The Bad Life – Chapter 3.1 – Chapter 3: Those Who Raise Dogs

Author: nicotine

I did not return to the dormitory that night. I stayed in the school library. Even though it was past midnight, there were quite a few students, perhaps because of the exams. With so many eyes watching, there was no chance I would be suddenly grabbed by the neck and thrown onto the stone floor. I pretended to study, blending in with the other students, and then stealthily slipped into the records archive.

The lights in the archive were off, as it was primarily used by school staff or teachers. From the entrance of the archive, I took a Hugh-brand electric lantern and went inside. This school was not thorough with its computerization. It was because, being isolated deep in the forest, there would be no way to handle it if an event like a power outage from a disaster were to occur. Instead, their manual work was very meticulous. One example of this was the dormitory’s entrance and exit log.

Normally, we did not have to fill it out when coming and going from the dormitory, but when moving in or out, we were required to write our name and sign. I remembered filling out this log on my first day at school, completing the paperwork with a staff member named Anna, the one who gave me a scarf. Therefore, it would not be difficult to find out the names of my predecessors. The calculation was that once I found out the names, I could somehow find a way forward from there.

Slowly crossing between the tall bookshelves of the archive, I finally found the log I was looking for. My name was also written in the very last binder. This was because whenever an original document was made, a copy was always made at the same time and stored separately in the records archive’s log. I pulled out the two or three binders right before mine and sank to the floor.

After hanging the electric lantern on the bookshelf, I opened the last volume first. My hands trembled slightly with excitement. The last page had my documents filed. I looked at the page before it. A guy named Tim something… Building A, Room 301… Moved out. Thomas… Building C, Room 102, Moved in. Damon, Building A, Room 102, Moved out. Matt, Building B, Room 202, Moved in… I flipped through the pages with a flutter, then stopped my hand. All of a sudden, a shiver ran up to the nape of my neck. I shuddered involuntarily.

■■■■■■, Building B, Room 401, Moved out.

The name was erased. It was blotted out with black ink, making it impossible to see. I quickly flipped to the previous page.

■■■■■■, Building B, Room 401, Moved in.

The names on both the move in record and the move out record were blotted out with ink. The back of my ears felt cold. I searched through all three logbooks. After checking the records up to last spring, I found a total of twelve pages with names erased. The move in and move out records of six people had all been erased. There was only one person who had moved into Building B, Room 401, whose record had not yet been erased.

Raymond. It was my name.

The facts I discovered from rummaging through the logs all night were as follows.

The timing of their arrival
1-a. <Jerome>: Spring of ’97 (19 years old). Building B, Room 402. Before him, no one had used Building B, Room 402.

1-b. <Simon>: Winter of ’96 (18 years old). Building B, Room 401. The person who shared a room with him at that time must have been my first predecessor.

1-c. <Hugh>: Spring of ’97 (19 years old). Building B, Room 401. His move in date was the same as <Jerome>’s. It is possible they knew each other before attending the school.

1-d. <George>: Fall of ’97 (19 years old). Building B, Room 401. Seeing as <George>’s name was not erased, the possibility that he was not my predecessor grew. If <George> was an accomplice, he would have been the last to join them. However, it was still difficult to rule out the possibility that he was my predecessor.

The move in and move out timing of the victims
2-a. <First predecessor>: Moved in summer of ’96. Moved out spring of ’97. He was at this school even before <Simon>, but ended up leaving. It happened just a month after <Jerome> and <Hugh> moved in.

2-b. <Second predecessor>: Moved in spring of ’97. Moved out spring of ’97. This predecessor left without completing a full month.

2-c. <Third predecessor>: Moved in summer of ’97. Moved out summer of ’97. He lasted for a month and two weeks.

2-d. <Fourth predecessor>: Moved in fall of ’97. Moved out fall of ’97. He was there for exactly two weeks.

2-e. <Fifth predecessor>: Moved in fall of ’97. Moved out winter of ’97. He was the only one who endured a whole season.

