The rain fell mercilessly that night.
Not the gentle kind that whispered against rooftops, but a relentless downpour that hammered the earth as if trying to erase everything beneath it. Water streamed through the cracks in the school courtyard's asphalt, forming thin rivers that carried with them dirt… and something darker.
Blood.
Fresh. Not yet washed away.
The dim courtyard lights flickered overhead, buzzing faintly—hesitant, as if even they were unsure whether they should continue illuminating a scene that felt far too grim to exist under any kind of light.
Arthur sat slumped against the cold ground.
His breathing was uneven. Heavy.
Each inhale scraped through his chest like broken glass.
His school uniform—once neatly pressed—was now torn in several places, soaked through with rain and stained deep red in spreading patches. A few bandages clung weakly to his cheek and temple, half-peeled, exposing wounds that hadn't been given the time to heal…
—or perhaps never would.
In his trembling hand, he held a pen.
It shook.
Not from the cold.
But from something far deeper.
Rage.
In front of him lay a crude map of the school grounds, sketched hastily on worn paper. It was messy, chaotic—covered in overlapping lines, harsh strokes of red ink, and several marked crosses.
Each line was a route.
Each cross…
A target.
Arthur pressed the tip of his pen harder into the paper, dragging a straight line that connected one point to another. The ink bled slightly from the pressure.
"Everything's in place…" he muttered under his breath.
Beside him, a small notebook lay open. The handwriting inside it was erratic, uneven—as if written in bursts of uncontrollable emotion.
At the top of the page, a title was scrawled in bold, aggressive strokes:
REVENGE TARGETS:
- The Leader (Mastermind)
- The Enforcer
- The Extortionist
- The Bystanders & Instigators
And beneath it—
Written larger. Pressed over and over again until the paper nearly tore—
I will destroy every single one of them.
Footsteps echoed behind him.
Slow.
Casual.
Arthur didn't turn around.
He already knew.
Shadows stretched across the wet ground as five figures approached, their silhouettes distorted under the red glow of a motorbike's tail light still idling nearby.
One of them spun a baseball bat lazily in his hand, occasionally smacking it against his palm with a dull thud.
"Still alive, huh?" a voice sneered. "You're tougher than you look, Thur."
A faint smile curled on Arthur's lips.
It wasn't warm.
It wasn't sane.
"I'm not done yet," he replied quietly.
Laughter erupted.
Loud. Mocking. Hollow.
"Not done?" One of them stepped forward and kicked the map in front of Arthur, sending it sliding across the wet ground. "What do you think this is, a movie? You're just trash that hasn't died yet."
Slowly—
Arthur lifted his head.
His eyes were dark.
Not from the shadows.
But from something inside him that had died long before this night.
"I remember everything," he said.
His voice was calm. Too calm.
"Every punch. Every insult. Every time you laughed while I was on the ground."
The rain intensified.
Droplets slid down his hair, over his face, mixing with blood and disappearing into the soaked fabric of his uniform.
One of them grabbed his collar and yanked him to his feet.
"You gonna cry again?" the boy mocked, leaning closer.
Arthur didn't resist.
Not this time.
Instead, he looked straight into the boy's eyes.
Unblinking.
Unshaken.
Too composed for someone who had just been beaten half to death.
"I'm preparing something," Arthur whispered.
The boy frowned slightly.
"Preparing what?"
Arthur smiled again.
Wider this time.
Colder.
"Your funeral."
Silence.
For a brief moment—
Even the rain seemed quieter.
They didn't react immediately.
Didn't laugh.
Didn't move.
It was as if something in his tone—something subtle but wrong—had disrupted the rhythm of their cruelty.
Then—
THUD!
A fist slammed into Arthur's stomach.
The air was knocked out of him instantly.
His body folded, collapsing back onto the ground as pain exploded through his abdomen.
And then—
The kicks came.
One after another.
Brutal. Unrestrained.
Boots crashing into his ribs, his back, his sides.
Each impact sent shockwaves through his already battered body.
But this time—
Arthur didn't scream.
Didn't beg.
Didn't even try to shield himself.
Instead—
A quiet, broken laughter slipped from his lips.
Soft.
Barely audible beneath the storm.
Because for the first time…
He didn't feel defeated.
Minutes passed.
Or maybe seconds.
Time blurred.
Eventually, the kicks stopped.
"Pathetic," one of them muttered.
"Let's go."
Their footsteps faded.
Their laughter disappeared into the distance.
And just like that—
They left him there.
As they always did.
Alone.
Broken.
Discarded.
But tonight…
Something was different.
Slowly—
Painfully—
Arthur began to move.
His fingers dug into the wet ground as he dragged himself forward, inch by inch, until his hand found the crumpled map that had been kicked away earlier.
He pulled it closer.
Carefully.
Almost gently.
Using the sleeve of his already filthy uniform, he wiped away the dirt and water that had smeared across it.
His breathing was still heavy.
His body barely responding.
But his eyes—
His eyes were still burning.
With effort, he lifted the pen again.
His hand trembled violently as he drew one more mark.
A large red circle.
Right at the center of the school.
He stared at it.
For a long time.
Rain continued to fall.
Unforgiving.
Relentless.
But Arthur didn't look away.
His body might have been on the verge of collapse…
But his gaze—
Was alive.
Sharp.
Focused.
Dangerous.
"Starting tomorrow…" he whispered.
His voice was hoarse.
Barely holding together.
"I'm not the victim anymore."
He closed his notebook.
The sound was soft.
Final.
The rain kept pouring under the dark sky—
But something else had begun that night.
Something far more dangerous than violence.
Because a boy who was once weak…
Had just made a choice.
And that choice—
Would turn him into something far worse than the people who broke him.