"Shut up and clean, Ivan. You're a fucking Janitor—atleast be good at it."
The sound of crashing lockers echoed across the entrance like thunder.
Students gathered around, whispering and snickering as Ivan's cheeks burned red with shame.
He wanted to say something, to stand up for himself, but the words never came out. His throat was dry, his heart beating so loudly that it felt like it would jump out of his ribs.
"Look at you," Stanley smirked, cracking his knuckles as if he hadn't already made his point.
"You can't even clean properly. What good are you, huh? Just a useless janitor pretending to be a student."
Everyone around the boy laughed, some pointed, others whispered cruel things, and a few simply enjoyed the show. Nobody cared enough to help Ivan.
Nobody ever did.
Ivan's trembling hands slowly reached for the fallen lockers.
His blue eyes darting between the mess and Stanley, but he didn't dare look at his bully in the face for too long.
He knelt down and began picking up shoes fallen all over the dirty floor. Each movement was slow, careful, and humiliating.
"Yeah, that's right," Stanley said aloud. "Clean it all up, you motherfucking janitor."
A group of girls at the corner giggled, covering their mouths with their hands. Ivan could hear them whispering.
"He's kind of handsome though." One of them said, smiling lewdly.
"Handsome? He's pathetic. Who cares about a pretty face if you're a loser?"
The words stung at the poor boy worse than Stanley's fist. Ivan bit his lips until he tasted blood.
His entire life at Stigma High School had been like this...a cycle of humiliation, where every day was a reminder that he didn't belong here.
Unfortunately, he had no choice.
If he left the school, his younger sister would also be kicked out. And she deserved better than this.
So Ivan swallowed his pride and continued his role as both a student and janitor.
"Move faster, janitor-boy!" Stanley barked, kicking a pair of shoes at Ivan's face. The impact wasn't hard, but it was enough to make the boy flinch.
The laughter grew louder.
Ivan's hands clenched into fists, but he didn't raise them.
He never did.
The boy knew fighting back meant trouble, and trouble meant getting expelled.
And he couldn't afford that, not when his sister depended on him.
"Oi, Stanley!" another student shouted from the crowd. "Teacher's coming!"
The muscular 6 feet 2 inches man clicked his tongue in annoyance but leaned close to Ivan before walking away.
His hot breath reeking of arrogance.
"Remember this, janitor. You'll never be anything more than dirt under my shoes.
He shoved Ivan's shoulder aside and ran away with his pack of friends, leaving Ivan crouched on the ground amidst the mess.
The crowd slowly dispersed, disappointed that the show had ended.
Some lingered long enough to throw another insult or laugh at him before heading to class.
In the end, only Ivan remained at the entrance, surrounded by fallen lockers, scattered shoes, and his own crushed pride as he cleaned the place silently.
For a moment, the boy just sat there, staring blankly at the mess. His fingers trembled as he picked up one shoe after another, trying to restore some order.
He hated it.
Not the cleaning, that part he didn't mind. He actually liked it. The sweeping, the scrubbing, the sense of bringing order to chaos.
But he hated the way people looked down on him. Hated the way he was treated as less than human.
He hated himself most of all, for never fighting back.
As Ivan gathered the last pair of shoes, his eyes caught his reflection in the polished metal of a locker door.
Messy black hair, tired blue eyes, and a face that looked far too gentle for a boy his age. He didn't look strong. He didn't look tough. He looked like exactly what they said he was: a weakling.
And yet…something flickered in those blue eyes. Something even he didn't recognize.
"I'll keep cleaning," he muttered under his breath, his voice low but firm. "But one day… you'll all see."
The words surprised him.
They weren't loud enough for anyone else to hear, but they carried a weight Ivan hadn't felt in a long time.
He stood up, brushing the dust from his uniform as he pushed the last locker back into place.
The entrance was a mess, but at least it looked somewhat better now. He grabbed the broom resting against the wall and began sweeping.
The janitor of Stigma High School.
That was his title.
That was his curse.
***
The day dragged on as usual. Classes were boring, the teachers didn't care, and students did whatever they wanted.
The only thing that mattered here was status, power, influence and...connections.
Ivan had none of those.
When the final bell rang, he slipped out of class quietly and headed straight to his janitor duties.
The halls were littered with papers, soda cans, and graffiti. Nobody respected the school, just like nobody respected him.
"Another long day," Ivan sighed, tightening his grip on the broom.
He swept the halls, picked up trash, and scrubbed the walls.
It was late evening by the time he reached the gym storage room. The place was dark and dusty, filled with forgotten equipment.
As he set down his broom, a strange sound echoed.
A soft chime.
Ding.
***