The Bad Life – Chapter 2.1 – Chapter 2: While You Were Sleeping

Author: nicotine

By the time I came to my senses, it was already Sunday evening. A groan escaped me unknowingly as soon as I woke up. I barely managed to lift my eyelids and was startled.

<Simon> had brought a chair to the bedside and was sitting there. He reached out and picked up a towel from my forehead. I hadn’t even realized a towel was placed there. <Simon> took the towel and silently left the room.

Beyond the open door, I could hear the murmur of voices talking in the living room. A moment later, Hugh appeared in the doorway. Hugh’s face had gotten tanned over the short weekend. He came in with a worried expression.

<You’re finally awake. You were incredibly sick.>

Hugh said, standing and holding onto the metal railing at the foot of the bed.

I tried to answer, but my throat was clogged, and I couldn’t say anything. Hugh, quick to notice, brought me a glass of water, which I drank down in one gulp. My throat finally cleared.

<It’s not like that. I just wandered a bit….>

My voice came out completely hoarse. Hugh seemed surprised even by that voice. An awkward silence followed for a moment. But instead of questioning me about my voice, Hugh said,

That’s mighty nice of him. Instead of saying it out loud, I just nodded my head. Hugh looked at me with concern, then mumbled that I should get some rest and left the room.

I really was sick. My whole body ached, and my head was dizzy and heavy. Even though it was early summer weather, I was so cold that goosebumps broke out on my skin. When I stuck my foot out of the bed, a shiver ran through me on its own. Just going to the bathroom seemed to drain all the energy from my body. I burrowed into the bed and pulled the blanket up to my chin. Even the feel of the sheets brushing against my skin felt painful.

Soon, <Simon> returned. He appeared with a towel draped over his forearm, carrying a tray with soup and bread. As I just stared at him blankly while lying down, <Simon> set the tray down on the table and sat in the chair. He folded the towel and wiped my forehead. The touch of the cool towel seemed to clear my dizzy head a little.

<Simon> said,

I did not answer. <Simon> said,

I did not answer. <Simon> said,

He continued calmly.

I answered.

My rough, cracked voice came out trembling slightly.

<Simon> said curtly. He looked at me with his serious, deep eyes.

I responded to his words with sarcasm.

<Simon> said,

<Don’t play with words.>

I replied fiercely.

I thought you were on my side.

Instead of finishing the sentence, I shut my mouth and looked up at <Simon>. A thought had suddenly flashed through my mind. How many times had <Simon> gone through this process? All of my predecessors must have said the same thing I was saying at this very moment. That they really trusted him. Maybe this was <Simon>’s pleasure. If <Jerome>’s pleasure was playing power games by fighting with me, then <Simon>’s pleasure was….

<Simon> said,

I didn’t ramble on any further than that. As I sat up in silence, <Simon> removed the towel from my forehead and brought the tray. I ate the soup and soft bread, and even obediently took the medicine. As soon as I took the medicine, a wave of drowsiness washed over me. The sleepiness seemed to approach slowly at first, then suddenly crashed down on my whole body, and I fell into another deep sleep.

It took three days for my body to finally recover. By Wednesday morning, I was able to wash up and go to school. A few teachers and students asked how I was doing. My cheeks were a bit thinner, but I had made a full recovery. It was thanks to <Simon>’s dedicated nursing. He diligently brought me three meals a day to my bedside and stayed up almost all night taking care of me. He also changed the sheets soaked with cold sweat and wiped my body with a warm, damp towel.

I let him touch my body. <Simon> went as far as treating my wounds and changing my clothes. I watched, curious to see when and how far he would go, and that crazy bastard was nursing me as if he were playing with a doll. We were very close physically, but there was not a single word of conversation. This was because <Simon> was blunt and taciturn as usual, and I also did not speak to him. The moment for words never came. Every action was read through a glance or an expression.

While <Simon> was playing dolls with me, a surprising amount of nothing happened. The two boys who had threatened to gang rape me acted as if they had completely forgotten their words. <Simon>, despite touching my body every day, gave off no sexual atmosphere at all, and <Jerome> did not even appear before my eyes for several days.

The wounds <Jerome> had left also healed quickly, and now, aside from the whip marks on my back, there were no particularly painful spots. The wounds on my back still throbbed, but not to the point of making it uncomfortable to move. Thanks to spending a few days without conflict with both <Jerome> and <Simon>, I was also able to buy some time to think.

I had to admit one thing. I had been cast in the role of the rabbit in this hunting game. For now, <Jerome> and <Simon> had the upper hand. They had cornered me as if they were herding a rabbit, and they even seemed somewhat proud of it. As long as those bastards held the advantage, this cycle of a hunting game would not be broken. Just as George said, I knew nothing.

