The classroom buzzed with idle chatter, the low hum of adolescence attempting to mask the ever-growing pressure of impending exams. Aren sat quietly by the window, fingers absentmindedly tracing the foggy glass pane. Outside, the schoolyard lay soaked in the remnants of last night’s rain, and the overcast sky did little to lift his mood.

  He was a ghost among the living—present but unseen.

  “Yo, Aren!” a voice called from across the room. It was Kaito, loud as ever, masking something mean behind his smirk. “You gonna write about our ‘heroic principal’ again in that blog of yours?”

  A few chuckles followed. Aren didn’t bother replying.

  He had learned that silence was more potent than words, especially in a place where truth was feared more than lies. What began as a hobby—an anonymous school blog exposing petty misdeeds—had spiraled into something far more dangerous. Aren had stumbled upon something recently, something that went beyond cheating scandals or harassment. It was bigger. And he knew it.

  But he also knew they were watching.

  Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

  It started with whispers in the hallway. Then his locker got broken into—nothing stolen, just disturbed. One of his notebooks had gone missing. Yesterday, a threatening note had been slipped into his shoe locker: “Drop it, or we’ll drop you.”

  He hadn’t told anyone. Not even his mother. Especially not her. Aren carried burdens like they were secrets engraved into his skin. He wasn’t brave. Just tired. And maybe, just maybe, desperate.

  Still, he didn’t stop writing. He couldn’t. Something deep inside refused to stay quiet.

  As the day dragged on, Aren found himself in the library, flicking through files stored on a beaten-up USB drive he had managed to secure. Hidden in the metadata of the school’s budgeting reports, he’d uncovered traces of misappropriated funds and ghost students—kids enrolled on paper but who didn’t exist in real life. Someone was making money off the system.

  He copied the files to his laptop, encrypted them, and tucked the USB into the sole of his shoe—a trick he learned online from a forum about whistleblowing. Not like he had anyone else to teach him.

  That evening, he stayed late, pretending to study. The hallways were dark, quiet, and unnervingly empty.

  When he stepped outside, four silhouettes were waiting near the school gate.

  He knew their faces. Classmates. A grade above. One of them used to be the student council vice president. The others, kids with perfect smiles and even more perfect records. All part of the same polished surface that hid the rot underneath.

  “Yo, blogger boy,” the tallest one said, cracking his knuckles. “You just couldn’t leave it alone, huh?”

  Aren backed up, gripping his bag tightly.

  “I don’t want trouble,” he said quietly.

  “But trouble wants you,” another muttered, stepping forward.

  They didn’t let him run. Not far, at least. The blows came quick and hard. He wasn’t even sure who landed the first punch. Somewhere between panic and pain, Aren’s world blurred. He tasted blood. Heard the crunch of gravel. Felt the cold bite of fear.

  Then everything faded to black.