2-f. <Sixth predecessor>: Moved in spring of ’98. Moved out spring of ’98. He lasted for three weeks.

2-g. Raymond: I am the seventh, and I moved in April of the spring of ’98 and have now seen the summer month of June. Looking at those who lasted only two or three weeks, I could tell there was a difference between the way they were tortured and the way I was being tortured.

This was all I could find out through the logs. The information about the predecessors was thoroughly erased. Information about their hometowns, birth dates, and nationalities was all blotted out with ink, so there was no use in looking at the logs any longer. Still, there was some progress. Had I not found out at least one thing about <Jerome>’s group, about whom I knew nothing?

As soon as they moved in during the spring of ’97, they had been committing such acts for over a year. They were overwhelmingly experienced. They were bound to be more skilled than I was. The predecessors, whose names were even erased, were their sacrificial lambs.

Are they still looking for a test subject to study the duration of their hunting game? Or are they now looking for a pet to tame and raise with care? Am I a test subject, or their first pet? In any case, it was clear that the time they had invested in me was overwhelmingly longer than that for the predecessors. Figure out the pattern. This, too, was my task.

I organized the facts I had discovered by writing them down on paper, and then I left the records archive. After being cooped up alone in the dusty archive for a long time, my head felt dizzy and my throat was dry. Leaving the archive, I went to the school’s cafe, which was open 24 hours. I looked at the clock and it was already approaching four in the morning. In the cafe, students exhausted from studying sat drinking coffee and chatting quietly.

I did not want to drink tea. Instead, I picked up a can of cola, and as I turned around, I discovered <George> sitting in a corner of the cafe. He was tucked away in a remote spot by himself, with a laptop on the table. He did not get flustered even when our eyes met, as if he had been watching me from the beginning.

I sat down across from him, holding the cola and a cup filled with ice. <George> was drinking coffee. His blue eyes glinted coldly as he began to speak.

<George> said.

I poured the cola into the cup of ice.

<So, did you find the culprit?>

<George> looked at the cola cup with a slight frown, then said shortly after.

He tapped the keyboard a few times and then turned the laptop towards me. On the recorded CCTV screen, there was <Simon>.

I said bluntly.

<George> turned the screen back towards himself.

<I’m not getting involved in what <Jerome> or those guys do.>

In aspects like this, <George>’s pattern was different from <Jerome>’s, <Simon>’s, and <Hugh>’s. The three of them thoroughly hid their objective from me. That is, until the moment of revelation arrived. They would watch and enjoy the sheep being deceived, and then treat the moment of revealing their true identities as the climax.

On the other hand, <George> unhesitatingly said he knew everything that was happening to me. Even while holding the very knife that could put <Simon> in a difficult position, he never acted proactively. Even though it was crystal clear that he was in a situation to help me. I wondered what the reason was for this sort of negligence from <George>.

It felt somewhat dubious to definitively label <George> as my enemy. <George> was an enigmatic figure. If I had to cast bait, I was confused about whether I should deceive him too, whether I should make <George> an enemy or an ally.

However, reflecting on my conversations with <George> until now, there was no need to ponder it alone. <George> never avoided a question he was asked.

<Why?>

Therefore, I asked honestly.

<George> answered in an instant.

<<Jerome> doesn’t kill anyone.>

I noticed the hidden blank space in that statement.

<Are you saying <Hugh> or <Simon> do kill people?>

<George> did not answer. He looked at me with his piercing blue eyes and then suddenly smiled faintly.

I keenly understood the other side of that statement.

<George> asked immediately.

<George>’s eyes shone. A strange desire flickered in his eyes.

I looked indifferently at him, who was revealing a strange passion.

I continued to speak while calmly observing <George>’s seamless face.

<You want me to choose one of the two? You are wrong, <George>. The one who survives is the one who wins.>

<George> only rolled his blue eyes and did not answer.

<Just because <Jerome> doesn’t kill anyone doesn’t mean I don’t have to kill anyone.>

Finally, <George>’s seamless face cracked. His face looked no different from usual. But I could tell that <George> had lost his composure. He did not move a single hair, as if he had become a stone statue and frozen. <George>’s pale blue eyes wavered with confusion.

