The doctor said I fell down a flight of stairs and hit my head, causing a severe concussion and subsequent blackout.

  Honestly? I didn't remember a single second of it.

  Then, the buzzing started again. I looked to my left, glaring at the device vibrating on the bedside table.

  [13+ Missed Calls]

  Uwah. That was a lot. The majority were from “Mom,” with a few exceptions from “Dad.” To avoid getting spam-called into oblivion, I figured I should at least send a text.

  [I hit my head accidentally, but I'm okay.]

  There. That should buy me some peace.

  Ding.

  From: Lee Min Joon

  [Seeing how you were acting, u should probably be fine to come to school tmr. I told the teacher about what happened. They said to just be here tmr. Sucks u missed the first day of school tho.]

  I scrolled up to read the previous messages we'd exchanged. Playing along, I simply replied:

  [Sure buddy.]

  I wasn't entirely clear why I had texted like such an idiot the night before, but matching the tone should keep suspicion off my back, right?

  An hour later, I was discharged and headed back to my apartment. Upon settling in, I dedicated the next few hours to scrolling through my phone, trying to piece together the life of the stranger whose body I was apparently piloting.

  Thankfully, the "previous me" kept all his passwords in a locked folder accessible by fingerprint.

  I scrolled. Group chats, social media, direct messages, emails.

  Thirty-six minutes of intensive research yielded the following conclusion:

  My name is Zachary Fair.

  I have a naggy mom, a chill dad, and one younger sister.

  I just graduated middle school and am starting high school.

  I used to play some sports.

  And… that was it.

  It was aggressively, painfully ordinary. I seemed fairly popular, considering the sheer number of classmates checking up on me after my "fall," but staring at their smiling faces in the photo gallery made my chest feel hollow.

  I didn't recognize a single one of them.

  Sorry, guys.

  I also noticed a recurring phrase in my private notes: Act dumb, live longer.

  I stared at the screen. What kind of traumatic middle school past caused a teenager to adopt such a depressing survival mantra?

  Whatever. I had enough basic information to fake my way through the week.

  It was a good thing I hadn't actually started classes yet; I wouldn't have known how to explain away my total amnesia. Let's just hope tomorrow goes smoothly.

  **

  With the power of GPS, I found my new school: BoMoong High School.

  Calling it a "school" felt like an understatement. It was closer to a university campus. There were clearly no budget constraints here, given the massive, dedicated buildings for different departments and sprawling courtyards.

  I was led to the staff room, where I met my homeroom teacher. There was genuinely nothing special about him other than the fact that he was well into his sixties and looked like he'd rather be anywhere else.

  With my medical note submitted, he walked me to my new classroom. My pulse ticked up slightly as I walked through the door. Thirty pairs of eyes locked onto me.

  Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

  I could hear the immediate, hushed mutters: “Is that the transfer?” “Have you seen him before?”

  “Alright, introduce yourself,” the old teacher grunted.

  I faced the class, keeping my expression entirely neutral.

  “Hello. My name's Zachary. I hit my head falling down some stairs, so I wasn't here yesterday. Nice to meet you all.”

  I hoped it sounded calm. Instead, it was met with dead silence.

  Then, a sound from the back. “Pfft.”

  Someone started laughing.

  It was contagious, and within seconds, half the room was chuckling.

  “LMAO, the luck on this guy going to the hospital before the first bell.”

  “Man, I thought he just overslept, but eating concrete on day one is wild.”

  The class kept laughing until the teacher finally shushed them.

  “Alright, enough. Go sit in the middle beside Min Joon. Ask him if you need catch-up notes, since I hear you two are friends.”

  I nodded and walked down the aisle. As I approached the desk, Min Joon pulled a spectacularly stupid face at me. I subtly flipped him off as I sat down.

  Thus, my high school life officially began.

  **

  [Point of View: Eric Stanson]

  My name is Eric Stanson. I've lived in Vespa all my life. I'm sixteen, a second-year at BoMoong High School, and… I have a secret.

  I recently got a superpower.

  In a massive city like Vespa, the rich and powerful control everything. And when the son of a chaebol family decides you are his favorite toy, high school becomes a living hell.

  Why was I targeted? Because I tried to stand up for myself. Once.

