CHAPTER 1 : HIGHSCHOOL SAGA

"Pick up the goddamn ball, Nate!" Noah growled, his voice bouncing sharply off the brick wall behind the school field. He leaned against it casually, his both arms crossed over his broad chest, the afternoon sun catching the crisp edges of his perfectly pressed uniform like he owned every inch of this place—which, in his mind, he basically did.

Nathan slumped against the opposite wall, chest heaving hard, legs trembling from the sheer effort of staying upright. The soccer ball Noah had "accidentally" slammed into his head moments earlier still rolled lazily at his feet. His vision blurred at the edges, just another warning flicker of the seizure creeping closer—but he blinked it away fiercely, refusing to fall apart in front of the king of the school.

Not today. He’d had enough today.

"You… you threw the ball at my head," Nathan forced out, his voice shaky but carrying real defiance for the first time in years. "Pick… pick it up yourself."

The words hung between them like something fragile and dangerous, a challenge no one expected least of all Noah.

Noah froze, and for one split second genuine surprise flashed across his handsome face—those sharp eyes widening just enough to notice, before amusement slowly curled his lips into a dangerous, lazy smile.

He pushed off the wall and stepped closer until his shadow completely swallowed Nathan. "Did you just… talk back to me?"

Nathan swallowed hard, regret flooding him instantly. His heart slammed against his ribs so violently he thought it might crack them. "No."

Noah laughed, low and mocking, the sound sliding cold down Nathan’s spine. He moved fast, his fingers clamping around Nathan’s jaw, tilting his face up roughly. Up close, Noah’s eyes burned with something darker than simple anger—something almost hungry, possessive. "This is Monday, Nate," he said softly, thumb pressing just hard enough to leave a bruise blooming under the skin. "And you know I like to start the week in a good mood. But it seems you want me to play with you a little, huh?"

His grip tightened. A few strands of dark hair fell across Noah’s forehead, making him look almost unfairly beautiful even while he was cruel.

"No," Nathan whispered, the word barely escaping through the painful hold. "I’ll… I’ll pick it up."

Noah studied him for a long, silent beat, eyes searching Nathan’s face like he was trying to memorize the fear there. Then he released him with a slow smirk, stepping back and adjusting his tie as if nothing had happened at all. "You’re always trying to prove a point, but you and I both know—"

The crunch of gravel cut him off. Loud, familiar voices rolled closer, laughing and rough.

Noah’s crew rounded the corner: Jax with his constant stupid grin, Marcus cracking his knuckles like he was warming up for something fun, and Tyler already bouncing the spare football in his hands, itching for the field. They were headed to practice, but the second they spotted Noah towering over Nathan against the wall, they stopped dead.

"Yo, Gray, what’s the hold-up?" Jax called, eyes lighting up with cruel delight when he saw Nathan. "Oh shit, it’s the cripple. You starting without us?"

Marcus snorted loudly. "He looks like he’s about to cry already."

Noah glanced back at Nathan, that same amused glint still dancing in his eyes. "Nate here decided he wanted to play hero today. Told me to pick up my own ball."

The group exploded into laughter, the sound sharp and mean.

"Damn, ballsy for a guy who can’t even stand straight," Tyler said, and without warning he kicked the soccer ball hard toward Nathan’s feet. It clipped his weak leg, sending a hot spike of pain shooting up his thigh.

Nathan winced, his fingers digging harder into the rough brick for support. His breathing came faster, shallower—he could feel the seizure hovering closer, like a storm cloud pressing down.

Jax stepped forward, circling him slowly like a shark scenting blood. "Come on, pick it up, hero. Or are your legs too tired from… existing?"

Noah watched, arms folded again, his face unreadable now. But he didn’t stop them. He never did.

Marcus reached over, yanking Nathan’s backpack off his shoulders and dangling it just out of reach. "Hey, since you’re so helpful today… carry this for me to the field, yeah? Gray’s got his hands full being king."

Nathan shook his head weakly, voice cracking. "I… I can’t—"

"Can’t?" Noah echoed, his voice dropping soft and deceptively gentle as he stepped in close again, towering over him. "You can, Nate. You will. Or we’ll make sure everyone knows just how useless those legs really are."

The group pressed in tighter. Tyler shoved Nathan’s shoulder—light enough to look accidental, hard enough to throw him off balance. Jax laughed and pushed from the other side. Nathan stumbled, legs buckling under the sudden strain. He reached desperately for the wall, but his sweaty palm slipped.