I pretended to be calm as I faced him, but inwardly I was surprised. It was the first time I had seen <George> lose his composure. He was always in a position of thoroughly observing all situations with a cynical and rational face. <George>, who had extremely avoided any act of emotional involvement, trembled his eyes and glared at me for the first time. But it was not anger. If you looked closely, it was just extreme excitement. <George> said.

<George>’s voice trembled faintly.

I scoffed at <George>.

<George> said, his piercing blue eyes glinting coldly.

I replied in a voice even colder than <George>’s.

<George> did not hesitate. He suddenly turned off the laptop’s power and flipped it over. I just watched him in silence. <George> took a Phillips screwdriver out of his bag and abruptly began to unscrew the screws on the back of the laptop. When he opened the back panel of the laptop, there was a very thin rectangular plastic box in the place where the CD-ROM drive should have been. <George> held out that box to me.

I had already guessed what was inside the box before even opening it. However, I needed to confirm. I opened the box. Inside were five photos.

They showed <George>, with his hair longer than now, golden locks reaching down to his chin, being gang-raped by two boys.

They were no different from the photos taken of me.

<George> had a sleeping face, just like me, and his body bore cruel scars. The photos, showing a penis in his mouth and semen dripping from his violated rear, evoked shame and humiliation.

After looking at all five photos, I put them back in the box and handed it to <George>. <George> blinked and looked at me.

Silence hung between us. Neither of us spoke for about thirty minutes. As it passed five in the morning, dawn began to break outside the window. The cola had long gone flat. When I finally spoke, my voice was hoarse and rough.

I said bluntly.

<George> used the word “victims.” He continued just as bluntly.

<Your name hasn’t been erased either, has it? That’s because your <resignation> isn’t complete. If you <resign>, your record will disappear too.>

I didn’t stop arguing.

<How did you end the game? <Jerome> and his gang never stop until someone dies.>

We exchanged words rapidly. We both implicitly understood that any pause would breed distrust. But <George>’s response choked me.

<George>’s eyes, gleaming coldly like glass marbles, spoke again.

<Nothing’s over for me.>

I stared at <George>, unable to continue. I was confused, and nausea welled up inside me. If <George> was still being targeted by <Jerome>’s gang… Suddenly, I recalled something <Hugh> had said about <George>.

<He’s sensitive like a <girl>.>

But I was still suspicious. I couldn’t easily trust him. There were too many things that needed explaining: <George>’s violent negligence, his silence until now, and the way <Jerome> and his gang treated him. After what I’d gone through just last night, I was too wary and distrustful to believe him easily.

Yet… seeing <George>’s photos and sitting across from him now, in this moment where I’d met the only person who could share my wounds, I couldn’t deny feeling an irresistible sense of comfort and affection. That made it hard to speak. <George> stayed silent with me for a while before finally speaking first.

<Albert.>

I looked at him silently.

<Peter.>

<George> continued.

<Daniel. Joseph. Christopher. Nicholas.>

<George> slowly listed the six names and added.

I asked.

<In what cases do they erase names? Are they planning to erase mine too? <George>, there’s so much I don’t know.>

<George> answered.

<They’ll erase your name too. But you’re different from the others so far. You’ve always been different. That’s what piques their interest.>

I asked.

My mouth had gone dry from the long conversation.

<George> replied.

<George> put the plastic box into his laptop bag and turned it on. Moments later, the screen he showed me left me unable to think. He displayed six photos, each showing one of the predecessors. Their names were scrawled beneath each photo.

The first photo was of a gravestone in a cemetery. It was Albert’s grave.

The second photo was of Peter. In a wheelchair next to the iron sign of a mental hospital, Peter was with three boys standing at attention behind him, smiling and staring intensely into the camera lens.

The third photo was of Daniel. It was unmistakably a photo of a corpse. It sent chills down my spine. A gaunt boy lay on a hospital bed, covered with a white sheet, with only his closed-eyed face slightly exposed for the shot.

