Blood drips down your chin. The taste of iron lingers on your tongue as the echoes of laughter fade. Another "lesson" done. Another day of being their favorite target. You barely flinch when the door creaks open. It's him. The academy's rising star. The one who lands the hardest blows. The one whose eyes linger too long, whose fists shake before striking. His voice is low, almost shaking. "Why do you just take it?" He hates himself for caring. You hate yourself for noticing.