<Jerome> had no purpose. There was no particular purpose or reason for choosing me or for fighting with me. To him, all of this was a form of entertainment.

<Jerome> enjoyed fighting with me. He enjoyed me getting revenge on him, and him retaliating against that revenge. He would not end it until it was over. The end meant that this perverted hunting game would conclude only when one of us left the school… or met a fatal end.

I had no intention of meekly playing along with <Jerome>’s wishes. But the board had already been set, and it had long been out of my hands whether to fold the game or not. <Jerome> tried to kill me. <Simon> betrayed me. So, I will get revenge on both of them.

The cute conflicts like getting hit in the head with a soccer ball, throwing a few punches, or taking away his riding crop to humiliate him, all ended on Saturday evening at <Kelly>. Since <Jerome> tried to kill me, wouldn’t our accounts be settled only if I killed <Jerome> too? Furthermore, <Simon>’s betrayal became the decisive factor that led <Jerome> to nearly kill me. Then shouldn’t I kill <Simon> as well?

The order was already decided. I will kill <Simon> first, who fearlessly sleeps in the same room as me every night.

From the day my body recovered, I stopped eating with <Simon>. I went to have dinner with George. Since George was busy working on his computer (I had no idea what kind of work he was doing every day without even going to school), it was nearly nine in the afternoon when we went down to the dining hall. George was thin but had a good appetite. He cut into his steak while I just picked at a salad and drank fruit juice. My appetite had not yet returned after being severely ill.

George spoke in a nagging tone.

He added as he cut a piece of meat.

As George said that, his gaze was over my shoulder. I turned around with my fork in my mouth and saw <Jerome> sitting at a table across the room. He was sitting alone at a table with no one around him, watching me with a smiling face, a fish dish in front of him. When our eyes met, <Jerome> gave me a wink. That crazy bastard.

Instead of exploding in anger, I also grinned back at him. <Jerome>, who must have thought I would ignore him, widened his eyes in surprise, then soon gave a shy little smile. <Jerome>’s shy face was so disgusting and contemptible that I couldn’t bear to look at it, so I quickly turned back to George. George seemed to have been watching us the whole time. He looked at me with narrowed eyes, as if he had something to say.

I shot back, frowning.

George did not open his mouth until he had swallowed everything inside it. Only after a long moment did he speak.

<What?>

<You and <Jerome>. You seem to hit it off quite well.>

George said, brazenly sticking his fork into my share of the salad.

I opened my mouth to protest, but I was so flabbergasted that no words came out. I just gaped my mouth and eventually gave up.

<…Forget it, let’s not even talk about it. You can have all the salad too.>

George did not refuse and pulled the salad bowl towards him, starting to eat with a hearty appetite. After the meal, perhaps feeling sorry for having devoured all the salad himself, he brought me a cup of black tea.

We sat on the first-floor terrace, leisurely stretching out our legs and drinking tea. George looked at the magnificent school building, which was once a monastery, and said abruptly.

<<Jerome> is going to eat you alive.>

I took a sip of tea and replied.

George answered.

I turned my body to look at him.

Instead of blaming him for not telling me, I asked something else.

<I’m not the first, am I?>

At last, George turned his gaze toward me. He stared intently at me with his pale-colored eyes and answered.

Instead of getting goosebumps at that answer, a laugh burst out of me. The seventh one! That’s fantastic. Only then did I understand the conversations I had with George during our walk on Saturday evening. I remembered him asserting that being a bystander was a form of violence. The bystander he was talking about was George himself. Because George had not told me anything and had simply watched, that day I was completely deceived by <Jerome> and <Simon> and went all the way to the threshold of the underworld.

If that was the case, I was curious about something else. Did George remain a bystander that evening just to prove his point? Or was there another reason?

George, who had waited for my laughter to stop, was about to speak. But I spoke first.

<George, how about going for a night walk today? It would be nice to spend a night in front of <Kelly>. It’s a romantic summer night, after all.>

I got up. George did not answer and only looked up at me. Leaving him behind, I returned to the dormitory. The housemaster at the entrance must have heard my laughter because he was staring at me, so I gave him a grin and went up to my room.

Hugh was half-lying on the living room sofa, reading his notes with a sleepy face. <Simon> was sitting opposite him, writing a letter. Hugh, still lying down, just raised his hand and waved it around before asking.

<Where’s George?>

I answered, loosening the knot of my school uniform tie.

Hugh shot up. He was bare-chested again, having thrown off his shirt.

I answered, looking at <Simon>, but he was just engrossed in writing his letter.

When I came out after changing my clothes and even taking a bath, only <Simon> was left in the living room. <Simon> spoke without me even asking.

