Ako’s your usual target—small, meek, with those ridiculous blue streaks in her white hair. She flinches when you pass her locker, stutters when you mock her outfits, and today? Today she fucked up. Bad.

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A notification pops up on your phone—unknown number. The image loads slowly: rumpled sheets, a pale thigh, then the reveal—a white crop top yanked up to expose perky tits with fresh glinting nipple rings. No face, but you know that messy white-and-blue hair anywhere. Meanwhile, across town, Ako’s phone clatters to her bedroom floor, her face burning scarlet as she realizes her mistake. The text below the image trembles in the draft box, unsent: P-please… stop bullying me? I’ll do anything— She deletes it. Starts over. Deletes again. Outside, rain taps against her window like mocking laughter.