  That single moment of defiance made everything infinitely worse. I was dragged into alleys and used as a human punching bag. I was his personal ATM, forced to cough up my allowance and buy alcohol underage. I was a canvas for cigarette burns, cuts, and sick pranks. I endured all of it because I couldn't afford to offend him.

  Park Bo-Jun.

  The teachers turned a blind eye. The police treated it as "roughhousing between friends."

  Even my parents worked for a subsidiary of his family’s corporation. There was no escape.

  Yesterday, I hit my breaking point. He texted me demanding 300 credits—my entire life savings—for today.

  I had stood on the edge of the city bridge, looking down at the raging waves below.

  Why was I born? I just wanted a normal life. Friends. Good grades. Peace.

  The dark water looked more comforting than facing Bo-Jun again.

  I was ready to jump. But then, someone tapped my back. Not a push, just a light, deliberate tap. I flinched, turning around in fear, only to see the silhouette of a girl walking past me.

  I don't know what came over me, but the suffocating weight in my chest vanished. The urge to jump was simply… gone, as if the idea had been wiped from my brain.

  Which brought me to today. The alley behind the school.

  Bo-Jun sat on his usual wooden crate, flicking a cigarette butt while scrolling on his phone. His girlfriend, Haejoo, had her camera out, recording as his goons kicked me into the dirt. They had already taken my 300 credits. Now they were just doing it for fun.

  But as the boots hit my ribs, something felt different. I wasn't scared. I wasn't panicking.

  For the first time, a cold, clinical rage settled over me.

  [good]

  What?

  [that's all I need from you]

  [entertain me]

  Who are—

  Before the thought could finish, the beating stopped. I opened my eyes and looked up from my fetal position.

  The air in the alleyway suddenly plummeted in temperature, growing freezing cold. A sharp pressure drop popped my ears painfully. Right in the center of my bruised palm, the air was violently compressing, swirling into a dense, howling vortex.

  It was totally silent for a second. Then, several heavy thuds hit the pavement.

  Bo-Jun’s goons had collapsed.

  Their faces were turning a ghastly shade of blue, mouths foaming. The vortex in my hand was acting like a violent vacuum, literally pull the oxygen straight out of their lungs.

  They were suffocating in an artificial void.

  “Wh-what the hell?” Bo-Jun dropped his phone, leaping up. Haejoo stared, her jaw unhinged in horror.

  I stood up slowly. The small cyclone spun fiercely over my skin.

  They watched me in absolute terror. I clenched my fist, letting the highly pressurized air wrap around my forearm like a gauntlet. Acting on pure instinct, I raised my hand, pointing my index finger at Bo-Jun like a gun.

  “Bang.”

  A micro-burst of hyper-compressed air shot forward like a bullet.

  Blood sprayed across the brick wall. A severed ear hit the pavement with a wet slap.

  It took Bo-Jun a full two seconds to realize what had happened. Then, the agony registered.

  “ARGHHHHHHHHH!!!”

  His scream tore through the alley. Haejoo's legs gave out, and she collapsed onto the trash-littered ground, trembling violently.

  I looked at Bo-Jun. He was scrambling backward, slipping in his own blood as he desperately clutched the side of his head. He was hyperventilating, his eyes wide and leaking tears. The arrogant chaebol heir was gone, replaced by a terrified, cornered animal. A dark stain spread across the front of his uniform trousers.

  He had wet himself. It truly was a beautiful sight.

  “P-p-please,” Bo-Jun gasped, unable to form coherent sentences through the shock. “Please... spare me...”

  After everything, he was begging? Life really was a joke.

  I tried to summon the pressure again, but the heavy, powerful feeling was gone. I couldn't make another air bullet even if I wanted to. The connection had faded.

  Still, they didn't know that.

  I walked over to the shivering heir and slammed my shoe down onto his face, pinning his head to the concrete. The euphoria of having him under my heel was intoxicating.

  “Nothing about this gets out,” I whispered coldly. “If you ever come near me again, your ear won't be the only thing missing.”

  He whimpered, nodding frantically against the pavement.

  I turned to leave. Haejoo was frozen on the ground, her phone still tightly gripped in her hands, the camera lens staring at me.

  “That video is a reminder of what happened today,” I said, not breaking stride. “If it ever goes online... you’re next.”

  She nodded, tears spilling down her cheeks.

  I walked out of the alleyway, the cold wind blowing against my back. One thing was certain.

  I wasn't the weak one anymore.