Ethan didn't become the center of attention after that day.
He became background noise again.
But not the harmless kind.
Tyler didn't need to throw punches. Not yet. He preferred something quieter. Something that lasted longer.
It started small.
Someone "accidentally" bumped into Ethan in the hallway, sending his books sliding across the floor. Laughter echoed. No one helped him pick them up.
In chemistry class, his lab partner suddenly "switched seats." No explanation. Just a smirk from across the room where Tyler sat.
At lunch, his usual corner table was taken. Not by coincidence.
Ethan didn't react.
He picked up his books.
He worked alone.
He ate outside on the concrete steps near the gym.
Like it didn't matter.
And that bothered Tyler more than if he had fought back.
One afternoon, after practice, Tyler and two teammates walked past the laundromat on purpose.
They didn't go inside.
They just stood across the street.
Watching.
Ethan was carrying a heavy machine panel out to the trash when he noticed them. Their laughter carried across the road.
One of them mimed wiping sweat dramatically, mocking him.
Tyler cupped his hands and shouted, "Need help, maintenance boy?"
Ethan adjusted his grip and carried the panel anyway.
No response.
No anger.
Just calm.
But inside?
He was calculating.
Angles. Distance. Weight. Timing.
Not for revenge.
Just in case.
Across the street, Tyler scoffed. "He thinks he's better than us."
"He doesn't even talk," one of the guys muttered.
"Exactly," Tyler replied. "Guys like that? They're hiding something."
The sun dipped lower, casting long shadows across the pavement.
Ethan went back inside the laundromat without looking back.
And from the second-floor window above it, someone else had been watching too.
Not with mockery.
With curiosity.