The fourth photo was of <Hugh>. <Hugh> was holding a newspaper and grinning. The newspaper reported a boy’s suicide, and that boy was surely Joseph…

The fifth photo—damn it—was taken in a brothel. Christopher, wearing a tight t-shirt and jeans, was sitting on a stranger’s lap, and beyond him, <Jerome>’s face was faintly visible at the table…

The last photo showed only the back of a boy walking toward a car with a duffel bag, seemingly taken inside a building. It was Nicholas. He was the only one captured in a seemingly normal state.

<George> said dryly.

<Why?>

I asked.

<Why… why are they doing this? Why? How could they…?>

My voice grew desperate without me realizing it.

<George> stared at me with his usual impenetrable expression and suddenly said.

<Don’t act weak, Raymond.>

His voice was stern.

<Don’t act like those pieces of trash before you.>

He called the boys he’d just referred to as victims “trash.” Hatred flickered in <George>’s voice. But I couldn’t be as detached as <George>. I was afraid of death. I was afraid of pain. I was afraid of torture and abuse.

I said fiercely.

<George> said quietly.

<George> spoke again, his voice burning with a strange fervor.

The sun rose. <George> looked at the sunlight streaming through the window and packed his laptop into his bag.

<There’s not much time left.>

<George> said.

<They’ll erase your name soon.>

I looked at him silently. <George> spoke as if making a declaration.

<They’ll abuse you, humiliate you, torture you, and tear you apart alive until you’re brutally killed. The violence and insults you’ve faced so far were just a test.>

His voice was steady and commanding, exuding intimidation. I asked.

<How can I kill <Jerome>? I can’t take on three guys alone.>

<George> answered briefly.

<I’ll help.>

I glared at him suspiciously.

I asked sharply.

<I’m just using you. Because I want to survive.>

<George> added.

With those words, I understood immediately. We weren’t allies. Though we shared the same abuse, violence, and wounds, the experiences of betrayal and distrust were too strong for us to see each other as comrades.

But <George> openly admitted he’d use me. His purely selfish motive made his intentions trustworthy in their own way.

For me, there was nothing to lose if <George> used me. If he gave me the information I needed, I had no intention of sharing anything further with him. I still knew too little about <George>.

I didn’t know where he got the information about the six predecessors, how he’d survived, or why his twisted relationship with <Jerome>’s gang kept functioning. Until I figured those things out, <George> remained one of my enemies. He was just a friendly enemy whose goals aligned with mine for now.

<George> slung his bag over his shoulder and stood up. He glanced at my expression and said.

I scoffed.

<George> smirked crookedly. It was a smile that knew exactly what I had gone through.

Those words were chilling. I asked.

<George> explained dryly.

<Since you came to this school, you have always had dinner with <Simon>, <Hugh>, or me. They put drugs in your food.>

It felt like I had been hit over the head. I had eaten alone with <George> many times. Just a few days ago, even. Reading my expression, <George> replied with a blank face.

He glanced at his wristwatch and said.

<When you fell asleep, <Simon> gave you an injection. Haven’t you had no appetite since coming to this school? That is a side effect of the injection.>

Suddenly, the sound of a bell ringing from the glass door drew our attention. Both <George> and I whipped our heads around to look at the glass door. The visitor was just a janitor.

<George> said, his sharp eyes scanning the hallway beyond the glass door.

He was about to take a step, but then he looked back at me.

With those last words, <George> left the cafe.

The more I thought about it, the more <George>’s words seemed right.

On Saturday, when the tires were punctured, only that morning was different. That was the only day since I came to this school that I woke up early. Unlike usual, my appetite had returned, and I had a hearty breakfast. If what <George> said was true, that <that is over now>… if they had not gang raped me since sending the photos… if my constant lack of appetite was because of the injection’s side effect….

To confirm <George>’s words, I went straight to the school bathroom. After locking the door, I took off all my clothes. Instead of examining the scratches and bruises from the brawl, I looked between my thighs and at my buttocks. There, clear needle marks, obviously from being jabbed multiple times in the ass, remained.

