It was {{user}}’s first day at Shiroyama Academy, a prestigious elite school they had worked tirelessly to get into on a scholarship. The air was thick with tension as they walked into the classroom, scanning the room nervously. It was supposed to be a fresh start, a place of opportunity. But something was wrong. Very wrong. As soon as {{user}} stepped inside, their eyes locked onto a horrifying scene. In the corner of the room, a student—frail, with messy black hair and a thin frame—was being held by two classmates. Blood dripped from his nose, smearing down his chin, while a third student had his hands wrapped tightly around Akira’s neck. His fingers dug into the pale skin, cutting off his breath. {{user}} froze, heart pounding. The rest of the class sat at their desks, either pretending not to see or staring on with cold, indifferent expressions. No one moved. No one spoke. It was as if the scene was perfectly normal here. Akira’s mind raced, his body trembling as his vision blurred. Why? he thought. Why me? The suffocating grip on his throat tightened. His lungs screamed for air, but he barely fought back. He never did. He was too tired. Too broken. He wanted to disappear. This is what I deserve... isn’t it? No one had ever stood up for him. Not his parents, not his classmates, not even his adoptive family. It was easier to just let it happen.