The three friends walked into the classroom, laughing and nudging each other. The moment they entered, the room—once buzzing with chatter, jokes, and students lounging in seats that didn't belong to them—fell utterly silent. It was as if the lively chaos that had filled the room before had vanished into thin air.
Asher's eyes were fixed on his desk, the place where silas books and belongings were neatly arranged. He stepped forward, wondering what is that kept in his desk and behind him, Harrison and Jacob followed closely.
All eyes in the classroom were on them. Asher stopped in front of his desk, his gaze cold and piercing as it swept over the objects placed there. Without a doubt, this was Asher's spot. Who had the audacity to claim it, to litter his desk with their things and call it their own? The other students, already intimidated, felt a shiver run through them at the frost in his expression. They all knew: if Asher's anger flared, none of them would stand a chance.
They knew exactly who had dared to occupy the seat that had always been Asher's. Yet no one dared speak. No one wanted to attract his attention or become the target of his wrath. So they remained silent, watching the unfolding scene like spectators at a tense drama.
"Interesting," Asher said, a faint smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. His tone was deceptively light, teasing.
He turned slowly, scanning the room, seeking the person brave—or foolish—enough to have challenged him, the one who had claimed his place.
Watching them—the ones who had shrunk back the moment Asher entered—he knew they wouldn't even dare think about taking his seat.
Asher understood their hesitation. With a slow, deliberate movement, he turned back toward his desk, reclaiming the space that had always been his.
Jacob stood silently, his eyes fixed on Asher. But Harrison—fiery, quick-tempered, unable to control his impulses—couldn't hold back. His voice cut sharply through the classroom, charged with emotion:
"Who's the idiot that had the audacity to claim Ash's seat? Does this bastard have to die?"
"Stop, Harrison," Asher said, raising his hand in a calm, commanding gesture.
At that signal, Harrison fell silent, his face twisted in confusion. He couldn't understand why Asher wasn't responding, why he wasn't angry.
"What do you mean… s-stop—" Harrison began.
"He's not one of the students here," Jacob interrupted, his voice steady, emotionless.
"Right, Jacob," Asher's gaze remained cold and unwavering.
" I don't understand," Harrison stammered, trying to make sense of the situation.
Jacob had already assessed the scene: someone unfamiliar had dared to sit in Asher's place. But Harrison couldn't quite grasp what Jacob was saying.
While Jacob explained this to Harrison, Asher reached toward Silas's stack of books on his desk. Suddenly, he paused. A hazy memory flashed before his eyes—a faint, indistinct sound reached him, but nothing clear could be seen or fully understood.
"The way these books are… arranged…"
Asher, a boy notorious in the school for his fighting skills, his sense of justice and ruthlessness, someone whose name alone struck fear into others, froze. People both despised and admired him in equal measure, but none could ever challenge him. And yet, the simple, careless way the books were placed made him flinch, taking a cautious step back.
A strange, unsettling vision flickered in his eyes.
"No one else could have arranged the books like this… it has to be him—Sila," he muttered to himself.
Jacob, who had been standing with his hands crossed hand in front of him, straightened abruptly, his eyes widening in shock at the sight before him.
"Asher… are you alright?" he asked cautiously.
But darkness spread across Asher's vision—a darkness he had no desire to see. His hands shot forward, slamming the books off the desk with force.
Something was wrong.
The entire class took a step back, frozen in fear at the sudden, violent display.
"…."
Jacob and Harrison stared at him, puzzled, unable to comprehend what had just happened. They remained silent, for they understood that whatever was unfolding before them was a moment unlike anything they had ever witnessed. They had never seen Asher like this—but little did they know, this was only the beginning.
"Damn… that wretched Sila," Asher muttered under his breath, his voice low and dangerous.
.....
Silence hung over the classroom like a thick, suffocating fog. Though students were present, none of them could utter a word. Any attempt to speak—or to intervene—would have been as futile as resisting the books and pens scattered on the floor.
Silas, who had flinched at the sight of Asher for a brief moment, slowly regained his composure. But his body felt heavy, as if his very heart had dropped to the ground. He shivered, struggling to steady himself.
"I said… move from my seat," silas said, his voice deceptively calm.
Rising from his chair, he moved back with a groan as the seat scraped against the floor, positioning himself squarely in front of Selas. He was taller than Selas, but in sheer presence and strength, Asher far outmatched him.
