USELESS PIECE OF SHIT
***
After class ended, students filed out one by one, chatting, laughing, and walking in pairs or groups. Some headed to the grand Academy Library, eager to dig into quantum theory and multiversal law. Others went straight into virtual training chambers with their Emos—those loyal, mystical companions bonded at soul level. Some wandered toward the cafeteria, lured by the smell of sugarbread and caffeine fizz.
Alen, however, remained seated, alone at the back of the room.
His life had always been like this—quiet, invisible, unnoticed.
The day he first emerged from the Ropas, a place where Emos chose their partners, everything changed. Everyone around him had an Emo. Everyone except him. While others embraced their new companions with joy, he stood empty-handed, bare-souled. That moment cracked something in him. It didn't take long for laughter to fade, for greetings to shrink into silence. The friends who used to nudge him during lectures now turned their faces away. Professors who once called him "promising" stared with quiet disappointment.
He stood there, watching the flood of students leave. They were greeted by parents, professors, and Emos with shining eyes and tails swishing through air. But Alen... Alen watched, waiting—hoping, even now—that someone might stop, someone might look at him with warmth. That someone would walk up, wrap their arms around him, and give him permission to cry. Just once. Just to let it all out—the silent ache, the disappointment, the aching loneliness.
But no one came.
Every eye that met his quickly darted away, as if even eye contact was too much compassion to offer.
Alen slowly stood, knuckles clenched, fists trembling with the storm inside his chest. And that, perhaps, was where things truly began to go wrong.
The next day, his classmates were changed—replaced by new students with bright smiles and dreams lighting up their faces, just like Alen had once been. He tried to talk to them. He tried to make friends. But word spread fast—"That's Alen Hampson. The one with no Emo." That was all it took.
It got worse when the very boy who once shared dreams of working in the TKA with him turned into his worst bully.
Because that's how society works.
The moment your brilliance dims, they act like you were never anything special. Strip away your title, your prospects, your rank—and suddenly, you're just a ghost in the crowd.
Alen now sat alone on a bench in class, his cheek resting against the cold surface, hair draping over his face like a curtain. His pale eyes, dulled from too many days like this, stayed fixed on the slightly shaking box under the bench—the box where it rested.
"Should I keep it?" he whispered. His voice was hoarse, brittle like cracked glass.
He didn't just mean the creature inside. He meant the hope.
That raw, animal urge to be seen—it can unhinge even the greatest of minds.
Crack.
A raw egg splattered on Alen's head, the goo sliding down his pale hair and into his half-lidded eyes. More followed—crack, crack—yolk dripping down his face like some kind of cruel crown.
But Alen didn't flinch.
Three years of this. The same prank. The same childish humiliation.
Still, they kept doing it—like they were addicted to the idea of breaking him.
Behind him, someone let out an awkward breath, clearly surprised by his lack of reaction.
"The hell... you trying to act cool now?" a voice sneered.
Alen exhaled slowly, his leg slipping under the bench as he gently pushed the box further beneath it—out of harm's reach.
He stood up. Pale hair sticking wet to his forehead. Calm, eerily calm.
"I can't believe you still have nothing better to do, Peter," he muttered, running a hand through the egg-slicked strands before flicking it to the side with a sharp jolt. "Grow up, man."
His voice wasn't angry. It was flat—like a door slowly shutting.
Peter stood in front of him, fists clenched at his sides. Black stripes ran along his uniform—just one step from Golden Rank. That meant a near-certain high-ranking post in the Time Keeping Agency. Power, prestige, influence.
And yet, here he was—obsessed with tormenting someone who barely had any rank at all.
Behind Peter, his loyal followers chuckled under their breath, urging him on.
Peter's sneer twisted into something nastier. "You think you're a big deal, huh?" He grabbed Alen by the collar, pulling him forward. "You think you can just ignore me now?"
Alen didn't resist. His pale eyes remained half-lidded, unreadable.
"You're just a janitor in the Bureau. Cleaning up after criminal's shit like a dog." Peter's shove knocked Alen back a step. "That's all you'll ever be."
The laughter around them grew louder. Every insult was a knife, but Alen didn't let it show.
Peter shoved him again. Harder.
"You're nothing but trash."
"Don't you remember how you were about to cry when no Emo chose you? Like a mutt left behind at the shelter?"
"You live in that run-down dorm because you can't even afford an apartment, right?"
"Oh yeah—how'd it feel when the Bureau kicked you out the first time you applied? If it weren't for the Dean's pity, you wouldn't even have that pathetic job."
Each jab hit its mark, not because they were true, but because Alen had thought all those things. Alone, late at night. In his dorm.
Still, he said nothing.
But that silence—the calm—drove Peter mad.
"Why don't you just die, Alen?!"
CRACK—THUD!
A heavy sound echoed through the room. Peter froze. For a moment, he couldn't even breathe.
The laughter died instantly.
Alen's body had crashed down the stairs of the classroom.
He wasn't moving.
A dark pool of blood slowly spread beneath his head, turning the white floor into a crime scene. One by one, Peter's friends backed away, whispers growing frantic, and soon—they all fled.
All except Peter, now alone.
His hand trembled as he nudged Alen's body with his shoe. "H-Hey... Bastard... wake up. Don't play dead."
No answer.
Peter wiped his sweaty palm on his uniform and fled the classroom without looking back.
