Auren Hoshinaka had learned early that silence was safer than speaking, that being unnoticed was better than being seen.
But at Ironleaf Academy, even silence made him a target.
He wasn't tall. He wasn't confident. He didn't wear expensive shoes or carry the latest phone. He was short, overweight, and had eyes that always looked like they were waiting to cry—but never did.
To the others, he was nothing more than a joke.
"Hey, lard boy," someone whispered behind him as he walked through the hallway.
A foot shot out. He stumbled and crashed into a locker. Laughter exploded around him.
Auren picked himself up quietly, holding his books close like they were armor. He wanted to scream. To fight. To say anything. But his voice had long ago been buried under fear.
Later that day, they waited for him—three boys from senior year. Bigger, stronger, crueler.
They followed him into the empty bathroom.
"No teachers. No cameras. Perfect," one of them smirked.
Auren turned to leave, heart pounding. But the tallest one blocked the exit. Another snatched his bag and threw it into the sink.
"What's in here? Ooh, notebooks. Are you writing poetry, tubby?" They laughed, pulling out a photo.
It was a worn, folded picture—Auren and his mother, smiling on his birthday. A rare moment of happiness.
One of them tore it in half right down the middle.
Something cracked inside Auren.
"Don't touch that!" he shouted, stepping forward.
A punch silenced him.
He crumpled to the floor, gasping for air, vision swimming. They kicked him twice more before walking out, laughing.
When he came home, his mother barely recognized him. Torn shirt. Swollen lip. Blood on his sleeves. But it was the look in his eyes that broke her—he looked like someone who'd stopped hoping.
"Auren…" she whispered, gently touching his face. "What did they do to you?"
He didn't answer. He just sat there, motionless.
---
The next morning, she stormed into the academy, holding his hand tightly like when he was little.
She screamed in front of the entire courtyard—at the teachers, at the bullies, at a system that had let her son be crushed.
But the boys were there too. And they weren't ashamed.
They laughed in her face.
"This loser again?" one of them said.
They pushed Auren to the ground again—right in front of the only person who'd ever truly cared.
"Take your fat little freak home. He doesn't belong here."
And for the first time, his mother didn't have any words left.
That night, their tiny apartment was drenched in silence.
His mother sat at the edge of the bed, clutching an envelope. Her hands trembled slightly.
"I've been saving this," she said softly. "It's not much, but it'll get you out of here."
Auren stared at the envelope, his throat tightening.
"You'll go to Namsu University," she continued. "In Hanzora metropolis . Your grandfather's house is still standing. No rent. No noise. Just... a fresh start."
He looked up at her, confused. "But... what about you?"
She smiled, but it didn't reach her eyes. "I'll be fine. Once you've made it... I'll come too."
He didn't respond. He just sat there, staring at the money in his hands. His knuckles turned white as he gripped the envelope tighter.
Auren didn't sleep that night.
He stood by the window until the city lights dimmed, heart heavy, thoughts louder than ever.
A train ticket lay on the table.
Morning would come soon.
But whether he would leave... was a question only he could answer.
_____