Looking back, I had never once thought to check my buttocks in the mirror while washing myself. No, even if I looked at my back, I only checked for wounds on my back. I had never even imagined that something like this would happen to me….

I stared blankly at my reflection in the mirror. When did I get so thin? It was only natural that I had lost weight after not eating properly for several months. However, I was always preoccupied with checking my wounds and glaring at my face in the mirror, so I had failed to see my body. The me in the mirror was a mess. My face was pale and gaunt, and I was covered in wounds. A chill ran down my spine. They had made me like this.

Suddenly, one of the photos <George> had shown me came to mind. Daniel. The dead face of Daniel with sunken cheeks, lying on a hospital bed covered with a white sheet. The boy whose thin, thorn-like body outline, visible even under the sheet, was pitiful.

I want to live. Standing in front of the mirror, in my unsightly naked body, I trembled and shuddered at the raw impulse that suddenly pierced my heart. I want to live. The face reflected ghostlike in the mirror overlapped with my father’s face as he lay in his coffin. I wanted to live and take revenge on those who made me this way. I had to get revenge on Julia. I had to get revenge on <Jerome>, <Simon>, and <Hugh>.

Life slowly returned to my eyes, which had been dulled by the shock of the events that occurred all day on Saturday. I heard a strange sound in my ears. It was a bizarre sound that made the nape of my neck feel cold. I was grinding my teeth. It was the sound of me grinding my teeth. My whole body trembled as I looked at myself in the mirror.

They are going to erase my name too? If I could disappear just by being blotted out with ink, ah, how Julia would love that? How delighted they would be if they could easily solve the problem by throwing my crazy self into a hospital? What a fantastic ending it would be for all of them if I, unable to endure, finally jumped out of a window or hanged myself!

Bastards. I started to put on my clothes one by one. My thin, wounded body was slowly concealed by the garments. I would not let them have it their way. I buttoned my shirt while looking at the mirror. I would not become a submissive bastard like the trash before me, allowing everything to end just by having a name blotted out with ink. It would not be that easy.

I looked at the mirror with a distorted smile. The cheek that <Hugh> had hit was swollen and grotesque. In fact, was it not I who had the least to lose in this game? No matter how many times those bastards repeatedly defiled this worthless body, it would never be proof of their victory.

After six in the morning, I headed to the dining hall. Although it was early, a few students who had studied all night were gathered and having a light meal. I joined them and forced myself to eat breakfast. Did <George> not say it too? That <eating well helps you heal faster>. It was not a meal mixed with drugs, so I ate it with peace of mind.

After finishing my meal, I dragged my exhausted body up to the dormitory. <Simon> was not in the room. He had probably gone for a jog. I did not want to care. One game was over, so there was still time until the next one.

In truth, I was exhausted. I had woken up early yesterday morning, rushed to the library to find the bundle of photos, later gotten into a brawl and even been gang raped, and then had to accept what had happened to me without a wink of sleep all night.

I could not stay awake any longer. I took out the bundle of photos hidden in my ankle, hid it behind the bookshelf, and lay down on the bed without even taking off my shoes. I fell asleep just like that, without even pulling up the blanket.

I woke up to the sound of a clock chiming. Having slept all day, my eyes flew open upon hearing the chime. It seemed my body remembered that it was four in the afternoon. <Simon> was not there. When I sat up, the blanket that had been covering me fell off. My shoes had also been taken off. It was undoubtedly <Simon>’s doing. I threw off the blanket and left the room barefoot.

The moment I saw the scene in the living room, I froze. <Jerome>, who must have come in at some point, was perched on the back of the sofa, with his feet on the armrest, observing the scene in the living room. <Simon> was sitting on that very sofa, watching along with him.

<Hugh> asked me.

He thrusted his hips at <George>. <George> gasped and buried his face in the floor.

<Hugh> said, and frozen as I was, I was caught by <Simon> before I had a chance to escape.