Silence fell again.
And in that silence, something stirred beneath the benches. A small, white furball crawled out from the shadows—its fur matted from the box's cramped space. Its eyes wide, trembling.
'You came out of the box' Alen thought weakly, his vision swimming with black.
Then, darkness took him.
Gasp.
Alen jolted upright, lungs clawing for air like he'd been drowning in his own silence. Sweat clung to his neck, and his white hair stuck to his forehead, matted and damp.
His eyes darted around.
He wasn't in the classroom anymore. No blood. No stairs.
Instead—white sheets, faint smell of antiseptic, the low hum of machines. The infirmary.
Beside him, Professor John sat with a newspaper in his hands, the print smudged by the corners of his fingers.
Alen winced as pain surged across his skull. His hand instinctively rose to his forehead, where fresh stitches pulled at the skin.
"Calm down," Professor John said gently, placing the paper aside. "Doctors said you're fine—just a few stitches. Nothing major."
Alen looked away. His lips tightened. He didn't have the authority to complain. Not about Peter. Not about what he endured.
"Yes," he said flatly, swallowing pain and pride both.
The professor exhaled through his nose, fingers laced together. "You already know even if you file a report, we can't punish him. His rank gives him… protection. Complaining would only make things harder for you."
Alen's fists clenched beneath the blanket. Jaw rigid. He wasn't surprised—but that didn't mean it hurt any less.
The professor saw it. All of it. But he didn't say a word.
Instead, he offered a small, unexpected smile. "Anyway, congratulations."
Alen blinked. "What?"
Before he could ask further, the door opened with a light creak. Two nurses walked in, giggling like schoolgirls.
In their arms—him.
The small white creature. Fluffy fur. Bright, uncertain eyes.
"Oh my, look at his eyes," one nurse whispered.
"So cute," the other grinned.
Alen held his breath as the nurses approached, laying the furball carefully in his lap.
"We did a quick check-up," one said. "He's perfectly fine. But you'll need to come in for a full scan soon—to understand his diet, energy, behavioral cycles, and so on."
The creature gently paddled toward Alen's chest, its eyes blinking with warmth and worry.
"Momo…" Alen whispered. The name came out low and raw—like he was afraid to break the moment.
The small creature nuzzled against his shirt.
Something flickered in Alen's chest.
Something warm.
Before Alen could make sense of what he was feeling, Professor John stepped forward and placed a neatly folded uniform beside the bed.
It had a blue stripe.
Alen stared at it.
"Congratulations on getting an Emo," Professor John said quietly. "There's a lot I want to explain, but for now—rest. Spend time with him. The research department is already buzzing about him. He shared his life force with you. Saved your life."
Alen's head turned sharply. "He… what?"
John nodded. "We don't know how yet. But we'll find out. And yes—there will be formal procedures, tests, and evaluations later. But for now…" he placed a warm hand on Alen's shoulder, "just heal."
The nurses followed the professor out. The door clicked softly behind them.
Silence returned.
Alen looked down. The creature—Emo—nuzzled his palm with gentle affection, as if sensing his thoughts. His breath hitched. A storm brewed in his chest.
He looked at the new uniform. His fingers hovered over the blue line, but paused. Slowly, he wiped his hand on the sheet to clean the egg residue still dried on his skin.
Only then did he touch it.
His thumb slid over the stripe with reverence.
His throat ached. His eyes burned.
This wasn't just a color.
It was a step forward.
With trembling hands, Alen scooped the white creature into his arms. His chest heaved—not from pain this time, but something else. Something sharp and bright and impossible to contain.
His lips parted—
"FINALLY!" he shouted, voice ringing through the sterile walls.
The little creature flinched at the volume, but then chirped in delight.
"I CAN GET PROMOTED!" Alen spun around on the hospital bed like a child discovering the world for the first time. His laughter echoed in the room, free and unfiltered.
He lifted the creature high into the air, its white fur glowing under the infirmary light.
"I CAN JOIN THE TRAINING GROUNDS!" he cried. "I CAN EVEN VISIT THE SPECIAL LIBRARY!"
His feet landed on the bed with a bounce, and Alen stood there grinning like an idiot, holding the creature above his head like it was a sacred treasure.
"FINALLY," he whispered, more to himself than anyone else. "Finally… I can get better tasks in the Bureau."
The creature responded with a happy "Momo!" and wiggled in his grasp, paws reaching for Alen's face.
Alen sat back down, holding him close to his chest. His breath slowed. His fingers curled into the soft fur as reality started to settle around him.
This wasn't a dream.
After three years of being unseen, unheard, forgotten—this was real.
No more silent stares. No more empty benches. No more being the boy without an Emo.
He had one now.
Not just any Emo—but one that chose him.
One that saved his life.
He looked down at the creature, who stared back with large, intelligent eyes.
Alen chuckled softly, forehead leaning against the small head of his Emo.
"Guess I'm not so alone anymore, huh?"
The creature blinked and nuzzled him again.
Outside the infirmary window, the sun hovered in a pale sky, casting golden shadows through the glass. Somewhere beyond those walls, the multiverse continued spinning—chaotic, infinite, untouchable.
But inside this small room, everything had changed.
Alen Hampson, once forgotten in the ranks, had finally taken his first real step forward.
And he wasn't going to stop now.