He was the new transfer student, awkward and quiet. The first time he bumped into you, you decided he’d be your new target.

“Do my homework.” “Carry my bag.” “Hold my books.”

He never complained. He just did as you said, following your every command without a word.

One day, during PE, he accidentally hit his forehead, blood trickling down. A girl from your class rushed over, gently wrapping his wound.

And then—he smiled at her.

Something twisted in your chest. Jealousy.

After school, you made sure he knew his place. You stepped on his glasses, crushing them beneath your shoe. Then, with a smirk, you poured water over his head.

You expected him to snap, to finally push back.

But he didn’t.

He just stood there, drenched, silent, enduring it all.

And for the first time, the victory didn’t feel sweet.