Epiones' POV
I raised my hand, my pulse thundering in my ears as I acknowledged the woman who could suck the life out of a room just by standing in it.
"I believe I am the one you are looking for, Ms. Head Counselor," I said. My voice was steady, though I had to project it from the back of the room.
"A word. At My office. Now," she commanded.
I stood immediately, careful not to add any fuel to the fire visible in her eyes. As I walked down the aisle, the air grew thick with the expectant stares of my classmates. Suddenly, a foot shot out. I stumbled, my heart leaping into my throat, but I managed to catch myself. Stifled snorts and low laughter rippled through the rows.
"Something's getting suspended" "guess it's the taking out garbage day today, phew" murmurs are heard, but I chose to not bat my attention to them
Ignorance is the best tool against arrogance, I reminded myself.
I followed Ms. Pillarion through the empty halls. Despite her small steps, she moved with a brisk, predatory speed. Considering my height,I can easily keep up with her.
Inside the office, four pairs of eyes fixed on me. These were the girls from the rooftop. They sat there with an air of unearned royalty, their expressions shifting from boredom to sharp malice the moment I entered.
"Take a seat," Ms. Pillarion barked.
I sat beside the girl who seemed the most intent on burning a hole through my skull. The Counselor wasted no time. She detailed the list of artistic vandalism committed against Section Dream 2: dirt, dead flowers, and vulgar graffiti.
"I suspect you four," she said, looking at the rooftop group. "And then there is you, Miss Paramnesia."
"Uhm, miss? Why am I here? I am from Section Dream 5."
"I am aware," she said. "I am also aware that you have a perfect record. Because of that, I am placing you in charge of them. You are now responsible for their deviant behavior. This is a command."
"This is bullshit!" the leader of the rooftop group shouted, leaping up. "You think this wimpy girl can control us? She is useless trash. Her parents probably realized she was a mistake and left."
"ENOUGH!"
The Counselor's voice cracked like a whip. My eyes welled up instantly; the mention of my parents was a jagged blade to my heart.
"One more mark on your record and you are expelled," Pillarion hissed. Then she turned to me. "And you, Miss Paramnesia, if you fail to curb their behavior, your scholarship will be revoked."
My heart sank. My scholarship was my only lifeline. I signed the contract. The others followed, their scoffs punctuating the silence.
"Actually," Pillarion added, "she is being transferred to Section Dream 2. You will be in the same class from now on."
(Flashback: Age 4)
Little Epione was drawing a picture of high school, full of sunshine. When she went downstairs, she saw her uncle cowering as a businessman screamed at him over a debt. When the man lunged to punch her uncle, the four year old girl jumped between them, her tiny arms spread wide. "Don't hurt him! Please!"
The man didn't stop. He pushed the child aside so hard her head cracked against the doorframe. "Epione! Get to your room!" her uncle roared, his face red with shame rather than concern.
Later that night, the door creaked open. Her uncle didn't ask to see her drawing. He didn't check the bruise on her forehead. He took off his heavy leather belt, the buckle clinking with a sound that would haunt her dreams for a decade.
"Turn around," he commanded, his voice thick with the smell of cheap gin. He shoved a coarse, dry towel into her mouth to stifle the screams, forcing her to bite down until her gums bled. As the leather bit into her small, tender back, stripping away her innocence with every rhythmic strike, she learned her first truth: You have to be bruised to learn. Every scar is a reminder of a mistake.
Back in the present, I entered my classroom.
"Hey, stupid! Did you finally get kicked out?" Kiro laughed.
The "rain" started immediately. Crumpled papers, wet tissues, and stones wrapped in yellow pad paper pelted me.
"Look, the baby is going to cry!" Ssatihs mocked. She had been waiting for this. She grabbed a pack of baby wipes and aggressively smeared them across my face, the chemical scent stinging my nose and eyes.
"Someone forgot to flush their business in the third floor stall," one of the boys near Kiro snickered, holding a cup of murky, foul-smelling liquid. "We thought we would bring the sewer to your desk since you belong in the gutter." Before I could scream, he splattered the warm, stagnant waste over my bag and blazer.
"S-stop it," I whispered, the stench making my stomach churn.
"What? Speak up, trash!" Ssatihs poked my forehead, her finger jabbing like a needle, forcing my head back against the chalkboard. "Did you know that industrial chalk is non-toxic? It is perfect for marking things that don't matter." She ground a stick of white chalk into my hair, the dust settling into my lungs until I coughed.
The atmosphere in the room shifted from chaotic to predatory. The laughter of the class took on a jagged, darker edge as the physical boundaries began to dissolve.
"You really are just a container for our boredom, aren't you?" Kiro said, stepping closer until he was looming over me. He reached out, his hand sliding with a sickening, invasive slowess over my shoulder, his fingers digging into my skin in a way that made my stomach turn.
"Someone like you... you don't even own your own body," he whispered, his breath hot against my ear.
Ssatihs grinned, enjoying the way I shriveled under his touch. "He's right. You're barely human. Maybe we should show the whole school what a 'peasant' looks like underneath that cheap uniform. Let's see if you still act so quiet when we really get started."
"Yeah," one of the boys from the back chimed in, his voice thick with a terrifying lack of empathy. "Let me know how it feels to violate a smelly pig. We've got plenty of time before the next bell. Don't mind if I popped that cherry first"
He reached for the hem of my skirt, his fingers grazing my leg. I felt a cold, paralyzing wave of terror wash over me. This wasn't just bullying anymore; this was an attempt to strip away the last of my humanity.
"I said stop it!" I yelled, my voice cracking with a decade of suppressed rage.
SLAP. The hard palm crashed through my cheek. My vision swam. Ssatihs grabbed my collar, twisting the fabric until it choked me. "Say it again!" she screamed. Slap. "No one cares about you!" Slap. "You're a waste of space!" Slap.
The class was chanting now, a tribal, bloodthirsty sound that drowned out my gasps for air. "Dump her in the toilet! Scrub her face on the wall! Let's see if that chalk stays white when we mix it with her blood!"
I felt Kiro's hand tighten on my arm, pulling me toward the center of the room as if I were nothing more than a piece of property. I closed my eyes, bracing for the next impact, for the violation I knew was coming. I waited for the heat and the familiar sting of the belt to return in the form of their hands.
But the blow never came.
I opened my eyes to see a hand frozen in mid-air, inches from my face. Another hand strong, slender, and steady was gripping Ssatihs's wrist with bone-crushing force.
I looked up. My breath caught.
"C-Chizuru?"