The laughter was a physical thing, a wave of heat that crashed against the back of Leon's neck. He kept his eyes locked on the smudged text of his borrowed book, trying to make the words form a shield against them, especially her.
"I mean, honestly," Vera's voice cut through the classroom chatter with a sweet and venomous texture.
"Does he think staring at the building will make his father's work any less pathetic? Or earn respect for a filthy painter?"
The words 'filthy painter' hung in the air, aimed directly at him. Leon's knuckles whitened around the edge of his desk. In this glass-walled academy, he was the only one with a father who worked with his hands, who always came home smelling of sweat and solvent instead of money and power.
He focused on the distant silhouette of the Granum Tower, a needle scratching the underbelly of the sky. His father was up there right now, on the scaffold, adding colors to its surface. The thought was usually a knot of anxiety and pride. But today, under Ver's scorn, it was just shame.
[Dad… I'll make you proud, take you out of your work, and earn you a respect.] Tiny drops of tears rolled on his cheeks as a leaf blew against the window.
A chorus of synchronized chimes erupted around the room, then another. Smart devices lit up on every wrist and desk. A low murmur of interest stirred, replacing the lazy hum of the afternoon.
Vera gasped, a sound of pure, performative delight as she flaunted her hair. "Oh my gods, guys, have you seen the news? A plane crash! Guess where this one landed?"
Leon didn't look up, he had no device to check. He just kept staring at the Granum Tower, at the tiny speck he imagined to be his dad's scaffold.
With a cunning stare, Vera cleared her throat. "It says it hit a building under maintenance," she continued, her voice shimmering with cruel excitement. "Oh, painting crews were on the site. I guess some people's luck is just as thin as their income."
Painting crews. Granum Tower.
The world didn't slow down, it stopped. Every sound was drained from the room, Vera's voice becoming a distant, meaningless buzz.
"Guess their families can pick up the brushes now." Her stare shimmered in Leon's mind like polished staff. Cracking sound echoed around Leon as he tightened his fist.
His heart didn't just skip a beat, instead it seized, a cold fist in his chest. His textbook slipped from his numb fingers, and hit the floor with a slap that echoed in the sudden silence of his own mind.
"NO…"
He was moving before he could think, fumbling in his patched bag for the ancient, cracked communicator his family had shared through ages. His hands trembled so violently as he raised it, causing him to nearly drop it.
With shaking breaths and tear-filled eyes, he hit the single speed-dial button. Home. It rang, and rang, but no response came.
He tried again countless times, but the empty tone that played turned like a nail in his own coffin.
The other students whispers now felt like they were shouted directly into his ears. As he looked around nervously, he caught Jade's indifferent glance, Zoe's pitying wince, and Tiger's predatory grin. They were all looking at him like a shadow. They knew, they all knew his father was there.
His vision swam, making the classroom tilts on its axis. He was drowning in it, in the certainty that was crushing his lungs. "Dad."
"Oh, guess some people are just born unlucky… like painters." Vera laughed, her voice cutting deeper in Leon's heart like Soul's spear.
Then, a shadow fell over his desk. Mr. Lee stood at the classroom door, his face pale, his kind eyes etched with a grief so profound it stole the last air from Leon's lungs. The teacher's gaze found Leon's, and held it like bonded chains.
"Leon," Mr. Lee said, his voice low and rough with an emotion Leon had never heard from him before. "A word, in my office. Now."
Every head turned like streetlights toward Leon. The laughter was gone, replaced by a ringing, anticipatory silence that comes before a storm.
Leon rose on unsteady legs, the world a blurred vision. He had a restless mind, and tear-blurred eyes. He knew, with a certainty that was colder than fear that he was walking toward the confirmation that his world had just collapsed.
"Don't worry," Vera whispered as he passed. "We're here for you, as we always do." Her grin was that of a hawk sighting prey.
Every step was a battle. Every breath tasted like broken glass. Each tear weighed like a hammer against his chest.
Mr. Lee didn't speak, didn't wait for him either. They walked until they were at his office door, where no prying eyes could see them. He placed a heavy hand on Leon's shoulder, and exhaled deeply.
"I saw the news," Mr. Lee said, his voice low, carrying a grief Leon had never heard before. "I know your father was at the Granum Tower today. I am… so sorry, Leon."
The words were a formal verdict. The last flicker of hope in his heart guttered and died. He stared at the pristine floor, unable to speak, unable to breathe either. Sorry. People said they were sorry when there was no hope left.
"Let me take you home," Mr. Lee offered. "You shouldn't be alone."
Numb, Leon just nodded. He followed Mr. Lee through the gleaming halls, a ghost in a world of vibrant, careless life. Every window seemed like prison's gate. Eyes drew to them like holes in a fishing net.
But among the wide eyes, one stayed still, unblinking. Just staring like the destroyer of worlds.
[Why?! I won't believe it until I see his body with my own eyes.]
As the door opened wide sending in the sun's gaze, Leon's knees buckled, and then everything turned into a still blackness.