Kruel Raymires wasn't exactly new at Wincher Lisa High. He had been there long enough that the school had shaped him in ways he didn't always admit. From the very first days of middle school, he had walked the long halls, tripped on polished floors, bumped into teachers with papers flying, and been the punchline of more jokes than he could count. Everyone usually avoided him—not because he was dangerous, but because he was clumsy. A boy who couldn't walk straight without something happening.
Grayt Shaw had become his personal nightmare in the fourth grade. A year older, bigger, and meaner, Grayt had noticed right away how Kruel never fought back. It started with shoves, tripped-up shoes, and names whispered loud enough for whole classrooms to hear. By the time Kruel entered fifth grade, Grayt had practically claimed him like property. He wasn't just a bully; he was the kind of shadow that never let you breathe.
But there was one thing Grayt didn't know.
Kruel couldn't be hurt.
He had discovered that fact in the strangest, most terrifying way possible, by getting hit by a car. It had been a cold afternoon in his fifth-grade year. The sky was dim, traffic loud, and Kruel had been walking home slower than usual, thinking about nothing. He didn't even see the car until it slammed into him, tossing his body onto the hard pavement. He should have died. Anyone else would have. The driver didn't even stop. Tires screeched away into the distance, leaving Kruel sprawled on the ground like discarded trash.
But he got up.
No blood. No broken bones. No pain.
He remembered standing there in the middle of the road, his chest heaving, his mind racing. His legs trembled but not from injury, just shock. He had touched his arms, his ribs, even his head, searching for the cut, the bruise, the scream that should have escaped him. Nothing. Not even a scratch.
He ran home as fast as he could, his bag flapping wildly against his back, his breath cutting sharp in his throat. His room felt like a cage when he slammed the door shut behind him. He wanted to tell someone, anyone. But who would believe him? He wasn't exactly popular, wasn't exactly trusted. Even Mike, his best friend, would probably laugh or, worse, tell someone else. Then the whispers would grow. And then… what if the wrong kind of people heard?
He had seen movies, read books, where kids with strange abilities ended up in labs. Locked in cages. Tested on like rats. That wasn't going to be him. Not ever.
So he buried the secret deep.
Still, something about knowing he couldn't be hurt changed him. It gave him confidence in ways no one else could see. He walked a little taller, spoke a little calmer. He was slower to anger, quieter in moments when most kids his age would explode. He endured Grayt's beatings because they didn't take anything away from him anymore. But when Grayt aimed his fists or words at Mike, that was different. That stirred something dark in Kruel's chest, something hard to control.
And after the alley incident with Drey, the boy who ended up face-down because Kruel hadn't even tried that hard, he knew the change inside him wasn't just about surviving anymore. There was something else, something dangerous, simmering just beneath the skin.
Kruel wasn't like other boys his age when it came to girls, either. Most of them went crazy, staring, whispering, chasing. Kruel stayed out of it. Part of it was because no girl had ever approached him. Another part was that he had learned to keep to himself. If teachers paired him with a girl for a project, he usually suggested splitting the work so they didn't have to hang out. He thought he was doing them a favor. Most of the time, it only made things worse. The girls thought he was brushing them off, and soon the whispers grew into more distance, more eyes avoiding him.
Then Nira showed up.
Mike's cousin. Quiet. Smart. With a scar on her wrist and another on her neck like faint shadows of battles no one in this school could imagine. She drew, really drew, the kind of art that lived even when you weren't looking at it. But she didn't join the art club. She picked karate instead, a choice that made Kruel wonder if it was for the best. Maybe she needed her space. Maybe he needed his.
Yet she pulled his strings anyway. Every word she said hit somewhere unexpected. When they talked about Grayt, her eyes flashed with something he couldn't name. She looked like she could fight if she wanted, and maybe Mike's wild stories about her weren't so exaggerated after all. Vicious? Maybe. Dangerous? Definitely possible.
But she was also… different. And that made Kruel restless.
The next day came like a sigh.
"Tomorrow is Saturday!" Kate, his younger sister, said with a bright grin as they packed up at the end of school. "I can't wait. I need to rest. That school is awfully energy-draining."
Kruel smirked. "You have no idea."
He headed for the door, adjusting his bag, when he noticed Kate walking right beside him. He frowned.
"Aren't you waiting for your bus?" he asked.
"The school said it's got issues," she replied casually, shrugging. "Besides, I'm old enough to walk to school on my own, aren't I?"
"Yes, but no," Kruel said immediately, shaking his head. "Not when these streets aren't safe." He stopped, then added, "Come on. I'll walk you."
Kate groaned so loudly the people passing glanced at them. "Aw, nooo. What will I say to my friends when they see my brother walking me to school? I'll look like a baby!"
"It's better to be safe than sorry," Kruel shot back with a grin. He even pointed at her like he was delivering a catchphrase. "That's a good one."
Kate gave him a long look, then sighed in surrender. "You're impossible."