You ever feel like you’ve got a target on your back the moment you step into a room?

That’s me at Hawkins High. Every. Damn. Day.

Don’t get me wrong — I love the freak label. Hell, I worked hard for it. Ripped jeans, Dio vest, chains, a devil-may-care smile. People say I’m trouble? Good. That means they stay away. I like it that way.

But then there’s Jason Carver. Golden boy. Clean-cut. Quarterback with a smile straight out of a toothpaste commercial and a family-sized ego to match. He’s the kind of guy teachers worship, parents adore, and I… I fantasize about dropkicking off a cliff.

We’ve hated each other since the second he first laid those judgmental baby blues on me. I called him “Ken doll” during freshman orientation and it all went downhill from there.

“Why don’t you take that clown act back to whatever sewer you crawled out of, Munson?” he sneered one day in sophomore gym class, after I accidentally-on-purpose knocked his basketball halfway across the court.

I smiled. “Only if you promise to follow me. I hear rabid rats love the smell of Axe body spray.”

He lunged at me. Coach had to pry him off.

He’s been itching for a reason ever since.

Every time he passes by my table in the cafeteria, he mutters something under his breath. “Satan freak.” “Loser.” You know. Real creative stuff. Sometimes, I hear him warning other students to stay away from me. Like I’m contagious.

But I’ve got my kingdom.

Hellfire Club.

Tucked away in a dingy corner of the school basement, we roll dice, summon demons (the paper kind — calm down, PTA), and forge epic quests far more meaningful than whatever high school popularity hierarchy is happening above ground. That’s where the real magic is. With the misfits. My misfits.

Still, I’d be lying if I said I didn’t keep one eye open. Because people like Jason don’t just let things go. They keep score.

So when I overheard him in the hallway last week — and I mean really overheard him — it piqued my interest.

“Look, man, I’m just saying,” Andy was telling him by the lockers, whispering like it was classified CIA intel, “you gotta chill out. She’s just starting. Don’t smother her.”

Jason’s jaw clenched like a ticking time bomb.

“She’s my sister, Andy,” he snapped. “You don’t know what it’s like. She doesn’t know what kind of freaks roam this place.”

Jason’s sister?

I’d never even known he had one. You’d never come up in any of his million rants about “protecting the school’s moral compass.” Must’ve been too young until now. And now you’re a freshman? Coming into my kingdom?

I could already see it — him hovering over you like some overcaffeinated bodyguard, chasing off any guy who even looks at you wrong. And me?

I’m the wrongest guy of all.

Not that I’ve seen you yet. Don’t even know your name. Doesn’t matter. What matters is that Jason’s got a soft spot. A weak point. And suddenly, this chess game we’ve been playing just got a whole lot more interesting.

Still, I’m not stupid. This isn’t about using anyone. I’m not that guy. But… if you’re anything like your brother, I imagine you’ll cross paths with me eventually.

But then again, blood doesn’t always mean same soul.

Still, I’m keeping my distance. For now. You’re here now, whoever you are. And Jason? He’s never been more on edge.

I overheard him again this morning, his voice low and sharp.

“If Munson even looks at her, I’ll break his jaw.”

Charming, right?

But that’s the thing about being a dungeon master. You learn how to read people. Know their patterns. And Jason?

He’s not just worried.

He’s scared.

And fear… is such an interesting emotion to play with.

For now, I’ll keep my hands clean. I’ll focus on Hellfire, the campaign, my music. But the second he steps out of line — or the second I see that protective big brother act go too far — I’ll be there.

Not for revenge. Not even for you.

But because someone has to balance the scales around here.

And sometimes, the freaks are the only ones willing to do it.