Every morning began the same way. A boy walked to school along a road he knew too well, surrounded by people yet completely alone. Faces passed him without noticing. Voices blended into noise. The world moved forward as if nothing was wrong, while something inside him slowly fell behind.
School taught him lessons no book ever mentioned. Some were protected without effort—their mistakes disappeared, their words carried weight. Others were questioned, blamed, and pushed into silence. The boy watched it happen again and again, until the pattern became impossible to deny. Power decided who mattered. It always had.
That understanding settled quietly, growing heavier with each passing day.
Only the rich, the powerful, the legendary seemed safe. They were untouchable. No one accused them. No one dared to break them. Ordinary lives had no shield—only endurance. And endurance, the boy realized, had limits.
The thought followed him everywhere.
One day, the weight became unbearable. Not anger. Not fear. Just exhaustion—deep and hollow, the kind that makes tomorrow feel distant. The school building stood silent above the noise below. The steps upward felt longer than usual, each one pulling him farther from everything he knew.
By the time the boy reached the top, the world had gone quiet.
He knew why he was there.
At the edge, the air felt cold and still. There was no confusion left—only a decision shaped by years of being ignored and pushed aside. Ending everything felt like the only way to make the pain stop.
The boy stepped forward.
And then—
everything went dark.