The early morning light filtered weakly through the high windows of the classroom, casting long shadows that stretched across the polished floors. The stillness of the room felt heavy, as if time itself had paused to hold its breath. Outside, the muffled sounds of distant footsteps and faint chatter floated through the quiet, a reminder of the world that continued beyond the walls. Inside, however, there was only silence.
At the far corner of the room, where the morning sun hadn't quite reached, a student was slumped over his desk, his cheek resting heavily against the smooth wood. Each shallow breath sent the school's logo—an elegant letter "N" hovering above a sleek, modern city—wobbling in the air just above his head. His tie, once neatly knotted, hung crooked and loose around his neck. One sock sagged beneath the cuff of his pants, while the other clung awkwardly higher up his leg. His white gloves, worn and slightly stretched from too much use, sat snug on his hands, looking just a little too tight.
His jet-black hair was a mess, tangled like he'd been running his fingers through it in a fit of frustration or sheer exhaustion. Beneath his eyes, dark circles clung like shadows—evidence of countless sleepless nights. Nights spent chasing something just out of reach or maybe running away from it.
The classroom was still, save for the rhythmic ticking of a clock that echoed in the silence. Desks sat vacant, arranged in neat rows, waiting for the day's lessons to begin. But the boy remained lost in his slumber, oblivious to the world around him. One could only guess what dreams flickered behind his closed eyelids. Perhaps he was far away from textbooks and dull routines—off in a place where he could truly be himself, free from the burdens of expectation.
Suddenly, the quiet was interrupted. The curtains were yanked open with a dramatic flourish, and a beam of sunlight shot into the room, splashing across his face. He winced, scrunching his eyes against the glare as the warmth of the sun reached his skin. He felt a gentle nudge on his shoulder, drawing him out of his hazy sleep.
He blinked himself awake, the world coming into fuzzy focus. Standing over him was his best friend, a grin spread wide across his face. The room, once empty, had filled with students who now quietly took their seats.
"Good morning, Mr. JellySweetSalt," his friend teased, leaning in close and whispering his gaming alias with mock seriousness.
The boy groaned in protest, swatting weakly at his friend's arm.
"Don't... don't use that name here," he muttered, his voice thick with sleep. "You idiot."
His friend only chuckled, clearly enjoying his victory. He slid into the seat beside him, phone already in hand, screen glowing with messages. Notifications poured in, one after the other, filling the screen with names and enthusiastic emojis.
"Still a big deal, huh?" His friend gave him a sideways glance. "You've got fans clawing for your attention. How the hell do you sleep through all this noise?"
He raised an eyebrow and tilted the phone screen towards him, showcasing a flood of notifications from his adoring followers.
[Mr. JellySweetSalt! You're incredible! Can we be friends?] – JellySweetSalt_Number 1 Fan.
[When's your next stream?! Can't wait!!] – HungrySweetSalt123.
[Thank you for testing my game! Got a gift for you!] – GodOfGame666.
The boy let out a low groan and rubbed his eyes, still trying to shake off the last remnants of sleep. His secret online identity was something only his best friend knew about—a famous gamer with millions of followers who worshipped every video he uploaded, every stream he hosted. Online, he was a gaming legend, someone who could master any game in front of him. In real life? Just another student with messy hair, crooked socks, and barely enough energy to keep up.
"Yeah, yeah," he muttered, dismissively waving a hand. "You know how it is. Gotta keep the fans satisfied."
His friend smirked, leaning back in his chair.
"Satisfied? Or Addicted?"
The boy paused for a moment, caught off guard by the question. He stared at his desk, as if searching for an answer that wasn't so obvious. Then, with a small shrug, he smirked.
"Same thing, really. It's all about the clicks and likes."
But the words didn't sit quite right, even to him. He felt his chest tighten a bit. His friend's grin faded slightly, and the playful atmosphere shifted.
"You don't believe that," his friend said softly, more serious now. "You're not doing this for the clicks, are you?"
He opened his mouth to respond, then shut it again. For a second, he wanted to brush it off with another sarcastic comment, something light to steer the conversation away. But he couldn't quite bring himself to do it.
He sighed, leaning back in his chair, letting his head fall against the desk again.
"Maybe not. But gaming… it's different." His voice was quieter now, a little more honest. "It's like, when I'm online, I'm not me anymore. It's just... easier. No one knows who I am, what I look like, or what I'm running from. They just care about the game. And for a while, that's enough."
His friend nodded, understanding flashing in his eyes. He didn't push any further, just gave him a reassuring smile.
