The interface pulsed again, drawing Marcus's attention.
[New Task Assigned]
Target: Isabella Quinn
Objective: Gain initial trust / acknowledgment (Affection ≥ 30/100)
Current Affection: 0/100
Time Limit: 2 days
Reward: $200 Cash | +50 SP
Marcus blinked, staring at the glowing text.
Zero.
That made sense. He and Isabella had never spoken—not once. He doubted she even knew his name.
"Two days…?" he muttered under his breath.
Doubt clawed at him. Can I really do this?
He flexed his fingers, feeling the residual stiffness in his joints. His body was better—but still fragile. Still healing. And she… she was the Student Government President. Popular. Untouchable.
How am I supposed to make her even notice me?
The system pulsed in response.
[Host performance will determine continuation. Failure is not tolerated.]
Marcus let out a shaky breath and closed his eyes. The weight of expectation pressed down on his chest. For the first time, he truly understood what this "second chance" meant.
It wasn't free.
It wasn't easy.
It demanded effort.
A sharp knock shattered the silence.
Before he could react, the door swung open.
"Marcus—!"
Leo rushed in first, nearly tripping over his own feet. He froze halfway across the room, eyes locking onto Marcus's bandaged body. The color drained from his face.
"Oh my God," Leo whispered. "Dude…"
Tyson followed, stopping dead in the doorway. His jaw tightened as his eyes scanned Marcus like a bodyguard assessing damage.
Calvin came last, slower than the others. He pushed his glasses up, gaze sharp—until he really saw Marcus.
His sarcasm vanished.
"…You look like hell," Calvin said quietly.
Marcus blinked. "You guys—?"
"We heard you disappeared," Leo said quickly, already at the bedside. "No replies. No calls. Nothing. Then some random campus rumor about a hospital—"
"And none of it made sense," Calvin added.
Tyson stepped closer, arms crossed. "You gonna tell us why you're wired up like a science project?"
Marcus opened his mouth—then closed it.
They waited.
Tyson spoke first. "Alright. Talk to us. What the hell happened?"
Marcus stared at the ceiling.
He hadn't planned to say anything. He never did. But these weren't just friends. They were brothers in every way that mattered. Shared struggles. Shared silence. Shared survival.
There was no hiding this.
"…It was Brody," Marcus said finally. "Brody Kingston. Jaxon. Chase too."
The room went still.
Leo's eyes widened. "Brody Kingston? As in—"
"The Brody," Calvin finished under his breath.
Tyson's fists clenched. He turned away, pacing once before stopping. "Those guys?"
Marcus nodded. "Small stuff at first. Shoves. Trash talk. Online crap. But this time…" His voice tightened. "It wasn't small."
Leo swallowed hard, eyes shining. "They almost killed you…"
Calvin ran a hand through his hair, already thinking ahead. "We could report it. Find footage. Witnesses—"
"No," Tyson said sharply, cutting him off.
They all knew why.
Brody's family had influence.
Jaxon's father funded campus buildings.
Chase's connections ran deep.
Any report would vanish—or turn back on Marcus.
Calvin exhaled slowly. "Best case? Nothing happens. Worst case?" He glanced at Marcus's chest. "They come back."
"That's not fair," Leo said, fists clenched.
"No," Tyson replied quietly. "But it's reality."
Marcus felt the weight settle in his chest. "I didn't tell you because I didn't want you dragged in."
"You don't get to decide that alone, bro," Tyson said, resting a hand on the bed rail.
Calvin nodded. "Yeah. We're pissed. We're scared. But we're not leaving."
Leo wiped his eyes and forced a shaky smile. "You're stuck with us, man. Hospital bed or not."
Marcus closed his eyes.
Something inside him steadied—not strength, not confidence, but resolve.
He wasn't alone.
A nurse paused mid-step beside the bed, clipboard in hand. Her gaze lingered on Marcus's shoulders and chest—not inappropriate, just… confused.
"You were admitted with multiple fractures, internal bruising, and severe muscle trauma," she said softly. Her eyes flicked back to him. "But your vitals don't match your chart."
Marcus tensed—then relaxed. It hurt, but not the way it should have.
"Does this hurt?" she asked.
"Yeah," he answered. "But… it's manageable."
After more tests and hushed murmurs outside the curtain, they cleared him for discharge.
Leo nearly cried again.
Tyson nodded, satisfied but alert.
Calvin stared at the paperwork like reality itself was glitching.
They escorted Marcus out like bodyguards, one on each side. His muscles protested—but held.
His apartment was small. Old. Off-campus.
Home.
Leo unpacked food immediately. "You rest. No hero stuff."
Tyson lingered by the door. "I'll walk you tomorrow if you want."
Calvin smirked. "And I'll break the internet if anyone tries anything."
Once they left, Marcus stared at the ceiling.
Isabella Quinn.
Untouchable. Popular. From a completely different world.
Thirty out of a hundred.
He let out a slow breath. "Two days… you've got to be kidding me."
Curiosity pulled him toward the mirror.
His shoulders were broader. His posture straightened naturally. Cheekbones sharper. Dark circles lighter. His eyes clearer.
He no longer looked invisible.
"…Okay," he whispered. "Maybe you're real."
That night, for the first time in days, he slept without pain waking him every hour.
The next morning, Cresthaven University buzzed as usual.
Marcus stepped onto campus—and felt it immediately.
Eyes. Too many.
Some stared openly. Others whispered behind hands. Phones tilted. Screens glowing.
He frowned. What's wrong?
Then he saw Calvin marching toward him, face twisted in disbelief.
"Marcus," Calvin said sharply. "You're not gonna like this."
"What?" Marcus asked.
Calvin shoved a phone toward him.
A shaky video played—campus parking lot, Marcus on the ground, punches landing, laughter echoing. Chase Armstrong's voice was clear.
Marcus's stomach dropped. "…He posted it?"
"Last night," Calvin said. "Caption: Know your place."
Marcus finally understood the stares.
They weren't judgment.
They were disbelief.
That guy got beaten? And now…?
He lifted his head and walked into class.
No rush.
No flinch.
For the first time, the looks didn't crush him.
They fueled him.
The lecture hall buzzed. Marcus took a seat near the middle rows. Some whispered. Others glanced nervously, then away.
The professor was mid-sentence when the door opened.
Conversation died instantly.
She entered with calm, measured steps—posture straight, expression composed. No hesitation. No uncertainty.
She didn't announce herself.
Isabella Quinn.
Student Government President.
The room adjusted around her presence. Even the professor paused, offering a brief nod before continuing.
Isabella took a seat near the front, setting her things down with quiet precision.
She didn't look at Marcus.
Not yet.
For the first time since returning to campus, Marcus felt something tighten in his chest—not fear, not anger.
Pressure.
And beneath it…
Possibility.