Chapter 34 - Nightmares
"What kind of demi-human are you?"
Those were the very first words that greeted me when we moved to the new province. I was only seven or eight years old, a quiet elementary schooler trying to make sense of a sudden change in scenery.
The local kids gathered around me in a tight circle, their eyes scanning me with an intense, clinical curiosity. They parted my messy brown hair, staring at my temples to look for hidden scales. They squinted at my head, searching for the tufts of animal ears, and even circled behind me to see if a tail was tucked into my shorts. They found absolutely nothing.
"I... I'm not a demi-human," I stammered, my voice shrinking under their heavy stares. "I guess I'm just a regular human?"
"A human?" The kids exchanged blank, bewildered looks. Then, one of them shrugged. "So... like a downgrade?"
That simple, innocent word became the foundation of my entire childhood.
In a world where fantasy creatures had integrated into modern society, humanity was no longer the crown of creation; we were a baseline, an afterthought. The demi-human kids possessed natural, evolutionary gifts that left me entirely in the dust. A bull demi-human child had three times my muscle mass without ever lifting a weight. A crow demi-human possessed an innate, razor-sharp cognitive speed that made adult concepts look like child's play.
Being a demi-human was the standard of society, and being a human meant you were a subspecies.
That was how it had always been for us. Historically, many wars were caused by humanity due to misunderstanding, conquest, or pure racist motives. I'm not saying that other races didn't cause any wars in the past; it's just that, historically, humans initiated more wars than any other species due to conquest.
That was taught to us in grade school: how humanity drove some species to extinction. So naturally, in a society ruled by other species, it always leaves a bad taste in their mouths. Eventually, all human civilizations were destroyed, leaving only humans living in countries governed by other races, such as elves or demi-humans.
And about the bullying... It wasn't always physical. Most of the time, it was a quiet, crushing exclusion. It was also the realization that I was physically and biologically inferior in their eyes. Year after year, that neglect chipped away at my self-esteem, burying my voice deep down and cultivating a paralyzing social anxiety that kept me locked inside my own head.
***
By the time I entered high school, I had learned to make myself invisible. My brown hair grew long, draped over my face like a protective curtain to shield my eyes from the world. I was the silent human boy who sat in the back corner, the one whom teachers and peers comfortably ignored.
Until the day the final exam results were posted in the main hallway.
"Wow, Paul! A hundred percent on the exams?! That's completely crazy!"
A green lizard-man suddenly threw his scaly, heavy arm around my shoulder, laughing loudly.
The hallway was packed with students of all grades, crowding around the massive bulletin board to check their rankings. The atmosphere was a chaotic mix of relief and despair:
An owl demi-human groaned aloud, slamming his feathered palm against his face at a miserable thirty-two percent.
A centaur with thick spectacles nodded in quiet satisfaction, adjusting his glasses at an eighty-five percent.
An elf with vibrant, golden hair smirked elegantly at his ninety-nine percent, only for his eyes to widen in genuine shock as his gaze drifted to the very top of the list.
1st Place: Paul Gapor - 100%
In an instant, the entire hallway went dead silent. Dozens of eyes, reptilian, avian, and elven alike, slowly turned to look at me.
For a kid who had spent his entire life trying to disappear, the sudden spotlight was terrifying. The very same peers who had spent years treating me like nothing were suddenly looking at me with awe. I had spent my childhood without a single friend, but my academic success suddenly made me visible.
At first, I tried my best to adjust to the attention. I made a few acquaintances, letting myself believe that my intellect had finally bridged the gap between us. But the illusion didn't last.
Whenever the weekend approached and my new "friends" gathered to plan their parties, a strange, heavy silence would fall over the group the moment I walked up. They would exchange long, contemplative looks, their eyes darting to my lack of animal traits, before offering polite, apologetic smiles.
"Sorry, Paul, our slots are totally full. My orc friends grabbed the last spots, sorry, friend."
"Sorry, Paul, my mother doesn't really like humans all that much... it would be weird if you came."
"Invited? Oh, you weren't invited, pal. Sorry. The party is only for..."
...
The excuses always trailed off, but the unspoken truth hung in the air. They weren't just busy; they were ashamed to be seen with a human. I was good for copying homework and explaining complex math formulas, but when the books closed, I was still just a downgrade.