"Well, whatever it is, you're good at it. But don't forget—being 'you' is pretty good, too."
The boy glanced at him, a hint of a smile tugging at his lips.
"Yeah. Maybe." He pulled himself up, rolling his shoulders to shake off the last bit of sleep.
"Now come on, class is about to start. And if you fall asleep again, I'm totally posting it online."
The boy chuckled, his voice still groggy, and nudged his friend playfully in the ribs.
"Jerk," he muttered, though a faint smile tugged at the corner of his lips. His best friend had a way of pulling him out of his own head—a talent honed over years of being by each other's side. They'd been inseparable since middle school, weathering every storm together. So his friend knew exactly what he really meant beneath the sarcasm.
Without missing a beat, his friend leaned back in his chair and stretched. "Hey, are you busy after school today? Why don't you come with me for some shopping? Gotta pick out something for my girlfriend."
The boy blinked, his puzzled expression almost comical. "Why don't you just take her with you?"
His friend sighed dramatically, rolling his eyes. "Bro, it's a surprise. Do you seriously not get how that works? Man, you really need to crawl out of your gaming cave. You should think about finding a girlfriend, too. We're almost out of high school—this might be your last shot at something, you know?"
He waved his hand dismissively, already feeling the lecture coming on. "I'm fine," he grumbled. "Not really my priority."
"Not your priority?" His friend scoffed. "Look, you've got potential. You're smart, got money, and honestly… you're not bad looking."
The boy raised an eyebrow, giving his friend a sidelong glance. "Why the hesitation?"
"Doesn't matter," his friend continued, brushing off the moment. "You just need to, I dunno, hit the gym, upgrade your wardrobe, maybe develop some actual charisma. I'm saying this as your best friend. You're too cool online to be this invisible in real life."
The boy shook his head, brushing off the unsolicited advice. "Yeah, thanks but no thanks. I'm good."
His friend wasn't one to let things go that easily. His eyes narrowed slightly, and there was a shift in his tone—one that made the boy uncomfortable. "You sure you're not avoiding this whole dating thing for… other reasons?"
There was a pause, just long enough for the implication to hang uncomfortably between them. The boy's expression darkened, and his response came swift, his voice low but firm. "No. Not that." His glare was sharp enough to shut down the conversation. "I'm just busy with other things. Like that game I told you about."
His friend's eyebrow shot up, the concern still there but buried now under curiosity. "Wait, you're still playing that sketchy game from that random developer? Dude, that's risky. What if it's some kind of malware or a scam? You know better than to fall for that stuff."
The boy shook his head, a bit more defensively than he intended. "No, it's legit. I checked everything out. They just haven't released it to the public yet. It's still in beta."
His friend gave him a long, suspicious look. "And you're the beta tester? What's so special about this one? There are thousands of games out there. What's it even called?"
The boy hesitated for a second, not because he didn't want to share, but because even he wasn't sure how to explain the pull the game had on him. It wasn't just a distraction—it had become an obsession. Something about it called to him in a way he couldn't fully understand, like it was scratching an itch he didn't even know he had.
The story has been taken without consent; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.
"It's… hard to explain," he started, feeling awkward under his friend's expectant gaze. "The game's incredible. The story's unlike anything I've played before. It's called—"
Before he could finish, the door at the front of the room creaked open, cutting him off. The classroom, which had been buzzing with quiet conversation, fell into an instant, tense silence. Every student's attention snapped to the doorway, where a woman stood, silhouetted by the golden light streaming in from the hallway. She paused there for a moment, the sunlight catching in her hair, making it shimmer like molten gold.
The boy straightened up slightly, his eyes narrowing as he took in the sight of the woman. She wasn't their regular teacher—there was something different about her presence. She exuded an air of calm authority, the kind that made people sit up and take notice without her having to say a word.
"Later," his friend whispered, his voice barely audible as he turned to face the front, leaving the conversation unfinished. The boy nodded, but his mind was still on the game, the feeling of something just out of reach lingering like a shadow at the edges of his thoughts.
Confidence radiated from her with every step, each stride purposeful, as if she had mastered the art of making a room her own without uttering a word. Her smile, warm and genuine, crinkled the corners of her eyes, melting the stiff atmosphere that had lingered in the classroom. From the moment she entered, it was clear she carried herself with a quiet authority—a presence that commanded attention, yet disarmed you all the same.
"Good morning, everyone," she said, her voice soft but firm, cutting through the silence like a melody. It wasn't loud or commanding, but something in its timbre demanded you listen. "My name is Lisa Lawrence, and I'll be your homeroom teacher this year. I'm really excited to get to know each and every one of you."