<I’m going to turn in first too.>

My body hadn’t fully recovered yet, so I was a little dizzy, but perhaps because I was slightly tense, my mind was wide awake. I returned to my room, dried my hair, and turned off the light. I took the belt from my gown, wrapped it halfway around my hand, and crawled into bed. As I was quietly pretending to be asleep, <Simon>, as expected, came into the room without much delay. He rustled around at his desk organizing his writing tools, then soon changed into his pajamas and lay down in his bed.

The room was quiet. It felt like you could hear a pin drop. <Simon> lay perfectly still on his back, not even tossing and turning as was his usual habit. <Simon> would not sleep until he confirmed that I was asleep.

Therefore, I got up first. <Simon> slowly turned his head and looked at me. Until I climbed onto his bed, <Simon> just watched me silently. His posture, lying straight like a corpse in a coffin, also remained the same.

As I sat astride <Simon>’s waist, I looked into his eyes. We stared at each other blankly in the darkness.

I said,

<Simon> answered,

<That’s fair.>

I pulled the belt wrapped around my hand taut and mercilessly pressed it down on <Simon>’s Adam’s apple.

The pain was short but intense. By the time my convulsing body had finally settled, I found myself sprawled on the floor under the bed, and I sequentially realized that my side was throbbing with a stinging, burning pain. It was tingly and numb from head to toe, as if an electric current was flowing through me. Coming to my senses, I barely managed to sit up. Saliva was drooling from my mouth without my knowledge, and my hands were so weak I could not even make a fist.

<Simon> was sitting on the edge of the bed, watching me. In his hand was a black, blunt object that looked like a walkie-talkie. It was a stun gun.

A disbelieving laugh escaped me. So that’s why he had just let me do it. I had never even imagined he would be hiding something like that. What was surprising was that <Simon> had let me choke him for over ten seconds without resisting. He must have been waiting for me to frantically choke him. He had waited until I was completely absorbed in my action, in my emotion, and then he had pulled out that damn stun gun. The electric shock left a long-lasting aftereffect. The convulsions had stopped, but my body kept twitching intermittently.

<Simon> asked with eyes that were buried in the darkness.

These fucking crazy bastards. If they were going to ask if I’m okay every single time, they shouldn’t have done it in the first place. What? <Fair>, he said? The crazy bastard. I didn’t even have the strength to answer <Simon>’s words and slumped against the bed.

<Simon> put down the stun gun and approached me. He slipped his arms under my armpits and the crooks of my knees and lifted me up in a flash. He laid me on the bed and even unwound the belt that was still wrapped around my hand. I wanted to say something, but I couldn’t. The shock still lingered, and I felt like I would bite my tongue if I tried.

<Simon> pulled the blanket up to my chest. Then, he wiped the sweat that had quickly drenched my temples with the back of his hand.

<Simon> said,

<It’s been a tiring day, Raymond. Get a good night’s sleep.>

I had believed my health had recovered, but it seemed that was not necessarily the case. After even getting electrocuted in the middle of the night, a heavy drowsiness suddenly washed over me, so much so that my chest felt tight. Was it exhaustion? I looked at <Simon> through my closing eyelids. He was carefully examining my face, but his expression was not one of worry. Seeing that <Simon> was not worried, it seemed it wasn’t exhaustion. In the next moment, sleepiness won.

As soon as I opened my eyes in the morning, I felt like I was going to throw up. My stomach was nauseous and churning. It was only when I swung one leg out of the bed that the memories of last night came flooding back.

I had been hit with a stun gun last night. That was a truly unexpected development. To be honest, I was even starting to look forward to what would happen next. They beat me relentlessly, tried to kill me, betrayed me, and now a stun gun I had never seen before in my life had appeared. Moreover, the attitude with which <Jerome> and <Simon> approached the game was so admirable.

Even when I bit at them like a mad dog and taunted them with low-class insults like a thug, they never lost their composure. Last night, <Simon> had been brilliant. He maintained his calm even when I tried to kill him. He never gets angry. He doesn’t retaliate either. The violence that invariably came from them after I took revenge on <Jerome> and <Simon> could not be called revenge either. We were not playing a game of revenge that followed tail to tail. Now I could see that clearly.

The boys’ violence that followed my revenge was bait. When I took the bait, the boys willingly waited for the revenge that would come back to them. I should not take revenge on <Jerome> and <Simon> anymore. Like them, I had to cast bait. But in a way that they could not recognize… I had to use a bait they had never seen before….

But what in the world could that be? Is there even a way to trick those guys?

I sat blankly on the edge of the bed for a while before getting up. <Simon> was not in the room. Before I could take even a couple of steps, a wave of nausea surged up. I grabbed onto the bed rail, half-knelt, and vomited. Nothing but sour fluid came out. All I had eaten last evening was a little salad and some black tea, so there was no food to come out. But my stomach, once upset, kept trying to heave something up even though it was empty. As I gagged and retched, tears physiologically dripped down my face.

