I had sworn I would survive that coward. The one who strutted the hallways like he was a god, like the school was his personal kingdom. Josh—the guy everyone feared, the one no one ever dared to cross. But I did. And I was ready to face the consequences, no matter how brutal they might be.
After everything I saw Sharif go through—every humiliation, every blow he took in silence—something inside me snapped. Rage simmered beneath my skin, and in that moment, I knew: this ends with me.
That day in the classroom, I lashed out. My knuckles cracked against Josh's smug face, the shock in his eyes more satisfying than I ever thought possible. For a split second, the room was dead silent—until the gasps, the screams, the chaos erupted. No one had ever challenged him before. Not Josh. Not the so-called "king" of the school. The whispers started immediately, rippling through the crowd like a storm. I had done the unthinkable. But I didn't care. Someone had to stop him, and I didn't mind being that someone.
But I should've known it wouldn't end there.
After the final bell rang and the school emptied, I was dragged—no, ambushed—and pulled into a dark storage room near the school's gym. The shadows crept across the floor, long and cold. That's where Josh waited. Not alone, of course. He never faced anyone alone.
Two of his boys held me down. One of them was a massive guy named Philips—quiet, brooding, with the kind of strength that makes you wonder why he's not the one in charge. But he always followed Josh, always.
Josh stepped forward, his lips curled in that disgusting smirk of his.
"You thought you could humiliate me? You really think you're some kind of hero?"
The blows came fast. A fist to the ribs and a knee to the gut. My vision blurred, pain pulsed through every nerve. I struggled, but the grip on my arms was unyielding. Philips was like a statue—strong, cold, and emotionless. I could see something in his eyes, though. A flicker of pity. Or was it regret?
It didn't matter. None of it did.
I remembered the words Death had whispered to me the day I crossed over. Survive the test, and you may yet return. That voice echoed in my mind with every blow Josh landed. All I had to do was endure and survive. But God, it hurt.
The door burst open.
She walked in—Rita. The girl Josh had always liked. I thought she came to help. Maybe someone had finally had enough. But I was wrong. So wrong.
Her eyes darted around, assessing the scene. And then she scoffed.
"What a mess. You're pathetic," she spat, glaring at me. "Can't even take a beating like a man?"
She turned and walked out, her insults lingering in the air like poison. That's when it hit me—there's no such thing as a kind-hearted bully. Everyone played their part in this twisted system. Some inflicted pain, others watched in silence.
When they finally let me go, I stumbled home, every muscle in my body screaming in protest.
My apartment looked ordinary—too ordinary. I stared at the chipped paint, the worn-out couch, the thin walls that barely kept in the warmth. It felt wrong. Like I was walking into someone else's life. Because I was.
"This feels weird," I muttered aloud. "Walking into someone else's apartment like it's mine."
I sat heavily on the couch, trying to ignore the weight of my new reality.
"Guess I'm not rich this time around," I whispered, laughing bitterly.
In my past life, I always dreamed of wealth—not for greed, but for survival. I had grown up in poverty, raised by a mother who gave everything so I could have a better shot. All I wanted was to repay her. A good job, a family, a home. Those simple things. Things I never reached before death claimed me.
Now I was living in Sharif's body, with his memories and scars buried beneath my own. His struggles weren't foreign—they mirrored mine in unsettling ways. And now, I was the one being hunted.
His mother came home late, exhausted but smiling.
"Dinner's ready," she said softly.
She noticed my silence immediately. "Did something happen? You look... down."
I froze, emotions swirling inside me like a storm. I wanted to tell her everything. About Josh. About the beating. About how I wasn't even her son. But instead, I forced a small smile.
"Just tired."
She looked at me, frowning. "You're being awfully polite today. That's not like you."
So Sharif wasn't the obedient type, huh?
As we sat down to eat, I saw her through new eyes. Not as a stranger, but as a reflection of the mother I had left behind. And I knew—I had to keep going. Not just to survive, but to fight, for Sharif and for myself. For every kid who had been crushed under Josh's reign of terror.
That night, just as I started to draft a plan in my head, a text came in.
"Bring the money tomorrow or you're dead."
Simple and cold. So typical of Josh.
My stomach turned. Not just from the threat—but from the implication. I'd have to lie. To her. To the only light in this new, cruel world.
How did Sharif endure this for so long? How did he walk these halls, lived in this skin, carried this pain—and still found the strength to smile?
He hadn't. He killed himself. And now, I understood why. But I wasn't going to follow that same path. I had to be smarter.
The next morning, I woke up early. The sun mocked me with its warmth, but I dressed, ready for war. My target wasn't Josh—not yet. It was Philips. He was the key to ending all these.
Philips was the muscle. The backbone of Josh's operation. Without him, Josh's power would crumble.
I found him near the science wing, leaning against the wall with a book in hand. He always looked so unbothered. But I knew better.
"Philips," I said, walking up to him. "Can you beat Josh in a fight?"
He looked at me like I had lost my mind. "What the hell are you on about?"
"I'm serious," I said, stepping closer. "You were part of the crew that beat me yesterday. But I noticed something. You're stronger than Josh. Way stronger."
His eyes narrowed.
"What are you? Some kind of expert at getting beat up? You want a round two?"
I smiled. "I just don't get it. Why does a guy like you take orders from a loser like him? He slapped you yesterday. In front of everyone."
Something twitched in his jaw. Progress.
"You've really lost it," he muttered.
I leaned in, voice low. "If I was as strong as you, no one would dare touch me. Yet, you let him push you around like a dog."
He shoved me. "Back off."
But he didn't walk away.
I pushed further. "You're feared and espected. So why is he in charge?"
His eyes darkened.
"I could crush Josh with one hand," he snapped. "But I can't."
"Why not?"
"Because of him," Philips hissed.
"Who?"
"His backup. Senior student. Strongest in the district. His clique."
That was the missing piece.
Philips wasn't afraid of Josh. He was afraid of what came after.
Now I knew—if I wanted to take down Josh, I had to go through his enforcer. The real power behind the throne.
And suddenly, everything became clear. The bullies, the fear, the hierarchy—it was all sustained by one thing: submission. Philips didn't lack strength. He lacked the will to rebel.
But I didn't.
I will be the crack in their empire. I will not let Sharif's suffering be in vain.