He hit the ground hard.

Pain exploded through his knees and hips, sharp and white-hot. His vision swam worse now, and warm blood began to trickle from his nose—the unmistakable sign the seizure was coming soon. He curled in on himself instinctively, arms wrapped tight around his body, trying to make himself smaller, trying to disappear. Breathing came in ragged, painful gasps.

Noah crouched down slowly in front of him, picking up the soccer ball with one casual hand. He reached out and tilted Nathan’s chin up again, forcing their eyes to meet through the haze of pain and humiliation.

"See?" Noah murmured, almost gently, like he was explaining something simple. "This is what happens when you talk back." His thumb brushed slowly across Nathan’s upper lip, wiping away a streak of blood. The touch lingered half a second too long—soft, almost tender—before Noah pulled back, stood up, and tossed the ball to Jax.

"Bring his bag," Noah told the group, nodding toward Nathan’s fallen backpack. "He can carry mine instead. Consider it… motivation for next time."

They laughed again, louder this time, and tossed Nathan’s bag to the ground near his feet like trash.

Noah stayed crouched, eyes still locked on Nathan’s. "You guys go ahead. I’ll be there."

The crew hesitated only a second, then fell in line behind him, still laughing and throwing insults over their shoulders as they headed toward the field.

"You know all of this is not my fault, right?" Noah asked suddenly, the question so stupid and out of place that Nathan dragged his gaze up to stare at him in disbelief.

Noah chuckled, but the sound came out bitter, almost hollow. "What do you mean it’s not my fault!?" Nathan spat, voice cracking with exhaustion and fury. "You pick on me at the slightest opportunity, you beat me up, and now you’re saying—"

Noah didn’t let him finish. "Shh…" He pressed two fingers gently to Nathan’s lips, the tips brushing the fresh blood there, silencing him instantly.

"That’s because I can, Nate," he said, a faint smirk touching his lips again while Nathan stared up at him weakly from the dirt. "It’s not my fault you can’t fight back, is it? What else am I supposed to do? Leave you alone and let you walk free?"

Tears finally spilled from Nathan’s eyes, hot and unstoppable. "But what did I do to you?" he sniffed, voice breaking. "Why are you so bent on making my life miserable and draining… what…"

"Existing," Noah cut in quietly, rising to his full height now. "I despise your existence. Maybe when you suddenly vanish, I’ll be fine." The words came out flat, without remorse, like he was stating a simple fact.

Nathan could only watch him in helpless distress. "You’re evil," he growled under his breath, the words barely audible but sharp enough to hit Noah like a slap.

For a moment Noah’s hand twitched, fingers curling like he wanted to yank Nathan’s hair and drag him up, but he forced himself to pull back, clenching his fist at his side instead.

"I’m not gonna touch you," Noah said, glancing around quickly to check for any passing students. "But trust me, I can do way worse." He rubbed his temples like the whole thing suddenly tired him. "Get back to the block, do my assignment, then wait for me to come get it."

Nathan couldn’t dare say anything back. He could only glare up at him from the floor, powerless, legs useless beneath him, blood still dripping slowly onto the dirt.

Noah turned and walked away without another word.

Nathan stayed crumpled on the ground long after their voices faded, blood mixing with the dust, legs numb and heavy. He didn’t cry anymore—not the loud, broken sobs he used to let out. But something deep inside him cracked wider, a quiet, permanent fracture.

Somewhere in the distance, Noah glanced back once—just once—his steps slowing for half a heartbeat before he disappeared around the corner.

The moment he was out of sight, Nathan’s control shattered. Tears poured down his face as he cursed into the empty air. "You son of a bitch… idiot… coward! I’m gonna deal with you mercilessly!" he cried out, voice raw and shaking, fists pounding weakly against the ground. But deep down he knew the truth burned worse than any bruise.

There was absolutely nothing he could do about it.

Power was everything. Noah had all the power, and when someone had power, the weak suffered for everything.

He opened his mouth to curse again, still lying in the dirt, when his body betrayed him completely. Tremors started in his hands, then raced through his arms, his legs, his whole frame. The seizure gripped him hard, violent and merciless. Blood streamed faster from his nostrils, warm and coppery, dripping onto his uniform, onto the ground.

He shook helplessly, his vision tunneling to black at the edges, alone and broken under the fading afternoon sun.

That was the life he lived every single day.

And he had sworn—sworn to himself in the quiet moments when the pain eased—that one day he would get away from it.

He just had to survive long enough to make it happen.