The sound of me vomiting must have reached the living room. Someone burst the door open. I looked up and saw it was George.

George said coldly, with a face that showed not the slightest intention of helping me.

After a few more dry heaves, the strength drained from my body. I slumped down, leaning my head against the bed. Only after wiping the saliva from the corner of my mouth with the palm of my hand could I retort to George’s words.

<That’s some encouraging advice. Stop talking nonsense and help me up. I want to rinse my mouth.>

George said, striding into the room.

I snorted at his words.

<Right. If I had eaten the steak, a much more splendid scene would be painted on the floor right now, wouldn’t it?>

Instead of answering, George grabbed my arm and pulled me up. I leaned against him and exited the room in an unsightly manner. George took me to the bathroom. It was only after rinsing my mouth and brushing my teeth that I suddenly thought to check my side. When I lifted my pajama top, there was a red burn mark on my side where the stun gun had been applied. Another medal. I staggered out of the bathroom.

Dong.

The clock chimed, announcing the hour. It was two in the afternoon. It seemed I hadn’t slept yesterday but had lost consciousness. I dazedly crossed the living room and stood by the window. A moment later, the scene I had expected appeared. <Jerome> had appeared, riding a horse.

I sat on the windowsill and watched <Jerome> ride his horse. It was difficult to guess what <Jerome> and <Simon> were thinking. They had not made a single move since the weekend. Even <Simon>’s action last night was nothing more than a resistance against me. Why were they not doing anything? What were they thinking?

What were they waiting for?

That evening, I did not even see <Simon> come in. Utterly exhausted, I had an early dinner with Hugh and George and was dead asleep less than an hour later. Perhaps because I had suffered a severe illness after nearly being murdered, and then had been electrocuted, I had a very strange dream that night.

In the dream, I was riding a carousel, but at some point, I realized it wasn’t a wooden horse but a real, living horse. The living horse was thrashing its legs with a metal rod pierced through its stomach, and I was on top of it, bobbing my body up and down as if riding a real horse.

When I jolted awake from the dream, it was four in the morning. My whole body was drenched in sweat, and I felt so incredibly heavy that I couldn’t lift a single finger. When I barely managed to turn my head, <Simon>, as always, was lying neatly in his bed, sound asleep.

I was awake for only a moment. I fell back asleep as if fainting and opened my eyes when it was past eleven in the morning.

My body felt lighter than yesterday. The dormitory was unusually empty. George was nowhere to be seen either. After changing into casual clothes and finishing my meal, the dormitory was still empty when I returned. Figuring they must have gone out for a walk somewhere, I also went outside. I felt like a short walk would make me feel better. In any case, with neither <Jerome> nor <Simon> in sight, my mind was at ease.

The weather was perfect. I had no intention of going to school. I was already late for classes, so I could just use the excuse that I was sick. The weekend started tomorrow. If I stayed at school, a not-so-pleasant trap set by <Jerome> and <Simon> would be waiting, but I did not want to play along this weekend. I mean, wouldn’t it get boring for <Jerome> and <Simon> if I fell into their trap every time? I planned to go downtown over the weekend and spend a night at a hotel.

I took a light-hearted stroll, then sat on a bench on the campus grounds and watched students play tennis, returning to the dormitory only after one game had finished.

The dormitory was still empty. However, upon entering my room, I noticed something different from before. A brown paper bag was lying on my bed. It was not sealed, and no name was written on it. I frowned and picked up the bag. It couldn’t be mail. You needed a key to get into the dormitory, so I had a good guess as to who would have gone to the trouble of placing a bag on my bed in my room. It seemed they were trying to pull off some other fun stunt.

I held my hand under the bag’s opening and turned it upside down. A bundle of stiff paper fell onto my palm. When I looked again, I realized it was not paper. They were photographs. Photographs taken of me. My breath caught in my throat.

<What… what the hell… ho, how…>

In the photographs, I was lying naked on my bed, in this very room in this dormitory. Between my wide-spread legs was a man. Only the back of the man’s head was visible. Thanks to the camera flash, what the man and I were doing was captured precisely. The man had his penis halfway inside my anus. In the photograph, I had the face of someone sound asleep.

I stared blankly at the next photo. This time, I was sitting on another man’s thighs with my legs spread wide, and just like before, the man had inserted his penis into me. The man turned my sleeping face to the front while hiding his own face behind the back of my head. I turned to the next page. This time, it was just my face. My sleeping face was defiled with semen, and a white, murky liquid was smeared on my parted lips.

I turned to the next page. Then the next. The entire stack of photos was like that. They showed me being penetrated by an unknown penis, my body covered in semen, or my blankly open mouth holding someone’s penis, its owner unknown. In the photos, my face was that of someone deeply asleep.