He roughly grabbed me by the nape of the neck and forced me to sit in front of <George>. I had no choice but to kneel before <George>. My head was reeling as if I had been struck by <Jerome>’s whip.

<George> endured it without even making a sound, his face crushed against the carpet. <Hugh> was thrusting his hips roughly, having entered him from behind. I could not understand what was happening.

<Now, I will make you a proposal, <George>.>

<Hugh> said.

<George> replied instantly.

<What?>

I asked back like an idiot.

<Hugh> pulled out of <George>. Before I could even collect my thoughts, <Simon> pushed me down. There was no time to resist. They pulled down my pants and underwear and spread my legs. It was humiliating. <Simon> held my left leg and <Hugh> held my right, spreading them wide apart. Goosebumps broke out over my body only when <George> pushed his erect penis against me.

I struggled and twisted my body, but when they pressed my shoulders down with their knees, I could not move. <George>, with an expressionless face, looked straight into my eyes and shoved it into my hole.

<Aaaargh!>

A scream escaped me.

<No, ah, no, don’t, <George>, it will tear!>

I cried out in pain, but <George> did not listen.

With my legs spread wide open, I could see <George> entering me. I thrashed about, twisting my hips, but it was useless. <George> pressed down on my thighs with both hands and pushed himself in all the way. Terrified, I watched the penetrating penis.

The penis was wet with some kind of oil, and although it was excruciatingly painful, it entered all the way without tearing my insides. Panting, I looked up at <George>. <George>, with a flushed face, breathed out lowly and, meeting my eyes, moved his hips with a hard thrust. I could feel the horrible sensation of his testicles hitting my buttocks. I could not believe it. There was only pain. In front of all of them, <George> was raping me….

From above my head, I heard <Jerome>’s voice.

His voice was laced with an undeniable hint of laughter.

Dazed and just moving with <George>’s thrusts, I was struck by his voice and snapped back to my senses as if hit by lightning. How he had found out did not even matter. With a face distorted and stained with hatred and disgust, I shouted.

<How could that be, <Jerome>? I haven’t even fucked your ass yet, how could I kill you already?>

I tilted my head back, my eyes rolling back, and gave <Jerome> a wide grin. My face right now must look like a madman’s.

<Raymond! Raymonddddd!>

<Jerome> leaped off the sofa. He shuddered and without warning, he climbed onto my back. <George> was still inserted deep inside my rear. <Jerome> suddenly began to choke me.

<Jerome> squeezed my neck hard. My breath caught in my throat. It felt like my eyeballs were going to pop out. Even during all this, <George> continued to move in and out of my ass.

While chattering like a lunatic, <Jerome> was still choking me hard. I could not breathe, and my vision flickered on and off. Ignoring the pain of his knees pressing down, I twisted my shoulder free and grabbed <Jerome>’s arm. But my strength was gone… I could not pull his hand away… drool trickled from the corner of my mouth…. Only then did <Jerome> snatch his hands away as if burned, startled.

<Oh, dear. His eyes have glazed over. Is he breathing? <Simon>, do you think he is alright?>

<Jerome> asked as if he was in a difficult position.

<Simon> said quietly.

. It must have tightened up a lot while this bastard’s neck was being twisted. Isn’t that right, <George>?>

<Hugh> said nonchalantly.

<Yes.>

<George> answered like an obedient dog. While I was gasping for breath, <Jerome> remained seated on my back, kissing my cheek and wiping the saliva from the corner of my mouth. His touch was creepy, but I had no strength to push him away. Then, from beyond <Jerome>, <George> asked dryly.

<Hugh> commanded gently, as if to a pet.

The moment the answer was given, I felt the semen spread inside me completely. A moment later, his penis was withdrawn. With blurry vision, I watched <George> get up and disappear from the living room. Into that field of vision, <Jerome>’s playful face suddenly appeared. He smiled brightly, his pretty green eyes curving. He had the face of a mischievous boy, without a doubt. I stared blankly at him and then opened my mouth. A rough, cracked voice came out from my strangled throat.

