voice was gone, buried under fear.

The teacher's voice cut through the silence, sharp and unforgiving.

"GAMZ!"

The sound struck him like a hammer. His body jolted, his ears rang.

"Stand outside of the room!" the teacher roared, his brows furrowed, pointing at the door. "I'll deal with you later!"

The classroom fell deathly silent. No more chatter, no more laughter. Just the weight of dozens of eyes, all locked on him.

Gamz's legs felt heavy as stone, but he forced himself to rise. His chair scraped loudly against the floor, echoing in the silence like a judgmental drum. His head hung low, shame pressing down on his shoulders.

As he stepped into the aisle, he dared a glance at the boy who had pointed him out—the so-called friend.

The bully.

Their eyes met for a brief moment. The boy smirked, lips curled with satisfaction, while Gamz's expression was hollow, his face a mask of despair. Empty eyes, betrayed, powerless.

He turned forward again, and then—

He saw her.

The girl. The one he had hit with the paper ball. She was glaring at him, her brows knit tight, lips pressed into a thin line.

Her anger wasn't loud or mocking—it was worse. It was the quiet kind, the kind that stabbed deep.

Gamz's chest tightened.

He lowered his gaze, unable to meet hers any longer. His feet dragged him toward the door, every step sinking heavier than the last.

Whispers began to rise around the room, hissing like snakes.

"Why did he do that?"

"He's always in trouble…"

"Such a coward…"

The voices swirled in his ears, louder than the teacher's command, louder than his own heartbeat. They followed him, clinging to his back like shadows as he reached the door.

Gamz stepped outside into the hallway, the door clicking shut behind him.

Alone now, the noise of the class muffled, he pressed his back against the wall. His breathing was shallow. His hands shook. His thoughts screamed.

Why me? Why did I listen to them?

Out in the hall, Gamz stood like a statue, his back pressed against the cold wall. Minutes dragged on like hours as the muffled voices of his classmates bled through the closed door.

Every laugh, every murmur, felt like it was aimed at him. He missed the lessons entirely, standing there in silence, his punishment burning hotter than any scolding.

Students passing by glanced at him curiously, whispering behind their hands. Some sneered, some giggled, others simply stared.

But to Gamz, it was unbearable—all those eyes weighing down on him, piercing straight into his skin. His chest tightened, his throat dry.

Anxiety gnawed at his gut, his palms damp with sweat. His body trembled ever so slightly, but he couldn't stop it. He wanted to vanish, to dissolve into the wall, but he was trapped under their gaze.

Then the classroom door creaked open.

The teacher stepped out, his expression sharp, his tone colder than steel.

"To the guidance office,"

he ordered, his voice low but heavy with disappointment. Gamz nodded weakly, his eyes never lifting from the tiled floor.

Each step down the hallway was like a march of shame, shoes clicking against the floor while every passerby looked on.

When they reached the office, the teacher didn't soften. Harsh words rained down on him like blows.

"You think this is a game? You think throwing things at your classmates is funny? Do you ever stop to think, Gamz? Do you ever learn?"

Gamz sat in silence, his shoulders hunched, his gaze fixed on his knees. His lips trembled, but no words came out. His face was pale, drained of life.

The scolding blurred into a haze of sound, but the sting of each word burrowed deep into him. He wanted to explain, to say it wasn't really his fault, but he knew—no one would believe him.

Not the teacher. Not the class. Not the girl.

The sweat clung to his brow, his hands clenched tightly on his lap. He was pale as paper, every ounce of will stripped away, replaced only with shame and regret.

Leaving the office, Gamz's eyes felt hollow, as if all the weight inside had been drained. His chest felt heavy, his mind clouded.

He was tired—tired of everything, tired of himself. Embarrassment clung to him like a shadow. And that's when the overthinking began, crawling through his head and spreading like poison.

Is this fine?

he asked himself, his thoughts trembling. Being friends with them…

is that really okay?

His lips twitched as if the words wanted to escape.

N-no…

he shook his head.

It isn't. It's not good. Not at all.

His footsteps echoed in the hallway, each one dragging him deeper into his thoughts.

The idea of friendship spun inside him, a cycle he couldn't escape. By the time he reached the door, his chest was already tight.

He stood there for a moment, still and uneasy. He inhaled sharply, then exhaled as if trying to calm the storm inside.

Finally, with a small push, he opened the door. His eyes immediately dropped to the floor, refusing to meet anything else. Step by step, he made his way to his seat.

But the silence didn't last long. The moment he sat down, the voice came again—sneaking in, like a whisper pressed directly against his ear.

"Hey… are you alright?"

The tone wasn't soft or caring. It carried a fake concern, stretching into a quiet laugh right after, as though enjoying his suffering. He could almost see the grin that came with it.

Gamz's thoughts flared. His mind raced wildly, emotions smashing into each other. He wanted to hurt him. To shut him up.

His fists clenched so tightly that his knuckles turned pale, veins swelling across his temples. His teeth ground together, his jaw stiff.

Why… why, why?

His head lowered, sweat sliding down his face.

Why is he asking if I'm alright—as if I really am?

His chest burned. His body trembled. He closed his eyes tight, forcing himself to stay together. His fists clenched harder, nails digging into his palms.

Stop. Stop. Stop. Stop. Stop. Stop. Stop. Stop.

The word thundered in his mind, over and over, louder with each repetition. He begged it to stop—the voice, the laughter, the weight choking him.

He forced his breathing slow, but his body refused to calm down.

When he finally opened his eyes, his breath hitched. The world around him returned, dragging him back into reality.

Shanz froze. He was standing on the side of the street, his body stiff.

A few people nearby glanced at him, their eyes sharp with curiosity and suspicion.

His face was blank, drained of expression, but his fists gave him away—clenching and unclenching, restless.

The veins across his forehead bulged as if ready to burst. His body twitched, unable to stay still.

And then it happened—he broke. His head jerked, his blank eyes scanning the surroundings in confusion. His breathing was uneven, ragged, his chest rising and falling too fast.

Only then did he realize—he had been trapped inside his own daydream.

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