The school doors groaned open, their hinges protesting like they always did. That sound hadn't changed. Neither had the hallway—the same scuffed tiles, the same fluorescent lights flickering overhead, the same banners sagging from the ceiling like tired memories.
But the moment Stephen stepped into the school building, he felt it.
The air wasn't the same.
It wasn't the sterile, fluorescent buzz he'd grown used to. It wasn't the usual chatter and energy of teenagers running on caffeine and stress. No. This was different. The atmosphere had weight now. Tension. It clung to his skin like humidity before a storm.
He took two more steps forward, and the silence hit like a wall.
Conversations halted mid-sentence. Chairs stopped squeaking. A distant laugh choked itself out. Every sound—the shuffling of feet, the crinkling of paper—died in real time. It was like the building itself was holding its breath.
Mark, beside him, looked around slowly. "What the hell…"
Stephen kept walking. He didn't want to stop. Stopping meant acknowledging the shift, and right now, he didn't know if he could handle what came next.
Eyes locked onto him.
Hundreds of them.
Students, teachers, janitors—every single person in sight turned their attention toward Stephen. Some stumbled backward. Others stood rooted, hands gripping lockers or books like shields.
A girl near the lockers let out a strangled gasp and dropped her phone. Another grabbed her friend's hand and practically ran.
Stephen's steps slowed, taking a closer look at the people around him.
This wasn't surprise.
It was fear.
Despair.
Pain.
Disgust.
Then—anger.
A boy's face twisted into something ugly. "Why is he even here?"
Another voice cut in—sharper. Older. "He's the one from the video."
Stephen turned his head slightly.
Video?
Before he could ask, before Mark could speak, a voice called out: "Hey! Freak!"
Mark's eyes flared. "What the hell did you just say?"
A boy—a senior, Stephen thought—stepped forward. "We know what you did. We saw everything."
Stephen said nothing. He didn't know what to say.
Then someone shoved through the growing crowd—William. Dishevelled. Out of breath. Panic in his eyes.
"Mark! Stephen—" he held out his phone, shoved it toward them. "Look."
Mark took it, confused, and watched the screen light up.
_ _ ♛ _ _
A drone's-eye view of the city.
And then—
Stephen.
Locked in brutal combat. Buildings cracked, streets shattered.
Each punch sent shockwaves across blocks.
Screams echoed.
Fires burned in the distance.
Blood misted the air.
It wasn't like the news broadcasts. It wasn't cropped, filtered, or unclear.
This was raw.
Brutal.
Unmistakable.
Stephen's body slamming another through a skyscraper. Their fight toppling a bridge. A crowd crushed under debris as the battle spilled onto a highway. A man screaming over a mangled loved one, the gore of it all, felt unreal, almost like a movie that everyone played a part in.
_ _ ♛ _ _
Mark stared in disbelief. "Where did this come from?"
"Someone leaked it," William said. "Reddit, TikTok, Discord—it's everywhere. Everyone's seen it. This morning, before first bell."
Mark slowly lowered the phone. "Oh… shit." He looked around.
The muffled silence in the hallway was gone now.
In its place—screams.
Cries.
Sorrow.
Accusations.
"I lost my cousin in that building!"
"My dad worked downtown—he still hasn't come home!"
"You destroyed our city!"
"You destroyed my family!" wailed another voice choked between tears.
Stephen didn't move. He couldn't move.
He felt them.
The words.
They weren't just spoken. They were heart-wrenching.
"I defended you!" someone shrieked. "You're supposed to protect us!"
"You could've saved more people!"
"You didn't care! You didn't care enough—instead you were showing off!"
"You're a monster!"
Mark raised his voice. "Hey fuck off! He risked his life! He fought that thing so none of you had to!"
The crowd didn't care.
They turned on him too.
"Oh great, you're his brother right? It's only fair that freaks of the same nature defend each other!"
"You his backup plan?"
"You planning to destroy the school next?"
"Maybe you're both ticking time bombs!"
Mark's jaw clenched. "Back off."
A girl screamed. "No! Get them out of here!"
Stephen stood still, his gaze dimming.
It wasn't the noise.
It wasn't the words.
It was the absence inside him.
He heard them—every insult, every plea, every tear-stained accusation.
And he didn't feel anything.
No guilt.
No pain.
No sorrow.
Just… nothing.
He watched them—faces twisted in agony, in rage—and it was like watching strangers grieve on television.
Detached. Cold.
He hated himself for it.
Why didn't he feel something?
He saved as many people as he could. He blocked that punch. He forced himself through wounds that would've downed tanks. He'd done everything right.