"If I don't—"
Asher tilted his head, his eyes fixed on Silas's shoulder. The sudden closeness made Silas flinch, and every student in the room watched the unfolding scene with bated breath.
"—you think you can scare me by showing that monstrous side of yours, like before? Hah?" Asher's voice was low, calm, but edged with darkness.
"Don't think I'll let you off so easily this time, Sila. From today onward, consider your days numbered, no matter who you are."
"What?" Silas felt a pang of unease. He knew exactly what Asher meant.
With that, Asher took a deliberate step back from Silas's shoulder and returned to his seat, settling in as if nothing had happened. Yet the entire classroom knew, without a doubt, that something terrifying had just passed—and that nothing would ever be the same.
Jacob and Harrison still couldn't make sense of what was happening between Asher and Silas. They wanted to ask him—who is he? Do you know him already?—but after seeing Asher's expression, they quickly realized that now was not the time for answers.
Step by step, Jacob and Harrison moved toward their own desks, while Silas remained standing rigidly in his place, as if rooted to the spot, utterly unmoved.
"Is this some kind of show? Go! Go back to your seats!" Harrison shouted sharply to the entire class. At his command, the students immediately returned to their desks, as if their teacher had ordered them.
"You threw my books, scattered my things, and took my seat. That doesn't matter," Silas said, his voice calm but edged with quiet intensity.
"But—"
Silas didn't care about the words themselves, nor about what Asher had done. What pierced him like a needle was something else entirely:
the past!.
Asher had dragged the past into the present, into a moment Silas wanted desperately to forget. And now, Asher had forced him to confront it.
"But… why did you bring the past into this?" Selas demanded, his voice shaking with a mix of anger and fear. With determination, he thrust his hand forward and grabbed Asher's collar, gripping it hard.
"…."
The room froze once again, every eye on them, as two forces—present and past—clashed silently in that tense, suspended moment.
Seeing Silas's move, Harrison immediately rose from his seat, ready to intervene. But Jacob caught his arm, holding him back.
"Don't get involved, Harry. Learn to control your anger," Jacob said, his voice calm and steady, carrying a subtle authority that eased the storm within Harrison.
Harrison met Jacob's gaze. Jacob's eyes, firm and assuring, nodded ever so slightly—a silent confirmation that carried meaning. Harrison exhaled, letting the tension leave his body, and returned to his seat. Yet even as he sat, he remained uneasy, unsettled by Silas's defiance.
The classroom was deathly silent. Every student's eyes were fixed on the unfolding scene, every movement scrutinized. The air was thick with anticipation. No one had ever seen Asher behave like this before—so controlled yet so dangerous. To the students, it was a brand-new, thrilling spectacle, one that demanded their full attention.
"Did I say something wrong, Sila—" Asher began, his voice calm but cutting through the tension like steel.
"—Ha! Aish… damn you—"
Asher's piercing gaze locked onto Silas's striking, multicolored eyes, now wide with fear. Silas shrank back, his knees trembling under him, powerless under the weight of Asher's presence.
"you seem to be eager to die right! Sila" Asher said, his voice low and teasing.
Sila, Sila, Sila, Sila, Sila, I hate this good name and the one who gave it to me, I hate it.
Don't call me
"Don't call me by that name, NOT THAT NAME Sila!!!!!!!!!!!" he shouted.
"Ha… ha… ha… ha…"
Asher chuckled, almost amused by his reaction.
"What's——— happening here?"
Silas Asher both gaze followed toward the doorway. There, Miss Anna and Victor stood in the entrance, books in hand, blocking the path.
Immediately, Silas released Asher's collar.
Anna and Victor stepped inside, positioning themselves behind Silas. Victor slammed the books onto the desk near Asher, making it clear that they had witnessed everything that had just unfolded.
"I hope you won't disappoint us, Silas—" Anna said, locking her eyes onto Asher while speaking, attempting to impose her words with authority.
"—unlike some other students who only know how to fight and brawl, we have high hopes for you, Silas."
Anna's gaze shifted to Silas's striking, multicolored eyes, as if to silently remind him of what had just happened and what he had done.
Asher was not impressed by Anna's words. He sat silently, looking ahead, while Silas began to feel a little embarrassed inside.
Today was only his first day at the school—and it was already turning into a nightmare.
"I… I'm sorry, Miss Anna," he muttered, his voice low.
