Lucas was just another ordinary college student, nineteen years old, dreaming of making it big in life. He had no friends and no close relatives—just an old mother whose grave he had dug with his own hands. Lacking the money for proper treatment, he had helplessly watched her die in a car accident.
Another day passed. His face remained cold and unreadable, his usual detached, unbothered "sigma" expression. As he left a small food stall, a group of girls whispered among themselves, "What a disgusting guy. He didn't even shed a tear for his mother's death."
Lucas ignored them and walked down a narrow alley on his way home from the local community college. There, he caught sight of Jumy—the daughter of his landlord. A creepy smile curled across his face as he called out,
"Hey, Jumy… my bed's really cold. Think you could help me warm it tonight?"
Jumy was disgusted, though she tried to keep her emotions in check. She didn't want to create more trouble.
"Don't cross the line, Lucas," she warned sharply. "My father's already doing you a favor—letting you stay and helping you out with money. You're practically living rent-free. Push it any further, and I'll ask him to kick you out tonight."
Ignoring her warning, Lucas suddenly grabbed both her hands and lifted them forcefully, nearly pulling her off the ground. She screamed at the top of her lungs as he leaned in and pressed his lips against hers.
She froze, her face flushed with shock. From the balcony above, her brother saw everything. Anger and pain flooded his eyes as he shouted Lucas's name. He rushed down, gripping a metal bat, ready to strike.
Lucas shoved Jumy aside. Her flushed, stunned face reflected the chaos of what had just unfolded. Just as her furious, steaming brother burst out of the house, she instinctively moved to stop him.
"How dare he do that!" Jack roared, gripping the metal bat tighter.
"Let it go, Jack," Jumy said, her voice trembling. "He's just… disturbed. It was a mistake."
"I won't leave him," Jack growled.
Jumy was scared of her brother's temper, but she was equally furious at Lucas for what had happened.
The evening slowly faded, and night crept in. The soft chirping of insects filled the air—the kind that always came out after dark. From the distance, the bright lights and bustling traffic of the city's rich district contrasted sharply with the silent, cramped slums below.
Lucas lay on his narrow bed, lost in a newly released battle royale game. Suddenly, a stone smashed through his window, snapping him out of his focus. Startled, he sat up slowly, eyes narrowing as he scanned the room. He stepped toward the window and picked up the stone.
His room was barely twenty square meters—cramped, dimly lit, and silent. He peered outside, but the alley was empty. Only a lone dog barked under a flickering streetlight.
His heartbeat quickened. He grabbed his phone to distract himself—notifications popped up from streamers and the games he played. Without wasting time, he shut the curtains, gulped down a glass of water from a jar, locked the door, and lay back down to sleep.
Around midnight, the same dog barked relentlessly, but no one stepped out into the dark alley to quiet it. Insects crawled across the walls, and the air grew thick with a foul stench.
Moments later, a group of figures emerged from the darkness, walking toward a nearby building. They carried sticks and bats, their faces partially hidden. Some puffed on e-cigarettes; others chewed gum, spitting carelessly onto the ground.
Among them, one teenager spat out tobacco before adjusting his chain. At the front, a man stumbled forward—disturbed and drunk—clutching a chain in one hand and a broken bottle in the other. His eyes burned with rage as he led the group toward Lucas's building.