When I saw the final photo, my face turned deathly pale. In that last photo, I was lying on my side, and two men, their faces invisible, were captured simultaneously thrusting their penises into me. Two men. Two of them.

Another person had taken the photos.

I could feel the blood draining from my face. My legs trembled as if they might give out, but I somehow managed to stay standing. I instinctively moved to sit on the bed but stopped myself. The familiar, clean bedding suddenly seemed repulsive, as if it were crawling with insects. Instead of sitting, I stood rooted to the spot, repeatedly looking through the nineteen photos. Only after examining each one dozens of times could I finally set the grotesque things down on the desk.

At first, my mind buzzed as if I’d been slapped out of nowhere, but I eventually regained my composure. I stared down at my hands. Both were trembling uncontrollably. Was it fear? Or anger? I chose anger.

Ignoring the trembling in my hands, I laid out the photos one by one on the desk. Arranged in a neat row, they were a spectacle. They looked like a scene from a third-rate porn film. I stood with my arms crossed, examining each photo again, one by one. I wanted to tear them to shreds, burn them, and swallow the ashes, but I barely suppressed the urge.

Unbeknownst to me, the game had already begun. To keep up, I had to stay calm. I had to accept the situation. Hadn’t I already endured enough humiliation? I took a deep breath and exhaled. My lips trembled. I bit them. My convulsing hands clenched into fists. I squeezed so hard my nails dug into my palms. Then my whole body began to shake. I tensed every muscle to hold myself together.

I had to accept the humiliation but not surrender to it. Even when alone, I couldn’t afford to weaken. In this game, the one who stepped back first lost. I had to grit my teeth and endure.

Slowly, the trembling subsided.

I started to think. First, who sent these photos? It had to be <Jerome> and <Simon>. Why did they send them? To prove themselves. They had said they would gang-rape me, and they had done it. What reaction did they expect? I imagined what I would have done if I hadn’t regained my calm while staring at the photos. I would have rushed down the right corridor and pounded on <Jerome>’s door until it broke. But I had found my calm.

<Jerome> and <Simon> must have anticipated I could do that. They were now waiting for me to take the bait and seek revenge. What would happen next? It was simple. Either I acted, or they did. So, how would I act?

I wouldn’t act. I wouldn’t take the bait and would wait. I decided to observe how <Jerome> and <Simon> would react to my lack of reaction. Of course, I wouldn’t sit idly by. With much calmer eyes than before, I closely examined the photos again.

After scrutinizing them for a while, I identified a few facts and began organizing them. I sorted the photos in order based on my own criteria and bundled them together. Holding the stack, I looked around the room. I wanted to hide them, but I was at a loss for where. Soon, I realized that no matter where I hid them, they’d likely be found.

They already knew this room inside and out. I had to hide them somewhere other than the room. I split the stack of photos in half, stuffing one half into the left sock cuff and the other into the right, pulling my pant legs down to conceal them before leaving the dormitory. The weather was still bright and clear, and <Jerome> and <Simon> were nowhere to be seen.

I stormed out of the dormitory but had no particular destination. It felt like there wasn’t a single place on campus beyond <Jerome> and <Simon>’s gaze. I didn’t want to go back into the woods, either. Especially when I didn’t know where <Jerome> and <Simon> were, I had to avoid secluded places even more. Unable to decide, I wandered the campus grounds and ended up entering the school. A few classrooms were still in session. Wandering the hallways, I arrived at the library, where an idea struck me.

With exams approaching, the library was full of students. I roamed between the bookshelves, pulling out all sorts of books. I took only one book from each shelf, sometimes putting a book back, or standing in front of a shelf for a while before deciding not to take anything. By the end, I had over twenty books piled in my arms. Waddling to the librarian’s desk, I spread them out, and the librarian raised an eyebrow.

The librarian trailed off. I responded.

<Raymond.>

<Raymond, my boy. You can only check out fifteen books.>

<Oh, I’ll put some back then.>

I replied, then carried the books back to the shelves. While sliding a 380-page book titled Wildflowers of the Southern Regions back onto the shelf, I quickly slipped the stack of photos into the gap at the bottom of the bookcase. I lingered for another thirty minutes, shelving and reshelving books, before leaving the library. In my arms were fifteen completely different books from the ones I’d initially picked.

If someone had been watching, they wouldn’t know when I hid the photos. To find them, they’d have to search through hundreds of bookshelves—a time-consuming task, no doubt. I returned to the dormitory with the borrowed books.

The dormitory finally had people. Hugh and George were sitting across from each other, playing chess. Hugh, wearing a sleeveless shirt that showed off his well-muscled arms from swimming, was engrossed in the chessboard. He was smart and a good student, but he had never beaten George at chess. Still, he played with George often, saying it helped his focus.