"It's alright. But this shouldn't happen again," Anna replied firmly.
"Yes, Miss Anna," Silas responded, still feeling the weight of the chaos.
"And as for the others, who are pretending to be quiet, maybe they should try to make a little change in themselves," Anna added, her words directed not at Selas this time, but at those who considered themselves the rulers of the class—and the school.
Having spoken, Anna and Victor left the room, leaving a silence behind that felt heavier than before.
"Ja, What Miss Anna said wasn't meant for us," Harrison muttered.
"Only a fool wouldn't understand her words," Jacob replied coolly.
"What? So you mean I'm a fool?" Harrison snapped.
"I never said that," Jacob said calmly, a small smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth.
Silas, meanwhile, composed himself and returned to the back row. He sat down quietly, gathering his belongings as the classroom slowly settled. Soon, the lesson would begin. Students busied themselves with opening their books and notebooks, preparing for their subjects, the tense energy gradually giving way to the routine of schoolwork.
One by one, the class periods came to an end, and lunch break began. The school was alive with noise and movement—students chatting and laughing as they made their way to the cafeteria, some in groups, others walking alone.
Most of Silas's classmates had already left; over half the class had gone ahead. Silas intended to join them too, but he was still engrossed in finishing some leftover work. Glancing around the nearly empty classroom, he noticed only a few students remained behind.
He turned toward the back and checked the clock: 12:10. Only twenty minutes were left before lunch break ended.
"If I don't hurry, I'll be late!" he muttered, urgency creeping into his voice.
By the time he finished writing, the clock read 12:17. He closed his assignment, which was nearly complete, placed it neatly to the side of his desk, and rose. With a careful step, he made his way toward the door.
As soon as Silas stepped out of the classroom, two students sitting near the doorway in classroom immediately began whispering, as if they had been waiting for him to leave.
"I don't think this new guy is going to last long in this school," one of them muttered, eyes following him.
"Yeah, I feel the same. Just look—he already put his hands on beehive m. I'd never do something like that," the other replied.
"Well… that's true, but it's not really his fault—"
Before he could finish, his friend quickly covered his mouth with his hand, silencing him. He looked at his friend in surprise, unsure why he had done that.
"Do you want to die, idiot? Don't even think about supporting thats guy, or you'll end up in trouble too. Think before you open your mouth," his friend hissed, eyes sharp with warning.
He realized immediately what his friend meant. If they showed any kind of allegiance to Silas, or even just acknowledged him, they could become targets—not just of Asher, but potentially of everyone in the school who respected—or feared—him.
Removing his friend's hand from his mouth, he exhaled slowly, composing himself before speaking.
"Okay… okay. I won't say anything. But you have to admit, it's true—he's now in the school's sights."
Despite what he said, his friend started talking about him again.
"Forget it… anyway, you hungry? Want to get something to eat?"
They began to engage in their daily conversation, dismissing Silas and Asher's conversation.
But standing just outside the classroom, Silas had overheard everything. He clenched his fists tightly, anger simmering beneath the surface.
They didn't dare speak in front of him, yet behind his back, they whispered whatever they wanted. And Silas had done nothing wrong. Couldn't anyone have just told them that this spot belonged to someone else? Instead, they gossiped right there in the classroom, as if he couldn't hear them.
Silas already had a sense of his classmates' behavior, knew how they were likely to act—but hearing it all laid bare made it crystal clear: he now understood exactly what they thought of him.
Shaking off the frustration silas move forward.
.....
Silas stepped into the cafeteria. The room was alive with noise: students talking and laughing, the clatter of trays and dishes echoing from every corner.
Silas stepped forward toward the food counter, where the day's lunch was being served. The line wasn't long—most students had already collected their meals and retreated to their seats. Only a few, like him, had arrived late.
He grabbed his food and began scanning for an empty spot. The cafeteria was large and bustling, crowded with students, making it nearly impossible to find a free seat. He was still searching when suddenly, someone behind him bumped into his back. A tray of food toppled, spilling across his pants and the back of his white shirt. The crash echoed across the cafeteria, drawing every eye toward him.
silas froze, standing rigidly as if carved from stone. There was no panic, no expression—he was utterly still, a statue amid the chaos.
"I-I'm sorry! I didn't mean to… my foot slipped," a small, nervous voice stammered behind him. The apology was soft, anxious, but undeniably sincere.