From his desk in the far corner, the young man—head still half-resting on his hand—watched her intently. She stood tall, her dark hair cascading in soft waves down her back, the kind of elegance that seemed effortless. Her professional suit, sharply tailored but softened by the way she carried herself, gave her a presence that was hard to ignore. Clipboard in hand, she surveyed the classroom with warm, curious eyes, as if she saw potential behind every blank face staring back at her.
"Now," she continued, "I know it's the first day back, and some of you might still be shaking off summer, but let me tell you something about this year." She took a step forward, her eyes sweeping across the room like she was looking for someone to engage with. "We're on a quest for knowledge. Each one of you has a talent, a skill, something special that's just waiting to be uncovered."
In response, the classroom was a sea of indifference. Some students leaned back in their chairs, arms crossed, eyes half-lidded with boredom. Others shuffled through their bags, pretending to look busy. But one student, in particular, sat stone-faced, his gaze locked on the window, completely disengaged. His fingers idly twirled a pen, his mind clearly somewhere else.
Lisa didn't seem fazed by the lack of reaction. She smiled again, though there was a glint of something sharper in her eyes now, a determination that cut through the room's apathy. "But here's the thing," she added, her tone shifting slightly, becoming more direct. "Talent without effort is like a firecracker without a match—full of potential, but without the spark, it's just all sputter. No boom."
A few students glanced at each other, intrigued but cautious, testing her words like they weren't quite sure if they bought what she was selling. The young man in the back didn't move, though his fingers paused, the pen hanging in mid-spin.
"Here," she continued, leaning slightly against her desk, "we're going to push past the easy stuff. This year, I'm not interested in coasting. We're going to question everything, dig deep, and grow our minds in ways you haven't before." She glanced around the room again, her eyes scanning for even a flicker of interest. "Every single day, I expect your best. Because each one of you," she paused for emphasis, her voice softening, "is a story waiting to be written. And guess what? It doesn't matter how cool the cover is if the story inside is flat."
Her eyes swept over the room, locking on each student in turn, searching for a sign that she was getting through. Most stared back with blank, unimpressed expressions, not quite buying into the message yet. They were teenagers, after all—fifteen to seventeen, all wearing crisp white uniforms that somehow managed to both look polished and suffocating. Some fidgeted in their seats, while others slouched, already bored on the first day.
But Lisa's gaze fell on the student in the far corner, the one who hadn't seemed to notice her until now. His posture was relaxed to the point of indifference, his eyes distant as they drifted from the window back to her. There was a faint hint of something in his expression—boredom, maybe, or something deeper, something harder to pinpoint. His jet-black hair was tousled like he'd slept through most of the morning, and the dark circles under his eyes suggested a lack of sleep that went beyond just staying up too late.
He met her gaze for a brief moment, then looked away. His mind was far from the classroom, far from this teacher and her promises of discovery and growth. In his head, he scoffed at the notion.
'How naive,' he thought, his expression unreadable. 'Talent isn't worthless without hard work. It's just wasted.'
Lisa, sensing his detachment, didn't falter. Instead, she pushed forward, determined to reach him and everyone else, no matter how thick the wall of apathy seemed. She straightened up, letting the clipboard rest at her side.
"Here's the deal," she said, her tone more serious now, but still carrying that warmth. "I'm not going to spoon-feed you success. But I am going to challenge you, push you to see what you're capable of. And I think you'll be surprised at what you find." Her eyes swept the room one last time, lingering on the boy in the back. "So get ready. We've got a lot to uncover, and it's up to you how much you want to dig."
The room remained silent, but something had shifted. The boredom wasn't entirely gone, but there was a flicker—a small, almost imperceptible shift in the air. Maybe it was curiosity. Maybe it was just a moment of pause.
As Lisa returned to her desk and began shuffling through her notes, the boy in the corner twirled his pen again, slower this time, his gaze drifting back to the window. He wasn't convinced, not yet. But somewhere, in the back of his mind, the teacher's words lingered, tugging at a part of him he thought he'd buried a long time ago.
'Talent without effort,' he thought, a small, almost invisible smile tugging at his lips. 'We'll see.'
"By the way," Lisa announced, her voice rising above the low hum of whispers, "we have a new transfer student joining us today."
A ripple of disinterest swept across the room like a lazy wave. Most of these students—children of wealth and influence—had likely already caught wind of the newcomer through their private social circles. Still, instinctively, all eyes flickered to the back corner, where a lone figure sat, hunched over his desk. He seemed utterly unaware of the sudden attention, or maybe he just didn't care.
