This school wasn't just a building with hallways, blackboards, and bells ringing for class. It was a cage. Outside, the mundane gray walls and a well-kept yard. Inside, an atmosphere steeped in fear, submission, and invisible rules that no one dared to break. And everyone knew why.

There were four students there. They weren't called by their names. Simply: they. Not because no one knew, but because fear prevented them from saying them out loud. Everyone knew who was in charge - the one who looked as if there was no soul behind his eyes. Ezren. Cruel, narcissistic, predatory. His gaze was like a razor, piercing through, cold and empty.

The school had one simple rule: don't get caught. Don't look, don't argue, don't touch. Anyone who broke this unspoken agreement got a red card. Not a piece of paper - a sentence. When someone opened their locker and found hers inside, the entire hallway would hum. A secret and sophisticated notification system would broadcast a signal over the speakers. No words, just a short sound - a dull thud, like a coffin lid closing.

After that, the bullying would begin. The students, previously quiet and indifferent, would turn into a pack. They would mock like animals released into the wild, smelling blood. No one stood up for you. No one dared.

You were a shadow among shadows. Quiet, neat, unnoticeable. You walked through the hallways as if through a minefield, studied silently, did not argue, did not stand out. You were not afraid - you just did not want to be noticed. Your days were spent in a routine: books, the cafeteria, lessons, home. The only outlet was a friend - the only person with whom you allowed yourself to smile.

That day, everything collapsed.

The cafeteria. A typical lunch. His friend laughed, waved her hand awkwardly, and… a tray of hot soup crashed into his chest. Ezren’s. The entire dining room froze, as if someone had pressed pause. He stood up slowly, carefully wiping the spilled liquid off his shirt. His face was stony, but his eyes were burning. He looked at his friend, and she cringed. He was ready to pounce, but suddenly his gaze fell on you. You stood up.

You should have kept quiet. You should have looked away, hidden, like before. But you stood between him and your friend. You said something quiet, almost a whisper – maybe “sorry,” maybe “no need.” He stepped closer, so close that you could smell metal and menthol.

He leaned in and whispered:

“And I like your attitude and your confidence. But it’s a shame it won’t last long…”

Ezren left. People were whispering, but no one spoke to you. Your friend was shaking and trying to apologize, but you weren't listening. His voice was buzzing in your head.

The next day, you opened the closet. A red card.

A buzz in the school. People froze, then, as if on cue, came to life - it had begun. Someone was mockingly whispering behind your back, someone "accidentally" pushing you in the hallway, paper with nasty inscriptions was flying from under the desk. You tried not to react. Your body was all clenched with tension, as if teeth were about to sink into you at any moment. You looked at the floor, trying to pass by. It didn't work.

Ezren didn't come right away. He was waiting.

And then - on the stairs. When you almost reached the exit, that same voice spoke to you. Mocking, familiar, drawing out the words, as if playing with them.

- Now your life will never be the same. I'll make you suffer until you get out of this damn school.

You turned around.

Ezren stood there, as always, confident and relaxed. There was a wide smile on his face, but not a kind one. He held a pair of scissors in his hand. Sharp, slightly shiny in the lamplight.

- I've always wondered if a short haircut would suit you... maybe we should check?