By the time graduation arrived, I walked across the stage without saying a single goodbye. I cut ties with every single one of them.
***
I fled to university, placing all my remaining hope into the one thing that had never betrayed me: science. I spent my days buried in advanced chemistry textbooks, finding comfort in the logical, unyielding laws of molecular structures. Chemistry didn't care about your bloodline or your lifespan. It was pure, fair, and consistent.
I promised myself I would earn my degree, secure a high-paying job, and make my parents proud. I wanted to prove that a human family could succeed, even in a world stacked against us.
But reality had other plans.
Just a semester into my university studies, a devastating phone call shattered my world. My mother had suffered a severe, late-stage miscarriage. The baby, a little girl who was supposed to be my younger sister, had failed to develop properly in the womb, a tragic failure tore our family apart. The grief was a toxic, silent poison. Within a few months, the strain was too much, and my parents divorced.
I buried myself deeper into my studies to escape the pain. I made no friends, spoke to no classmates, and spent my evenings in empty laboratories. My only social interactions were with my chemistry professors, kindly old academics who took pity on the brilliant, silent human boy and offered gentle life advice over cold coffee.
Graduation day was a lonely affair.
There were no cheering crowds of friends for me. The only person standing in the audience was my mother. As I walked down the steps with my degree in hand, my chest tightened painfully at the sight of her. Running through her neatly kept brown hair were distinct, prominent silver lines.
She was getting old, and she was doing it entirely alone. The realization struck me like a physical blow; time was running out, and I had to succeed. For her sake.
***
For my first official job interview, I spared no effort. I bought a crisp, black corporate tuxedo, polished my shoes, and neatly combed my long hair back, finally exposing my dark red eyes to the world. I wanted to look professional, capable, and confident.
"Mr. Gapor, you've got excellent academic scores. Valedictorian? Very interesting..."
The HR manager, a tall, impeccably dressed Lycan, was casually flipping through my portfolio.
"I see you completed your advanced internship with Chemicals Incorporated," the Lycan noted, his sharp, golden eyes locking onto mine. "How many hours did you log there?"
"One thousand four hundred hours, sir," I answered gently, keeping my posture straight and my voice steady.
The Lycan hummed, tapping his clawed finger against the desk. "Fourteen hundred hours. You did exceptionally well during your time there. Even the senior supervisors praised your analytical skills and chemical calculations."
"Thank you, sir," I smiled, a genuine spark of hope warming my chest.
"But... unfortunately, we don't have any open slots for you at this time." He let out a soft, theatrical sigh, looking mildly disappointed.
My smile froze. "What...?"
"You see, we just hired an elf who applied for the position," the Lycan explained, offering a polite, empty smile. "His resume shows one hundred and twenty years of active experience in the chemical field. I'm sure you understand. We simply cannot pass up that level of longevity."
"Oh..." The warmth in my chest instantly turned to ice. I forced down the rising lump in my throat, desperately trying to keep my voice from trembling. "T-that's okay. I understand."
"Fret not, Mr. Gapor. I have plenty of connections in the industry," he said, handing my resume back to me. "I'll gladly recommend you to them when they have openings."
He shook my hand, and I clung to that tiny thread of hope. I followed every lead, traveling across provinces using the meager savings my father had left behind. I applied to every company I had ever interned with, desperate to prove my worth.
"Six hundred hours of internship with us? That is very impressive, Paul. But unfortunately, our slots are full."
"A masterful grasp of organic chemistry! Truly. But we've decided to go with a dwarf applicant. Their natural chemistry for metallurgy and earthen compounds is a better fit."
Months turned into a year, and then another year. Every single door slammed shut in my face, always with the same polite, patronizing smile.
Two years. It took me two years to find a job suited for my level.
My father had moved out of the country to Australia, eventually marrying a dwarven woman. We barely spoke. My mother lived with her new husband, a demi-human rabbit who tolerated my presence but clearly viewed me as a burden. She would occasionally slip me money, her gentle words of encouragement only making me feel like a pathetic, parasitic failure.
The weight of constant, systematic rejection began to crush me.
***
The rain was pouring in relentless, icy sheets the night I finally gave up.