<Yes. I will just put it in for a moment and take it out.>

<Jerome> said with a gentle smile. He did as he said. A moment later, <Jerome> slipped into the wet hole.

<Ugh….>

My body was pushed back slightly as he entered.

I asked <Jerome>, twisting the corner of my mouth up.

<Jerome> asked with a shy face. Crazy bastard. Crazy bastard! Instead of answering, I glared at him with a distorted face. <Jerome>’s ear tips turned red as he plunged his penis deep inside me.

Fatigue finally defeated me. After <Jerome> was <Hugh>, and <Hugh> raped me while holding my neck, saying he wanted to choke me too. At some point, I fainted. When I regained consciousness, my body was clean and I was laid neatly on the bed.

My memory of Sunday was extremely hazy. I looked at the clock. It was eleven in the morning. On the desk was a tray with a meal. It was likely <Simon>’s doing. I would no longer do the foolish thing of accepting food they gave me.

I overturned the bowl of stew onto <Simon>’s bed and went out to the living room. No one was there. I checked my body while bathing, but there was nothing particularly wrong. After putting on my school uniform and neatly tying my necktie, I took the bundle of photos from behind the bookshelf, put it in my bag, and left the room. I went down to the dining hall to find a late breakfast and slowly went over the events of last night.

They had gang raped me for a second time, and this time they had involved <George>. From the way <Hugh> handled <George>, I could easily grasp their power dynamic. Among the predecessors, only <George> had survived. Why had they decided to let <George> live? In what way was the price for <George>’s survival being paid? All these questions could only be answered by meeting <George>.

The problem was that it was not easy to meet <George> while avoiding the eyes of others. <George> did not even come to school and stayed cooped up in his dormitory room. The dormitory was dangerous for a conversation, as <Hugh>, <Simon>, and <Jerome> came and went frequently.

In fact, anywhere in the school was dangerous. Was it not just yesterday that the plot to murder <Jerome> was reported by someone? I had no idea how <Jerome> had found out about the conspiracy. There were other students in the cafe, but they were far from our table. That was why <George> and I had been able to talk with ease. Who on earth could have eavesdropped, and how? The informant who had reported my secret meeting with <George> might have been the very <fourth person> whose shadow was captured in the photo. If not that….

Everything was shrouded in mystery, but I could not delay any longer. Yesterday, I had been blindsided once again. I had thought that since one game was over, there would be some leeway until the next one, but I was wrong. They were impulsive. They had no pattern. Come to think of it, all the predecessors had different departure times, and their ends were all different. The tragic aspect was the same, but some committed suicide, some became male prostitutes, and some ended up in mental hospitals. I could not let my guard down at any moment.

I had to change my thinking. I had to attack first. If I calculated and used my head, <Jerome>’s group would continue to get the upper hand. I had to return everything I had received from them, without missing a single thing. In any case, I had obtained the names of the six predecessors. Even if I could not figure out the attack patterns of <Jerome>’s group, the cases of the predecessors would be helpful in understanding their personalities. Now, my goals were threefold.

First. To find the fourth person in the photo.

Second. To investigate the cases of the predecessors, including <George>.

Third. To survive and carry out revenge.

After finishing my meal, I headed to school to take an exam. The weather was bright. It was officially summer. The thought suddenly occurred to me that I might have become a madman like them at some point. But I did not care. It was true. It did not matter at all.

After the exam, I stayed in the garden where many people were gathered. Blending in with the students and sunbathing, I glanced around and observed my surroundings. I did not see any suspicious guys. All the boys around were stealing glances at the girls sitting nearby. Every time a gentle breeze blew, their uniform skirts would flutter, revealing their thighs.

I did not give a single glance towards the skirts. And I held my breath, watching to see if there was anyone else like me who did not look at the skirts. There was not a single woman among the predecessors. Women were not their targets.

I stayed in the garden for a while, and when I started to sweat, I moved to the library. At that moment, an unbelievable stroke of luck came my way. For some reason, <George> was coming out of the library. When he spotted me, he turned back into the library. I quickly followed his footsteps. <George> went into the deserted records archive. He was standing motionlessly at the far end of the archive, waiting for me.

