"I am going to Stellar High."
The echoes vanished quickly, but the words didn't. They clung to him—stinging, vibrating, multiplying—until they became a full-blown cacophony in his skull. His vision blurred.
Then everything went black.
In this world, there were three phrases no one ever wished to hear from a loved one—no, not even from an enemy:
"I am sick."
"I am mad."
"I am going to STELLAR HIGH."
Because here, madness wasn't a condition. It was a disease—a pandemic that had very nearly erased humanity in the Third World War. Not because of bullets or bombs, but because it made the impossible happen, simply by making you believe it.
That was the real horror.
---
MADNESS—What It Truly Is
It always started the same way:
with an irrefutable certainty that "that which shouldn't be… is."
That unshakable belief—usually about yourself—could not be cured. It took root, deep and poisonous. It whispered, gnawed, and dragged your thoughts into higher planes you were never built to perceive.
This was Stage One MADNESS: THE FOOL.
Stage Two: THE GENIUS
The sufferer proves the impossible.
Survives it.
Becomes it.
Matter bends, reality twists, and suddenly you have supernatural abilities—delusions, the world calls them.
Stage Three: THE MADMAN
Your delusion no longer feeds on your mind.
It feeds on others' belief in it.
It grows stronger, grander—sometimes beautiful, often grotesque.
From these delusions were born the horrors that wiped cities off the map:
eldritch beasts, nightmares made flesh, angels, devils—and far, far worse.
Everest should've died to one as a child; the memory alone gave him a personal vendetta with Madness.
Fear was the world's greatest resource.
Humans had plenty.
And so, the world plunged back into a Dark Age, where myths, folk tales, and primal fears walked the earth with full legal authority to kill you.
Humanity survived.
Barely.
Scarred.
If not for the three Enigmas, everything would've ended.
The third of them—THE HOUSEMASTER—created Stellar High:
a sanctuary, a screen, and a gilded cage.
The only place where Madness was legal…
because it was profitable.
Everywhere else?
Madmen were "examined" or "disposed of" for public safety.
So concealing even a hint of Madness was the single gravest crime.
And Everest…
Everest had been mad since childhood.
Nineteen next month, if his memory was right.
---
"Everest—"
That voice dragged him out of his unraveling mind.
"Everest! …HEY!"
He snapped back into himself, though the world still felt like it was peeling apart. He managed a hoarse,
"Huh? What—yes."
And with his entire sense of self cracking open, he forced out one weak sentence:
"You can't do that."
But the dream wasn't done with him.
She wasn't done with him.
The worst was still waiting.
His vision returned. She was staring at him with a strange expression—something between concern and confusion. Then he saw it clearly.
Pity.
He hated that.
"Everest," she whispered, "are you telling me… I should go against the law and not turn myself in?"
She hesitated.
Then, almost gently:
"Just like you did?"
That was it.
His world finally collapsed.
"Like hell it's anything like mine!" His voice cracked with fury. "Do you have any idea how hard it's been to live like a criminal for years!? To have nobody to tell!? Nobody who would listen to a madman's story—least of all you! Actually stop—would you have listened!?"
Her reply came even softer.
"No."
The honesty hit harder than any insult.
His anger surged—
"That's right! You wouldn't! Nobody would! So don't you dare compare your case to mine. I—I had my reasons!"
She shot back, expression flat:
"So why enroll now?"
You—
He tried to answer. Tried to scream the truth. Tried to say anything—
But his ruined voice betrayed him.
He collapsed into violent coughing.
He had pushed his body far beyond its limits today. His throat was shredded, his mind unspooling.
He crouched and let the pain tear through him.
He would've cried if he had any tears left.
He didn't.
When he finally lifted his gaze, he wished he hadn't.
She was looking at him with disgust—pure, unfiltered.
She masked it quickly, but the damage was done.
Her voice softened again, falsely gentle.
"Everest… you know you've always been frail. Don't push yourself too hard. It'll hurt me too."
Then she looked away, tone cooling into something sharp and cruel.
"But I'm not a criminal. I won't commit a crime. You've betrayed us—me, my father who sheltered you, our family and friends, the empire—"
Her voice broke into bitterness.
"—the whole damn world. Why did you do this to me!? You know I'm terrible at choosing sides and now I have to pick between you and everything I love. How is that fair!?"
He said nothing.
Just breathed. Barely.
Then he smiled.
A weak, hollow, broken thing.
"So you can't after all," he whispered.
She nearly cried. A shadow crossed her face as silence settled between them.
BONG. BONG. BONG.
The clock struck midnight.
Finally, she looked at him and stammered:
"I—I choose… the world."
Her voice drowned out the bells.
Drowned out everything.
And then—
---
He woke up.
"I am going to Stellar High."
The words echoed again—this time like a choir singing discordantly through his skull.
And unknowingly, both of them had said something else in that dream, hidden under their breaths, under their breaking selves:
[I am mad.]