Next to Hugh were a few thick books and some papers, likely for exam prep. I plopped down on the sofa beside them, dumping my armful of books onto one side. George looked at me.

<Studying?>

George asked in a strange tone. When I turned to him, his expression seemed to say, What’s gotten into you? I protested.

George replied, lightly pushing a chess piece with his index finger. As always, his response was brutally honest.

Before I could retort, Hugh suddenly clutched his head silently and rolled onto the floor. I glanced at the chessboard, but I didn’t know the rules and was clueless. Blinking, I asked.

Hugh didn’t answer. George did.

<No. It’ll be over on the next move.>

Hugh got up, cleared the chess pieces, and looked at me glumly.

George chimed in.

<Anyway, George is right. I’m not studying. These books aren’t even in the exam scope. I’m heading out for the weekend.>

Hugh looked at me with pure envy. I continued.

George shot me a meaningful glance, but I ignored it. Hugh, overcome with envy, rolled on the floor, groaning, before crawling back to his desk to clutch his unfinished paper. We naturally fell silent, each focusing on our own tasks. Hugh buried himself in his studies, George tapped away at his laptop, and I kept an eye on the two boys from behind the bookshelf.

From closely examining the photos earlier, I had deduced four key facts:

The photos featured a total of two people.
Only one photo showed both of them at once.
The photos were taken over a long period, at least a month.
At least four people were involved, possibly more.

First, the two people in the photos were <Jerome> and <Simon>. They hid their faces thoroughly, but their bodies were fully exposed, as if daring me to guess who they were. I identified <Jerome> partly because of a bruise on Person A’s side. Right after the stable incident, I had kicked and stomped on his stomach with my boot. The bruise on Person A’s side matched the spot I’d struck.

I knew Person B was <Simon> because of the hand holding my face. I’d seen <Simon>’s hand countless times: the hand that treated my wounds, washed my body, pulled up my blanket, wiped sweat from my forehead, was terrible at throwing darts, and, of course, choked my neck and zapped my side with a taser. It was large enough to wrap around my ankle and warmer than most people’s hands… It was <Simon>’s hand.

As <Jerome> had asked if I’d ever had sex, my first men were them.

Second, except for one photo, no other body besides the one violating me was ever exposed. Not even the photographer’s fingertip appeared by mistake. They must have carefully selected the photos, so there were no errors. Only in the final photo did <Jerome> and <Simon> appear together, because they were both violating me.

That photo wasn’t taken with a tripod. Its crooked, tilted angle suggested it was taken by a person. This was the introduction of Person C. With that photo, <Jerome> and <Simon> had declared another game.

A game of tag.

If I couldn’t find Person C in time, <Jerome> and <Simon> would try to inflict unbearable humiliation again, just as they had tried to kill me at <Kelly>. But Person C’s identity was a complete mystery.

Third, they had been doing this for at least a month. It might have even started the first night I arrived at the dormitory. I realized this by looking at my body in the photos. The second biggest shock, after the photo of <Jerome> and <Simon> together, was this.

In some photos, my body was clean. I mean, it had no scars at all. I transferred to this school in April, and my fights with <Jerome> began in mid-May. For at least six weeks after transferring, my body was free of scars, just like in the photos.

I confirmed the gang rape had been ongoing for a long time by observing the marks on my body. The photos showed my body, initially unscarred, gradually accumulating wounds. The final photo, with <Jerome> and <Simon> together, was the most recent. A red burn mark on my side, from the taser, was visible. That photo was likely taken last night or the night before.

Fourth, whether they participated in the rape or not, at least four people were present at the scene, possibly more.

Based on the photos, only three people could be inferred: <Jerome>, <Simon>, and Person C, who took the last photo. They likely intended to reveal only Person C to me. But they made one critical mistake, one they hadn’t noticed. If I hadn’t meticulously examined each photo, I wouldn’t have noticed it either.

In the final photo, Person D was exposed.

The composition of the last photo was as follows: I was lying on my side on the bed, with <Simon> behind me, judging by the hand, and <Jerome> in front. <Simon> had lifted my thigh to expose the space between my legs. With three large boys on the bed, it was cramped, and the sheet was pushed down to the foot. Person C took the photo from near the head of the bed, likely to avoid capturing <Jerome> and <Simon>’s faces. But this revealed Person D at the foot of the bed.

At the edge of the photo, Person D’s shadow was captured. It was hard to notice due to the shadows of the bed and blanket, but once I did, it was unmistakably a human shadow. There was no reason for a shadow to appear on an otherwise empty wall.

Perhaps <Jerome> and <Simon> were so pleased with the final photo and so caught up imagining my reaction that they missed this small flaw. But thanks to Person D’s shadow, I knew at least four people were in the room that night.