Hadn't he?
Hadn't he?
'I don't feel bad,' he thought. 'Why don't I feel anything?'
A bottle flew from the crowd—plastic, half full. It smacked Mark's shoulder and bounced off.
More students stepped forward.
A riot was blooming.
Mark turned, his voice desperate. "Stephen, are you okay!? Say something. Please!"
Stephen opened his mouth—but no sound came.
Because what could he say?
That he didn't feel guilty?
That he didn't care if they hated him?
That he had risked his life and somehow, it still wasn't enough?
Was he the monster they saw?
Had he always been?
His thoughts spiralled.
The stares, the pain, the judgment—he couldn't process it. It was all too much.
"I tried," he whispered. "I tried so hard."
Mark stepped in front of him again. "Get back!" he barked. "Leave him alone!"
But the crowd didn't back off.
The pain poured out—too much to stop now.
"Do you even know what you've done?!"
"You're no hero—you're a walking disaster!"
"He should be rotting in jail!"
Mark looked around, desperate, and finally saw teachers running toward them, trying to contain the mob.
He turned to Stephen again.
And saw him breaking.
_ _ ♛ _ _
He couldn't move.
His feet were stone. His throat, ash. His chest, a hollow drum—echoing, echoing, echoing. The walls of the hallway pressed in, thick with noise, but he felt miles away.
The world had shrunk to a pinpoint.
And he was trapped inside it.
"I should say something," he thought.
But his mind was static—nothing but broken radio silence.
He looked at his hands—open, trembling. Fingers that had lifted rubble off trapped civilians. Fists that had stopped a monster from turning entire blocks to graves. Hands that bled, broke, and rebuilt.
And now, those same hands trembled under the weight of rejection.
A bottle hit the floor beside him, bursting the stillness with a hollow clatter. Someone hurled a book. Another student lunged forward before a teacher restrained them.
Mark shouted—maybe a warning, maybe a plea—but Stephen didn't catch the words.
Everything blurred.
The hallway twisted into a tunnel. Faces warped at the edges. Voices blurred together, a sickening soup of grief and rage. One boy shouted something about his uncle. A girl collapsed to her knees, weeping openly. There was blood in her voice—Stephen heard it.
He had felt nothing before.
Now he felt too much.
Not guilt. Not sorrow.
Just weight.
Suffocating. Soul-crushing. Crippling.
And still—he couldn't summon the right emotion. Not the one they wanted. Not the one that would make this bearable.
Inside, he was screaming.
Outside... silence.
Then he heard his own voice.
Faint. Cracked. Barely there.
"I thought I did the right thing…"
Mark spun around, grabbed his shoulder. "You did! You did, Stephen! Don't let them—don't let them twist this!"
Stephen looked at him.
Really looked at him.
Mark—his older brother—flushed and frantic, standing between him and a crowd frothing with hate. Defending him without hesitation. Something about that broke Stephen even more.
He didn't deserve it.
"I thought I would die," Stephen whispered, voice shaking. "I thought that was it."
The crowd quieted, just for a moment—just enough to hear.
"I fought. I really fought. I was scared… but I still fought."
A murmur swept through the students. Not sympathy. Not relief.
Suspicion.
They didn't believe him.
Stephen clenched his fists.
"I didn't do it to be liked," he said. "I didn't want thanks. I just… I didn't want anyone else to die."
Another silence.
Then:
"You should've tried harder."
"People still died."
"You don't get points for trying."
"You're not the victim here."
Stephen blinked.
And the tears came.
He didn't want them. Didn't feel like he had earned them. But they came anyway. Hot. Silent. Shameful.
Why was he crying?
He didn't feel guilt. He didn't feel bad in the way they wanted. He didn't even hate them.
But the tears still came.
Like a reflex his body remembered, even when his heart didn't.
"I'm sorry," he whispered—unsure who it was for. Himself? Them? The city?
Mark wrapped his arms around him—firm, real, grounding.
Stephen leaned in, burying his face in his brother's shoulder as his body shook with something he couldn't name.
Mark's voice cracked. "You did nothing wrong."
Stephen sobbed. "Then why do I feel like this?"
Mark didn't answer.
He didn't know how.
Teachers continued to push the crowd back, trying to contain a wildfire that had already devoured the hallway. The principal shouted orders no one followed. Campus security wrestled students apart like riot control.
But the damage was already done.
The wound had been opened for everyone to see—and Stephen had bled for it.
A girl screamed again. "My brother died because of you!"
Another: "Go to hell!"
Stephen flinched.
Each word struck like a lash across something raw and shaking.