I walked into a small, dimly lit local bar in my hometown, my corporate tuxedo soaked through and clinging to my shivering frame. My hair had fallen back down, a wet, messy curtain that completely veiled my eyes. In my hand, my leather briefcase was dripping wet, protecting a stack of useless resumes, medical certificates, and academic honors that apparently weren't worth the paper they were printed on.
I slumped onto a stool at the empty bar. I had never tasted alcohol in my life, but tonight, the crushing weight in my chest demanded a distraction.
"A Tequila Sunrise," I muttered to the bartender. "And... a Shirley Temple."
I paid with my father's money, the guilt of using his charity twisting like a knife in my gut. I took a slow sip of the cocktail. I hated the bitter, stinging burn of the alcohol, finding solace only in the sweet, non-alcoholic grenadine of the Shirley Temple.
The bell above the tavern door rang, signaling a new patron. I didn't bother to turn around, keeping my head low as I stared into my colorful drink.
"Oh! Paul?! Is that actually you?"
I stiffened, slowly turning my head.
Sitting down on the stool right next to me was a well-dressed, affluent-looking man. My eyes widened slightly as the dim tavern lights caught his features. It was the green lizard-man from high school; the very same kid who used to corner me in the library, begging me to do his homework so he wouldn't fail out of school.
"Hey, man! How has it been?" he laughed heartily, clapping his large, scaly hands together.
I stared at him. He looked incredibly successful. He wore a tailored, expensive coat, and a thick, polished gold ring gleamed on his middle finger.
"Oh. It's you," I murmured, my voice flat.
I have forgotten his name.
He didn't notice my misery. He happily launched into a story about his life, boasting about the three successful hotels he now owned and managed across Japan, and how his wife was currently pregnant with their twelfth child.
I sat there, listening to the classmate who had barely scraped by with a passing grade talk about his empire, while I, the valedictorian with a master's degree in chemistry, sat in a soaked suit with a wet briefcase full of rejections.
My pride, bruised and battered as it was, flared with a sudden, agonizing heat. I couldn't stand the look in his eyes. I couldn't listen to another word of his perfect, effortless success..
"Sorry, friend," I lied, pretending to check my cheap, water-damaged watch. "It looks like I have to run. I have an early meeting tomorrow."
"Oh, I see," the lizard-man paused, his expression softening into a warm, genuine smile. "Well, it was great seeing you, Paul. Take care of yourself, alright?"
"Yeah. You too."
I grabbed my briefcase and walked out of the bar, stepping directly into the freezing, torrential rain. The cold water washed over my face, blending with the bitter tears I refused to let anyone see.
That was the night the light behind my eyes finally went out. I went home, locked the door to my room, and decided to never step foot into the outside world again.
***
Twenty-two years had passed, slipping away like water through clenched fingers.
These constant rejections have really put out my blazing passion and turned me into a degenerate.
During those decades of self-imposed exile, I spent my days sitting in front of a glowing computer screen, mindlessly playing gacha games. I chased after digital, pixelated characters, pouring my limited energy into virtual worlds because they were the only things in existence that couldn't reject me. I watched seasonal anime, letting the fictional lives of cartoon characters dictate my calendar, as morning, noon, and night blended into one endless, gray haze.
The only times I ever ventured outside my room were to visit manga conventions, and even those rare excursions were exercises in pure agony. The sheer volume of people at the train stations, the sea of passing demi-human and human eyes, would trigger such a violent, suffocating panic in my chest that I would routinely find myself leaning against cold tiled pillars, clutching my chest, and almost passing out from hyperventilation. I was a ghost haunting the edges of a society that had long since forgotten me.
I had become a useless, skinny-middle-aged shut-in, locked away in the safety of my mother's home.
I remained under the same roof as my mother and her new husband, a demi-human rabbit. My stepfather was a complete prick. He loved to put on a fake, performative show of being a caring, authoritative figure whenever my mother was within earshot, but the moment her back was turned, his demeanor shifted. When we were alone, he was significantly harsher, colder, and deeply dismissive of my very existence.
He was the one who had practically forced me to attend my high school reunion.
"It will be incredibly good for your social health, Paul," he had said, flashing that tight, insincere smile of his.
But it wasn't good for me. It was a complete, unmitigated nightmare.
Every single person from my old graduating class had accomplished something tangible. They arrived wearing expensive coats, sporting bright, confident smiles, and talking endlessly about their thriving corporate careers. They passed around printed photos of their beautiful children, boasting about having three or four kids with proud, glowing eyes.