"Hey, you," Lisa called, her tone gentle but firm. "Come on, introduce yourself to the class."
A sigh, heavy with reluctance, escaped from the figure. Slowly, he rose from his seat, shoving his hands into the pockets of his blazer. Messy ginger hair fell over a pair of glasses, which teetered precariously on the bridge of his nose. His face, while not striking in the conventional sense, held a certain sharpness—high cheekbones, thin lips, and a pair of eyes that seemed to look right through you, intense and unreadable.
"Hi," he said, his voice a deep, gravelly rumble. "I'm Artham Lanis. Seventeen. Books and games are my thing. If you want to know more, I guess ask me later."
With that, he slid back into his chair, exuding an air of practiced indifference. It wasn't arrogance—more like someone who had grown used to flying under the radar, content in his own world.
Lisa blinked, momentarily caught off guard by his brevity. "Well, that was… brief. Thanks, Artham," she said, regaining her composure with a polite smile. "Feel free to talk to him after class if you want to get to know him better."
She scanned the room, trying to gauge her audience. Most of the students looked as indifferent as they had before, their designer clothes speaking more about status than any interest in what was happening. A few exchanged glances or whispered behind their hands, but it was clear this group had mastered the art of selective engagement. Some of them were likely counting the minutes until they could leave, their minds still on last weekend's yacht party or the next exclusive event on their calendar.
Lisa mentally shrugged. It's just a job, she reminded herself. You can't save them all.
But it was hard not to feel that pang of frustration—especially when she had come into teaching with such high hopes. She'd imagined eager faces, young minds hungry to learn. Instead, the room was filled with kids who had never had to fight for anything. Everything was handed to them on silver platters, and it showed. Good grades? Optional. After all, their futures were already paved in gold, and they knew it.
These weren't kids who needed knowledge to unlock doors; their parents had already thrown the doors wide open. Exams and homework were just hoops to jump through, a formality. Curiosity, the driving force of learning, had withered in them—replaced by apathy, boredom, and a hunger for status rather than substance.
Lisa took a deep breath, feeling the weight of her own unmet expectations press down on her. She had spent hours planning lessons, crafting assignments designed to spark creativity and critical thinking. But standing in front of this group, it felt like a performance no one wanted to watch.
In the back, Artham sat with his arms folded, his gaze fixed on some distant point beyond the classroom. His introduction had been short, but it revealed more than most of the students had in weeks. There was something behind those quiet eyes, something that intrigued her. She wasn't sure if it was potential or just another form of indifference, but at least it wasn't the vacant, entitled look most of the others wore.
The shrill ring of the dismissal bell cut through the silence, and just like that, the room erupted into movement. Students gathered their designer bags, their attention already shifting to the next thing on their carefully curated schedules. Conversations about vacations, parties, and the latest luxury gadgets filled the air as they streamed out the door in a blur of polished shoes and expensive cologne.
Within moments, the classroom was empty—almost. Artham lingered near the door, shuffling awkwardly. He seemed to be debating whether to say something or just leave, his usual nonchalance now replaced with a flicker of uncertainty.
"Uh, thanks, Ms. Lawrence," he mumbled, not quite meeting her eyes. His voice was lower than before, less guarded. "See you tomorrow, I guess."
Lisa raised an eyebrow, pleasantly surprised by the shift in his tone. He hadn't seemed the type to offer pleasantries, but there it was—a shred of decency peeking out from behind the walls he'd built. She smiled warmly at him, a little bit of her earlier disappointment melting away.
"Anytime, Artham. I'm looking forward to seeing more of what you've got," she replied, her words sincere.
He gave her a small, almost imperceptible nod before turning on his heel and walking out the door, leaving her alone with her thoughts.
Lisa stood there for a moment, staring at the now-empty classroom. She exhaled, the frustration she'd felt earlier ebbing away, replaced by curiosity. What was that? she thought, replaying the day's events in her mind.
Despite the apathy of most of the students, despite the feeling that she was speaking into a void, there was something different about Artham. Maybe it was his disinterest, or maybe it was the way he carried himself, like he was hiding something beneath that cool, detached exterior.
The classroom door clicked shut behind him, and Lisa felt a small spark of hope flicker to life. It wasn't much, but it was enough. There was something worth uncovering here, something that went beyond just the motions of teaching.
She straightened her desk, her mind still on Artham's quiet intensity. Tomorrow was another day, another chance to dig a little deeper. And perhaps, just perhaps, there was more to this class than met the eye.