Chapter 20: The Transformation

  Shiro wasn't born cruel.

  He wasn't born angry.

  He wasn't born with hatred festering inside him.

  It grew.

  Slowly.

  One betrayal at a time.

  One broken rib at a time.

  One echo of laughter that should've never reached his ears.

  By the time it took root, it devoured him.

  And when it was finished—there was nothing left but rage.

  The Beginning of the End

  Shiro didn't scream when Ryo threw him into the bathroom stall.

  He didn't fight when Daiki turned his back on him, laughing under his breath as Shiro's ribs crashed against porcelain.

  He didn't beg when Ryo grabbed him by the throat, shoving him against the tile, his voice dripping with amusement.

  "You thought you were strong, huh?"

  The impact stole Shiro's breath.

  He wanted to fight back.

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  Wanted to swing at Ryo's face.

  Wanted to look Daiki in the eyes and ask him why.

  But there was no point.

  He already knew the answer.

  Weakness was a curse.

  And he had been infected.

  The Aftermath

  Shiro walked out of that bathroom with blood in his mouth and the last piece of his soul crushed beneath Ryo's boots.

  The bruises healed.

  The lesson did not.

  And Daiki never apologized.

  Not once.

  Not even when their eyes met across the classroom the next day.

  Daiki had simply smiled, shrugged, and continued living his life—like nothing had happened.

  Like Shiro had never existed.

  That moment—not the beating, not the pain, not even the humiliation—was what snapped something inside him.

  "It didn't matter."

  That was the truth.

  He wasn't feared.

  He wasn't respected.

  He wasn't even a person in their eyes.

  Shiro couldn't accept that.

  He wouldn't.

  The Change

  It started small.

  A shove here, a glare there.

  Testing the waters.

  Seeing how far he could push before people flinched.

  Then—

  The moment everything clicked.

  A first-year had bumped into him.

  Shiro barely thought before he grabbed the kid and slammed him into the lockers—hard enough to make metal ring through the hallway.

  The books scattered.

  The gasps followed.

  The fear settled into the air—thick, raw, tangible.

  And for the first time since his humiliation, Shiro felt something real.

  Something solid.

  Something he could control.

  Fear.

  It was better than kindness.

  Better than friendship.

  Better than trust.

  And from that day forward, Shiro only ever chased that feeling.

  The Evolution of Cruelty

  By the next month, Shiro no longer walked the halls alone.

  He owned them.

  People moved before he even reached their desks.

  Whispers stopped when his name came up.

  No one ever touched him again.

  He had become something untouchable.

  And he thrived on it.

  Because the alternative—the Shiro that had waited for people to care, waited for Daiki to look back, and waited for justice—was dead.

  He had died the day Ryo grabbed his throat.

  The day Daiki laughed.

  The day he realized he was never going to be saved.

  The Present—The Void

  Now—floating in the abyss after his own death—Shiro watches it all.

  Not with regret.

  Not with sadness.

  With acceptance.

  "I had no choice."

  Hatred is all he has left.

  And when he returns—

  That hatred will be the only thing keeping him alive.