Yet questions remained. How had I never woken up? That part was incomprehensible. Beyond that, it was strange that I hadn’t noticed this going on for so long. Even seeing it with my own eyes, I couldn’t make sense of how this was possible. If they hadn’t sent the photos, I might never have known.

Finally, are Hugh and George truly unaware of all this? The background of the photograph was my room, my bed. Is it really possible that they, who live in the same dormitory although they use different rooms, do not know? I was not naive enough to believe that. Of course, there was no way they did not know. They know. However, the topic was this.

Are <Hugh> and <George> bystanders?

Or are they accomplices?

If <Hugh> and <George> were accomplices, they were just as patient and rational as <Jerome> and <Simon>. It would have been natural for them to steal a glance at my face or attitude by now… but while we were studying together in the living room, <Hugh> did not look back at me even once. Like a boy genuinely worried about an exam, he buried his nose in his book and immersed himself in his studies. All he did was occasionally mumble to himself as if memorizing something.

To be honest, I knew almost nothing about <Hugh>. Besides the fact that he had a fun-loving personality with a wide circle of friends and was a cheerful boy who smiled a lot, I knew almost nothing else. The reason I felt an affinity for <Hugh> was actually vaguely because he smiled a lot, not because I knew him well. It was difficult to guess whether <Hugh> was an accomplice or a bystander.

<George> was slightly different. While he seemed to be just tapping on his keyboard, the moment he felt my gaze on him, he would sense it like a ghost and meet my eyes. He cast a look with his usual ambiguous expression, a half-and-half mixture of curiosity and suspicion. <George> was perfectly the same as his usual self. Which meant he was suspicious and doubtful.

<George> knew a lot about <Jerome> and <Simon>. He was the one who told me that I was the seventh. Judging from the situation so far, <George> was much closer to being a bystander than an accomplice. Nevertheless, I was suspicious. His bystanderism was not simple observation but closer to a violent neglect. What was the reason for him to remain so thoroughly a bystander? Suddenly, a conversation with <George> came to mind.

When I said that, <George> replied.

How could he know all of that in such detail? Because he was an accomplice?

No. I recalled how <George> would sometimes look at me with strange eyes. <George> might have been my predecessor. <George> had also said this:

<<Jerome> will eat you alive.>

As <Hugh> focused on his studies, <George>, who often chatted with <Hugh>, became quiet as well. Because of that, I could not observe the two of them to my heart’s content. I had intended to deduce something by listening to their conversation, but I did not have the chance. Time passed in silence, and around evening, <Simon> returned.

He seemed to have come from his drama club activities, as he was sweating a lot. <Simon> immediately took a shower. When he came out, <Hugh> suggested that we all go down to eat dinner together. <Simon> and I made eye contact for a brief moment. When I grinned at him, <Simon> stared at me blankly for a moment before turning his head away. We went down to the dining hall together, had a meal, and drank tea.

<Simon> barely said a word. <Hugh> and <George> mainly led the conversation, with me participating from time to time. Throughout dinner, I observed <Hugh>, <George>, and <Simon>. Everyone was their usual self. If all of them were in on it together, they were a bunch of cockroaches with chillingly good teamwork.

<Simon>, who had been silently occupying his seat the whole time, reacted for the first time only when it came to a topic <Hugh> brought up. It was when <Hugh> spoke about my weekend plans.

<Simon>, who had maintained an indifferent attitude all evening, suddenly looked at me with sharp attention. Instead of avoiding his gaze, I looked at <Simon> and answered.

<Well. I’ve never been to Gorun, so I don’t really know.>

<Hugh>, oblivious to anything, chattered on cheerfully.

The dinner conversation went on like that. After drinking tea, we came up to our room. <Hugh> continued studying in the living room, and <George> perched on the windowsill, opened the window, and solved a Rubik’s cube. <Simon> picked up the mail and went downstairs. I also sat in the living room to pass the time and only got up when it was almost time to go to bed.

<Simon> was already in the room. When I entered the room after bathing, <Simon> was sitting at his desk writing a letter and turned his head. He glanced at me and continued writing his letter. I changed into my pajamas, sat on the edge of my bed, and stared intently at the back of <Simon>’s neat head.

Finally, I asked.

<Simon> replied without looking back.

<Yes.>

I jeered in the most despicable voice I could manage.

<Simon> still answered without turning around.

<<Jerome> wanted it that way.>

His calm exterior was irritating and detestable, but instead of smacking the back of <Simon>’s head, I asked.

<Simon> answered monotonously.

It was the answer I had expected, so I was not surprised. Even while exchanging words with me, <Simon> did not stop the hand that was writing the letter. To whom on earth was that bastard writing that letter so diligently? Or maybe he was just pretending to write to distract me. I glared fixedly at the back of <Simon>’s neat head, then I got up. I went and sat on his bed, and only then did <Simon> turn around.