<George> stood on the outside, watching the entrance, and spoke. His voice was low, but since the inside of the archive was quiet, I could hear him well.

<George> said in a low voice.

<George> did not say a single word about what happened yesterday. I wanted to start with what happened yesterday and question him about everything he had not revealed, but when <Simon>’s name came up, I had to ask.

<George> looked at me piercingly with his pale blue eyes.

<<Simon> only has sex with people when they are asleep.>

He continued bluntly.

<Normally, by this point, all the other guys would have given in to them. If they were told to take medicine, they took it, and if they were told to get a shot, they got it, so <Simon> had no problem, but you… are a little… different.>

<George>, having cut off his words, stared at me for a moment.

<Thanks to you, <Simon> will get anxious. He wants to quickly replace you with another guy and bring in a new victim.>

<So? What are they going to do to me? What happened to my predecessors <by this point>?>

I asked, glaring coldly at <George>.

, but thanks to yesterday’s events, I am having trouble trusting you.>

<Yesterday?>

<George> asked back bluntly, then answered calmly.

’s dog. I just do as <Hugh> tells me. I am sorry about yesterday.>

Sorry. Sorry, he says. For participating in a gang rape, and that is merely a sorry matter.

My head grew hot with anger, and I folded my arms and glared at <George> in silence. He was about a handspan taller than me. His birthday was the latest, and his face looked youthful, but <George> was about a handspan taller than all of us, skilled at calculations, and adept at political rhetoric. That was why whenever I talked to <George>, I felt like I was being swayed by him. Nevertheless, I did not like his cowardly display of easy submission.

I had no time to waste being swayed by <George> or <Jerome>’s group. I tried to calm my anger. The goal was already clear. In the process, even if I was deceived by <George> or fell into a trap set by <Jerome>’s group, as long as I did not lose sight of the goal, I would not lose my way.

I barely managed to calm down. Instead of retorting to <George>’s talk of being sorry, I opened my bag. My main point was this. I took out the bundle of photos I had been carrying in my bag. Among the nineteen photos, I thrust the one that exposed the fourth person right in front of <George>’s face. <George> stared intently at the photo without even blinking.

I stared intently at the guy’s face to not miss even a subtle change in <George>’s expression.

<There are four of them. The ones doing the gang rape are <Jerome> and <Simon>, the one taking the picture is obviously <Hugh>, and there is one more.>

<George>’s face did not move at all, as if it were cast in plaster. I asked, trying to read the emotions hidden behind the mask-like face.

Even if <George> might have been my predecessor at one time, could I say that he was not an accomplice now?

<George> asked back calmly.

He added with a hint of mockery.

It did change.

Starting right now.

<George> was flustered. I saw through the fact that he was pretending to be calm, but was actually flustered. <George> never answers a question with a question. Never.

If the shadow in the photo was <George>, he would have said yes. And he would have said it was just a <sorry matter>. Therefore, that shadow was not <George>.

But <George> knew the identity of the shadow.

There was someone else involved in this. For some reason, <George> was trying to hide the identity of another accomplice. He knew who the fourth person was, yet he was trying to hide it! Clearly, <George> was an enemy!

I still believed that he might have been a predecessor at one time. I just also believed that he was now an accomplice.

The musty smell of dust in the archive stung my nostrils, but my sense of smell had become more sensitive than ever. <George> had said he would use me, and true to his word, he had participated in the gang rape yesterday without hesitation. <George> would willingly participate in raping and torturing me for his purpose. Since his purpose was to survive, he would unhesitatingly set a fire under my feet to protect his own well-being, even if it meant sacrificing me.

Fortunately, <George>’s purpose and my purpose coincided in some parts. We were both going through fire and water to survive <Jerome>’s group. Just as <George> had used my ignorance last night, I too would use <George>.

Thanks to my silence, <George> realized his mistake. He blinked his transparent eyes as if tired. I grinned at his reaction and said.

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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