And then, inevitably, the conversation had turned to me.
I vividly remembered sitting at that crowded table, my hands sweating as I gripped my glass. When they asked what I was up to, I had stammered through my words, my voice shaking as I quietly admitted that I had never landed that specialized chemistry job. The exact, prestigious position I had passionately sworn to everyone I would chase until the very end.
The sudden silence that suffocated the table afterward was deafening. No one knew what to say. I could feel their eyes drifting away from my face, looking down at their drinks or scanning the room for any excuse to change the subject. But worse than the silence were the lingering, toxic stares they shot me when they thought I wasn't paying attention.
I saw the pity, the deep confusion, and the distinct twinge of embarrassment in their eyes.
They were embarrassed for my failure, and in that crowded room, I felt like an object that had completely stopped moving while the rest of the universe rushed past.
That reunion cemented my retreat. I returned home, locked the bedroom door, and decided I would never try again.
My mother never gave up on me, though. For twenty-two years, she brought meals to my door, left the television on in the living room just to give me background noise, and spoke gently to me through the wood, even when I didn't possess the strength to reply. Every time I caught a glimpse of her, my chest would tighten at the sight of her aging face, the gray lines in her brown hair multiplying year after year.
Then, one day, my father called from Australia.
His voice over the line sounded incredibly tired, worn thin by the years, but there was no anger in his tone. There was no disappointment. He just said he missed me, and that he wanted to see his son.
To my surprise, my mother didn't stop me. She just looked at me with those tired, loving eyes and nodded. "You're still his son," she said softly. "Go."
For the first time in decades, I packed a bag. As my fingers zipped the suitcase, a tiny, fragile spark of hope flickered in my chest. I was forty-seven years old, but maybe, just maybe, this trip was my chance to start over. Maybe I could finally step out of the shadows.
But fate, as always, enjoyed the cruelest jokes.
BANG!
"UGH!"
BANG! BANG! BANG!
"S-STOP!" I clutched my chest. "IT HURTS!"
More bullets came.
"AHHHHHHHHHHhhhhhh!"
My voice faintly dissapeared in the void.
***
"AHH!"
Lyra groaned, rubbing her backside after being shaken clean out of her bunk by the violent movement of the bunk, or rather, by my frantic thrashing.
"K-Kyro?" she mumbled, rubbing the sleep from her eyes.
"AH!" I screamed, thrashing wildly against the scratchy wool blankets of my bed. The nightmare still clung to my brain like hot tar. "IT HURTS! STOP IT! PLEASE, STOP!"
Recognizing the raw panic in my voice, Lyra scrambled to her feet. The annoying, teasing sister routine instantly vanished.
"AHHHH!" I shrieked at the top of my lungs, my chest squeezing in phantom agony.
"KYRO!"
Lyra leaped onto the floorboards as she leaned to my mattress, slamming her hand onto my forehead. "W-what are you doing?!"
"Please... I don't wanna die... Mom... Dad..." I sobbed unconsciously. Tears streamed down my temples, pooling on the mattress. I was entirely trapped back on that hijacked plane, feeling the cold steel against my neck and the sting of lead tearing through my lungs.
Lyra stared down at me, her golden eyes wide as she swallowed hard. "Is he... having a nightmare?" She gritted her teeth, a mixture of panic and determination crossing her face. "Kyro, wake up!"
She raised her palm, wound up like she was trying to pitch a baseball, and slapped me right across the cheek.
SLAP!
"Ah!" I yelped. The sharp, stinging pain on my face instantly shattered the illusion of the gunshots.
"WAKE UP!" Lyra yelled, climbing on top of my chest and grabbing me by the shoulders. She began violently shaking me back and forth, turning my vision into a blurry, dizzying mess. "GET UP, NITWIT! WAKE UPPP!"
"Ahhh-Aahhh-AHhhh-AAhhhh, I'm up! I'm up! Alright—stop shaking me!" I yelled, my voice wavering in rhythm with her aggressive shaking.
She finally let go, and I slumped back onto my pillow, my head spinning and my heart hammering against my ribs. I stared at the upper bunk, utterly disoriented. Then, my attention turned to the wooden ceiling of our cabin... the ship. Not a plane.
I was Kyro, not Paul.
