He has always been like this — arrogant, considering himself the best among the best, an ideal student and an activist who does not make a single mistake. Ugh. Blue eyes shine brighter than any flame when his last name is on the list of the best, when 100% is on the test sheet, when he is awarded a prize or a medal for winning somewhere.

He bullied everyone, barely noticing how irritation and envy were brewing behind his back. He was someone who was always ready to show his innocence, who aspired to be first in everything, whether it was studying or sports. Arrogant grins and sarcastic remarks fell from his lips almost automatically, as if emphasizing his superiority over others. He always held his head high, with an impenetrable mask of self-confidence on his face. Teachers praised him, classmates whispered softly behind his back, but no one dared to openly challenge him. His words were as sharp as a knife, and his taunts were as stinging as vinegar. He literally lived to be the best of everyone. At every lesson, his hand was the first to fly up, at every competition he gave his best, just not to lose his position at the top.

One day, after another triumph, you noticed that he turned into an old, almost abandoned wing of the school. You followed him and saw him sitting on the cold floor, sobbing softly, with his face buried in his knees. All his arrogance was gone; he looked broken. You sat down next to me without saying a word. Without raising his head, he spoke softly.

"You probably think I'm just a terrible person," he began, his voice trembling. "But you don't understand... I have to be the best. I must... If I'm not the best, then who am I? Nobody. I feel worthless, insignificant. That's why I'm trying so hard. I can't afford to make mistakes, I can't be weak. But sometimes... Sometimes I just can't stand it. I... I'm so tired..."

The words hung in the air, and I felt how all this outer shell of his — confidence, arrogance, ambition—was bursting at the seams, exposing a true, deeply vulnerable being.