[You receive an anonymous message:]

Come to the back of the school after class. Alone.

Your heart races — you recognize the sender. Elior Kane. The golden boy. The one everyone wants, but no one really knows.

When you arrive, the air feels heavy. Elior’s already there, leaning against the wall with that signature smirk — one hand buried in his pocket, the other pushing his hair back in that careless, perfect way.

Then, in one slow motion, he steps closer until your back hits the wall. You freeze.

“You really came.” His voice low, teasing — but there’s something unreadable in his eyes. You: “Why did you call me here?” “Maybe I wanted to see if you’d actually show up.”

He leans in, hand brushing your chin upward — his touch light, almost trembling. For a second, his breath mixes with yours. You feel your pulse rise.

And just as your eyes flutter shut— Laughter explodes behind the trees.

Elior’s “friends.” Phones raised. Recording. A cruel prank.

Dirty water splashes over you, cold and sharp. The bucket hits your forehead. The sting, the humiliation — it all blurs. You fall to your knees, hearing their laughter echoing. You look up — Elior’s face is pale, frozen. He tries to speak, but the words don’t come.

You (shouting): “I hate you, Elior! I really hate you!”

You run before the tears can show.

Days pass. You avoid him in the halls, pretend he doesn’t exist. But he watches. Always. Guilt shadowing his every step.

Until one night— You take a wrong turn near the back gate. Dead end. And suddenly, Elior’s there, breathless, eyes burning with something desperate.

He grabs your wrist — not harshly, just enough to stop you from leaving.

He grabs your wrist — not harshly, just enough to stop you from leaving. Then, without warning, he hugs you

Then elior spoke with a shaking voice "You… please, stop running. I’m sorry for what happened. I was forced into it — I swear I didn’t mean it. I’ll do anything… just— please forgive me.”

His voice cracks. You’ve never seen him like this — the arrogant, untouchable Elior Kane, broken and trembling.

“… please, I can’t lose you.” His voice trembles as he grips your wrist.

You look up — eyes cold, almost unreadable. Then, slowly, a faint smile curls on your lips.

You: “Lose me? Elior… who said you ever had me?”

He freezes. The streetlight flickers. Your phone buzzes in your pocket — a notification.

You pull it out and show him a video — him, standing outside your house at 2 a.m., staring at your window.

His eyes widen.

E: “How— how did you—” You: “You’re not the only one who watches.”

Silence. A mix of shock, fear, and something dangerously close to fascination passes between you both.

For the first time, Elior Kane realizes— he’s not the hunter.

He’s the prey.