The abandoned hall reeked of mildew and neglect. Broken glass crunched under shoes as a group of girls huddled in a circle, their whispers echoing off the cracked, peeling walls. A faint breeze pushed through the shattered windows, making the place colder than it already was.
At the center of the circle lay a fat girl, motionless, her uniform stained with dirt and her breath so faint it could hardly be heard.
"Get up, pig," the leader sneered, her lips curling into a smirk as she gave the girl a kick with the toe of her polished shoe. "Stop acting like you're dead. You're not fooling anyone."
The other girls shifted uneasily. One chewed her lip. Another glanced toward the rusted doors, as though expecting someone to burst in at any moment.
"What if she's… You know… actually dead?" one of them whispered.
The leader rolled her eyes, folding her arms. "And what if she is? Who would care? She's nothing but a useless lump of flesh. Even if her pathetic life ended here, nobody would trace it back to us. She's not important."
A nervous silence followed. Their breaths fogged faintly in the chilly air, and one of the girls rubbed her arms as if to brush away the sudden shiver that had nothing to do with the cold.
"Come on," the leader snapped. "We've wasted enough time. Let's get out of here before anyone sees us."
The group hesitated, then hurried out, their footsteps echoing against the broken walls until the hall was quiet again.
For a moment, nothing moved.
Then—
Cougghh.
The girl on the floor jerked, her chest heaving weakly. A rattling cough tore through her throat as she rolled onto her side. Every movement was an effort; her arms trembled, her legs refused to obey. She clawed at the floorboards, dragging herself upright inch by inch.
Her eyes fluttered open. Dusty light poured in from the broken windows, blinding her for a second. She blinked rapidly, trying to piece together her surroundings.
Where… was this?
Her throat burned like fire, her body sluggish and heavy. She glanced down—and froze.
A school uniform?
Her fingers pinched the fabric of the pleated skirt, disbelief written all over her face. Just moments ago—hadn't she been on a mission? She remembered the smell of gunpowder, the target in her sight, her finger tightening on the trigger.
She wasn't supposed to be here.
No. She wasn't supposed to be… this.
Her gaze darted around wildly until she spotted a cracked shard of mirror leaning against the wall. Stumbling forward, she picked it up with trembling fingers.
The reflection staring back at her made her heart stop.
A bloated, round face. Puffy cheeks. Small, frightened eyes. The face of a girl who had clearly been bullied one too many times.
Her lips parted, but no sound came out at first. Then, a bitter laugh escaped her.
"You've got to be kidding me."
From silencing men with a single strike… to this? To wheezing inside the body of a trembling, pathetic schoolgirl?
Her hands clenched the mirror until it cracked further in her grasp.
She searched the body frantically—checking the pockets, the skirt, anywhere that could give her a clue. Her fingers brushed against something rectangular. A phone. She pulled it out, breath hitching.
Unlocked.
Not hers.
She swiped the screen, scrolling through unfamiliar photos of the girl whose body she now wore. Students. Uniforms. Mocking text messages flashing on the screen, filled with cruel laughter at Fatty Lila.
Lila. That was her name.
Her jaw tightened.
She lifted the mirror shard again, staring at her reflection, as though her own sheer will could burn away the truth. But no matter how hard she looked, her face remained the same—soft, weak, unrecognizable.
Memories hit her like lightning. The stone. That cunning man's sly smile. His voice urged her to just touch it.
Her last thought before the darkness had swallowed her whole.
Her breath quickened, fury igniting inside her chest.
"That cunning man… tricked me."
Her grip tightened, and the mirror shard sliced into her palm, warm blood dripping onto the dusty floorboards. She didn't flinch.
Her lips curved upward, but it wasn't a smile. It was a predator's snarl, sharp and cold.
"No one tricks me," she whispered, her voice laced with venom. "Not him. Not fate. And certainly not this miserable world."
Her eyes gleamed with something lethal, something terrifying.
"If this is the body I've been given… then so be it. I'll use it. But I'll make them all regret ever crossing me."
The weak, bullied Lila was gone.
What rose in her place was something else entirely.