However, it was different from what Haruto had thought. The bullying didn't stop there. It got worse, but in a different way.
The kind that slowly gnawed away at his patience and growing desperation.
For example, his desk was scrawled over with mockery, insults, and even death threats. His books were thrown out into the school garden, drenched and muddied. His shoes disappeared the moment he switched into his indoor slippers.
Childish pranks. Something immature and petty. But for a kid like Haruto, it was terrifying.
The silent treatment in class. The loud whispers behind his back. The laughter when he tripped, the forced kindness of a teacher who clearly knew what was going on but pretended not to.
It was as if he had become something wrong. Something twisted. Something to be ridiculed.
And all of it—every smirk, every shove, every petty sabotage—made his blood boil.
It was fury, not fear, that pushed his feet back toward the temple courtyard where it all began.