He put down his fountain pen and met my eyes blankly. His face was endlessly serious and calm. Someday, I wanted to see that gentle face cry out, unable to bear the pain. To see it distort ugly as he desperately clung and begged. I sat facing him and casually spread my knees. <Simon> glanced at the space between my legs and then met my eyes again.

I said curtly.

<Simon> did not answer.

<Simon> did not answer. I scoffed.

<What’s wrong? You don’t have the confidence to satisfy your partner unless he’s asleep?>

<Simon> did not answer. He did not even twitch an eyebrow.

<Simon> slowly rose from his seat. He strode over to the bed. With the light behind him, <Simon>’s shadow poured over my body.

<Simon> bent down, placed a hand on my thigh, and then slowly slid it upwards. Through the thin pajama fabric, <Simon>’s always-warm hand approached with its still-warm temperature.

Without blinking once, I stared intently into <Simon>’s black eyes. <Simon>’s hand moved up from my thigh, suddenly gripped my waist, and then pulled me straight up to my feet. <Simon> pushed my shoulder toward my bed.

<Simon> said.

<You’ll have to wake up early if you want to go out tomorrow.>

Leaving me standing there bewildered, he turned off the desk lamp and came back. He gently pushed my back toward my bed and then turned off the room light altogether.

I stood foolishly in the darkness. <Simon> had already crawled into his bed. He said good night.

I stood foolishly for a moment at those words, then slowly went back to my bed. The anxiety I had felt since <Simon> laid his hands on me gradually subsided. But an ominous feeling remained in some corner of my mind. I did not want to sleep, but drowsiness washed over me. I still had not figured out <Simon>’s intentions. I should not fall asleep like this…. But soon, I was swept away by the waves of sleep that soaked my body, and I fell asleep without even realizing it.

On Saturday morning, I woke up much earlier than usual. It seemed I was excited because I had made plans to go out for the first time since transferring. Not only that, but for the first time in a while, I had an appetite.

It was seven in the morning. <Simon> had already gone out for a jog and was not there. I went down to the dining hall and ate a hearty pasta with lots of meatballs for what was an early breakfast. Since it was early in the morning, there were very few people in the dining hall.

After finishing my meal leisurely by myself and drinking tea, I came up to the room, and <Hugh> was just coming out of the bathroom. He came out wearing only a pair of briefs, shaking his wet hair, and said hello. I went straight into my room and started packing. My luggage, if you could call it that, was just a few books borrowed from the library, underwear, and socks. When I went out to the living room, <Hugh> was throwing open all the windows in the entire suite.

It was the height of summer. Forkgrand was a northern region in the United Kingdom, so winter was long and summer was short, and Bluebell was located in the northernmost part of the state, so there were only a few hot days during the short summer. It was a cool summer without even any tropical nights. It was sunny and clear, and the humidity was low, so it was also dry enough that the school had conducted fire safety drills three or four times this summer. In any case, the weather was that good.

I helped <Hugh> open the windows. There was still plenty of time before my departure, so I picked up the book I had been reading yesterday and sat on the sofa. <Hugh> sat on the floor and began to roll a cigarette. I really knew nothing about <Hugh>. I had just now learned for the first time that he even smoked. As I watched him, blinking, <Hugh> looked up.

<Ah, you probably haven’t seen this since you always sleep in.>

<Hugh> said cheerfully.

Watching his hands skillfully roll the cigarette, I asked.

<Hugh> motioned toward his room with his eyes and said playfully.

<Thanks to my fussy roommate. He absolutely won’t let me smoke in the dormitory. Anyway, <George> is as prickly as a girl.>

Like a girl. The words <Hugh> spat out mockingly left a strange impression. Do people normally use words like <girl> for a friend? It was suspicious. It might be a groundless suspicion, but there was nothing to lose by being cautious. I observed <Hugh> intently for a moment. <Hugh> nonchalantly continued talking while rolling his cigarette.

<Hugh>, who had lifted his head, asked in bewilderment when our eyes met. It was because I had been staring at him without hiding my suspicious expression. I answered calmly.

<Hugh> laughed like a prankster.

<Aren’t you going to get an upset stomach and not be able to go out? You can’t do that. I’ve run out of my notebooks, so I’m in a bit of a tight spot right now.>

Instead of answering, I shrugged my shoulders and pretended to rub my stomach. <Hugh> asked if I needed any indigestion medicine, but I shook my head. <Hugh> continued to roll his cigarette. He described what the notebook he wanted me to buy looked like and how many pages it had, and then continued to chatter on. He talked enthusiastically about the hotel and swimming pool he went to last weekend, and even about the dishes the hotel chef was good at.

Author's Thoughts

There are numerous stimulating scenes involving rape, gang rape, violence, abuse, and drugs. Please practice discretion as you proceed.

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