Well -
After they left the abandoned bathroom—leaving the dying cockroach behind—they headed straight into a tour of the prestigious school.
Well walked a few steps behind Rain, eyes fixed on the floor, nodding occasionally as if listening. In truth, his thoughts were locked onto one thing:
The last cigarette in my pack.
"What do you think of the school so far?" Rain asked casually.Then she glanced back. "And why are you walking behind me like a frightened cat?"
Well sighed and lifted his head.
"A prison is a prison," he said flatly. "Whether it's colorful or pitch-black."
He quickened his pace to match hers.
"And I'm not a dog," he added. "I'm just tired."
Rain chuckled."Sure you are. Especially after what you did in the bathroom."
—Huh?
How did she figure it out? I wiped everything… damn it. That cigarette.
Well forced a weak smile.
"You mean because you hit me?"
Rain stopped walking.
She turned and looked straight into his eyes—smiling, but not kindly.
"You really want me to spell it out?" she asked.
Well rubbed the back of his head, face flushing.
"It was an accident! I swear! I'm not that type of guy!"
Rain sighed and turned away, continuing forward.
"There's no point dwelling on it," she said. "You were high."
Well's eyes widened.
Is she an angel?
He walked behind her, wiping away tears of relief.
"But you owe me," Rain added bluntly, without looking back.
Never mind. She's the devil.
"Sure. Sure," Well muttered.Then, quietly: "Are we done yet? And… where is everyone?"
Rain exhaled sharply.
"The principal said you were clueless, but this is impressive."She crossed her arms. "On Thursdays, we leave thirty minutes early. And no—we're nowhere near done."
Well's shoulders slumped.
"But… we checked all five floors," he said, already dead inside.
"The tour is done," Rain replied, "but I'm supposed to explain the rules. Class president duties."
This psychopath is the president? What kind of school is this…
"Well—" He pointed weakly at his bleeding nose. "Can we do that tomorrow? I'm barely holding on."
Rain paused.
Then she smiled.
Not sharp. Not mocking.
Warm. Like sunrise.
"Thank God," she said. "I'm exhausted too."
Mostly because of me.
She waved and started walking away.
"See you tomorrow!"
Well waved back, relief flooding him.
I can finally rest—
Then he realized something.
He had no idea where the exit was.
He sprinted after her like a dog chasing its owner.
And, honestly?
That metaphor was painfully accurate.
Aizak
Aizak tried to sit up in the hospital bed.
His legs barely responded. Stitches lined his hands like foreign objects sewn into his skin.
The door opened.
A young nurse rushed in.
"Sir! You shouldn't be moving right now!"
"I need the bathroom," Aizak snapped, panic rising. "And where the hell am I?"
She sighed and gently grabbed his elbow.
"I'll help you to the bathroom. They'll explain everything later. Just—relax."
He hesitated, then nodded.
Humiliation burned hotter than the pain.
The nurse noticed and smiled softly.
"Don't worry. Everything will be fine. I'm just helping you walk—I won't come in or anything."
They laughed awkwardly.
A shame, Aizak thought.
Hope, as usual, was pointless.
Inside the bathroom, he leaned over the sink and looked up.
His heart dropped.
A hideous scar—five inches long—ran across his right cheek.
His hands trembled as he touched it.
Sweat rolled down his neck.
"This… can't be happening," he whispered.
His reflection didn't answer.
At that moment, he wished—desperately—to drown again.
Back into the bloody sea.