He pulled away slightly, eyes red.
"I tried to make friends… I tried to be normal… I tried so hard…"
Mark cupped his face. "You were never normal, Stephen. And that's not a bad thing."
Stephen's voice shook. "I was okay being alone. I told myself it was fine. I made peace with it. But I thought… maybe if I helped them… they'd see me. Really see me."
He looked up—at all those faces.
The words broke something loose.
Stephen's knees gave out a little, like the strength was leaking from him.
They didn't see him.
They never had.
They only saw what they wanted to believe.
A threat.
A freak.
A tragedy they could blame.
Tears slipped down Stephen's cheeks—not loud, not messy.
Just falling. Slow and steady. Like the first drops before a storm.
"I don't understand," he choked. "Why am I crying? I don't even feel anything. I don't feel bad. I should—but I don't."
His body trembled.
His voice cracked again. "What's wrong with me…?"
Mark didn't say a word.
He didn't need to.
He moved—and tightened his wrapped arms around his brother.
Stephen froze for half a second.
Then broke.
His fingers curled into Mark's shirt like his last lifeline. The sobs hit—raw, gut-wrenching, far too ancient for the twelve-year-old body they poured out of. His face buried into Mark's chest as everything he'd buried—fear, pain, confusion—spilled over.
Mark held him tighter.
One hand cradled the back of Stephen's head, the other anchored around his shoulders like steel.
"I'm here," Mark whispered. "I'm right here. You're okay."
He didn't have solutions.
He didn't have wisdom.
He only had presence.
"You did your best," he said simply.
Stephen shook in his arms, his voice barely audible between sobs. "I tried, Mark. I really did. I wanted to help. I didn't want anyone to get hurt. I did everything I could—"
"I know," Mark said. "I know you did."
"I just wanted to do good," Stephen whimpered. "But no matter what I do, it's never enough. They all hate me…"
"No, no," Mark whispered, pulling him closer. "You're not hated. They're scared. They're hurt. People lash out when they don't understand."
He said it like he was convincing himself too.
"But you didn't do anything wrong."
Stephen's voice cracked again. "Then why do I feel like I'm falling apart?"
Mark didn't answer immediately.
Because he didn't have the words. Not the kind that would fix it.
But he knew what he could do.
He could hold his little brother—and keep the world away for just a moment longer.
"You were amazing," Mark whispered. "You fought, Stephen. You saved lives. You gave everything. I'm proud of you—so damn proud."
Stephen collapsed against him completely.
Tears kept coming.
And for the first time, Mark realized how much weight Stephen had been carrying.
All that strength. All that calm control. It wasn't confidence.
It was survival.
He wasn't okay.
He never had been.
He was just a boy—a powerful one—but still just a kid trying to do the right thing.
And this?
This was too much for any kid to bear.
Mark looked up.
The crowd had started to thin. Teachers pulled students away. Campus security barked orders. The hallway looked like a warzone—like something had detonated, and the smoke was still hanging in the air.
Some students still looked back, eyes bitter, faces tight with blame. Others whispered to each other as they passed. A few took photos.
Mark didn't care.
He didn't care what they thought.
They didn't know Stephen.
They didn't know the effort it took for his little brother to even try being normal—to smile, to talk, to care.
They didn't deserve to judge him.
Mark held Stephen tighter and whispered, "I'm with you. Always."
And for the first time that day—Stephen's sobs began to slow.
Shaky breaths came. Raw. Ragged. But they came.
Mark pulled back slightly, wiping Stephen's face with his sleeve. His voice was firm. "We're leaving. Come on."
Stephen didn't argue.
He just nodded.
Silent. Small. Worn thin.
Each step felt heavier than the last. Like the hallway itself didn't want to let him go. Like it wanted to etch him into its walls as a warning—this is what happens when you try.
The school doors groaned open behind them.
The cold air outside hit like truth.
No crowd.
No teachers.
No shouting.
Just quiet.
Stephen walked forward, eyes down, the storm still raging inside.
And Mark walked beside him.
Not saying a word.
But never once letting go.
End of Chapter 40.
(A/N: look this chapter took a lot out of me, i wrote 5 drafts and I went over them, had to choose which one was best, then decided to merge them, only for it to not turn out the way I wanted and in the end I ended up rewriting the whole thing, anyways this counts as two chapters, so please enjoy, if I have enough energy to write another chapter later on today or tmr I will and will post it today, until then enjoy! and please leave feedback, so I can keep improving, and your support goes a long way and truly keeps me motivated! after all I am not getting paid, I am doing this to improve and for the love of the game!)