"Ah... My head hurts..." I groaned, propping myself up with my left arm while rubbing my sore, slapped cheek. "And my face hurts too, for the record."
Lyra backed off, sitting on the edge of the bed and crossing her arms to hide the slight trembling in her fingers. "Hey. You okay?"
"Ugh... I guess so." I let out a long, ragged breath, trying to blink away the residual terror. "Why did you wake me up like that anyway? What do you want?" I raised a skeptical, slightly irritated eyebrow.
"You were screaming in your sleep, Nitwit," she muttered, rolling her eyes in a classic display of defensive sibling armor. "I simply wanted to know if you were okay. You were making a ridiculous amount of noise."
"I was screaming...?" I took a moment to process her words.
"Yeah. And you were crying too," she added, her voice pitching slightly higher as she looked away, clearly uncomfortable with the sudden vulnerability of the moment.
"Oh..." I sighed, raising a hand to massage my temples. "Well... sorry for waking you up then."
A quiet moment passed between us. The tension slowly evaporated, leaving only the gentle, rhythmic rocking of the ship on the waves.
Lyra swung her legs over the side of the bunk and stood up. "Come on. It's already morning."
I blinked, glancing toward the tiny porthole. "Oh. It is...?" I tilted my head, catching the very first, faint gray light of dawn filtering through the glass. "Well, okay."
I dragged my exhausted body out of bed and followed her out of the cabin, my shoes clicking quietly on the floorboards as we made our way up to the main deck.
The moment the hatch opened, the icy, relentless sea breeze slapped me right in the face. The sun was barely peeking over the horizon, casting a pale, chilly blue light over the restless ocean.
"G-gah! It is freezing!" I gasped, my teeth instantly starting to chatter. I wrapped my tiny arms around my chest, desperately rubbing my shoulders to generate warmth.
Lyra turned back to look at me, her golden eyes scanning my shivering form. With a soft sigh, her body suddenly flared with a faint, shimmering blue light as her aura flared for a brief moment as it began to disappear like an invisible barrier.
She had activated it, creating a cozy, protective barrier that completely shielded her from the biting cold. Must be nice to have physical cheat codes, I thought bitterly, my teeth clicking together like castanets.
Then, to my complete surprise, Lyra turned her back to me and bent her knees, dropping her center of gravity.
"Hop on, Nitwit," she muttered, keeping her face pointed strictly ahead.
"Huh...?" I shivered, staring at her back in utter confusion. "What do you mean?"
"Get on," she repeated, her tone growing slightly impatient.
"Oh... O-okay, but—"
"I SAID GET ON!" she snapped, her voice echoing over the deck.
"OKAY! GEEZ! I was literally just about to!" I yelled back, my voice cracking slightly from the cold.
I took a step forward and hopped onto her back, wrapping my arms around her shoulders. The very instant my skin made contact with her coat, the radiating warmth of her blue aura washed over me like a heavy, heated blanket.
"Oh..."
I closed my eyes, my entire body instantly melting against her back. The pure, cozy warmth felt so incredibly good that I completely forgot about my pride, clinging to her even tighter like a baby koala.
Lyra let out a quiet, satisfied huff and adjusted her grip on my legs.
Despite being younger than me in soul, her physical training made carrying my tiny seven-year-old body feel like holding a sack of feathers. She marched confidently across the deck, carrying me straight toward the bow where the crew had gathered for a hot breakfast.
She pulled a wooden cargo crate over and plonked me down on it. The sudden loss of her warm aura hit me instantly, and I desperately reached out, trying to grab the hem of her sleeveless shirt as she stepped away. But my tiny fingers missed, and the cold ocean wind immediately bit into my skin, making me shiver violently.
Suddenly, a heavy, incredibly thick coat draped over my shoulders.
The warmth was instantaneous and absolute. It was cozy, blocking out the biting sea spray, and it smelled wonderfully of rich leather, sea salt, and some kind of exotic, sweet spice. At the same instant, I felt a soft, heavy pressure rest right against the top of my head.
I froze. I slowly looked up, only to find my face mere inches away from Captain Brohm's massive, incredibly generous chest. My face flushed a deep, volcanic red, and my brain completely short-circuited.
Brohm looked down at me, offering a warm, casual smile.
"Good morning, Kyro."
[End]