Filler Episode: The Corruption of Boredom
Timeline: 10th Grade, Seistain High. Three years before the Island Operation.
The ceiling fan in the classroom clicked rhythmically, a dying mechanical heartbeat that nobody bothered to fix.
Malesh and Kniya sat at the very back bench—the strategic position for anyone who wanted to observe the room without being part of it. They weren't listening to the History lecture on the "Glory of the Republic." They were, as usual, drafting a business plan on the back of a notebook.
"Hypothetically," Malesh whispered, his eyes fixed on the ink swirling on the page. "What happens if we detonate a Fissluation dirty-bomb in the Central Reservoir? Not enough to flatten the city, but enough to poison the water supply for a decade."
He added a few jagged lines to the drawing, shading in the areas of impact. "Imagine it, Kniya. Millions of people dying, not from the blast, but from pure, crushing sadness. Watching their children thirst, crying for help, but the government lines are dead. No one comes to save them. Just silence and the slow rot of civilization."
Malesh let out a low, dry chuckle—a sound that was less 'humor' and more 'psychopathic vibration.' "It would be beautiful in a way. The absolute despair."
Kniya leaned back, balancing his chair on two legs, and gave Malesh a look of disturbed amusement.
"Keep your psychopathic madness away from me, brother," Kniya said, shaking his head. "You always go straight to genocide. It's inefficient."
Malesh stopped laughing, raising an eyebrow. "Inefficient? It's a total reset."
"It's a waste of customers," Kniya corrected, tapping his pen against the desk. "Dead people don't have wallets. You want to hurt the system? You don't blow it up. You rot it from the inside."
Kniya grinned, his eyes gleaming with a different kind of malice—greed. "We create a consultancy firm. 'Corruption for the Common Man.' We teach the average idiot how to exploit government resources efficiently. We streamline bribery. We franchise embezzlement. We help every citizen steal just enough to cripple the state, but keep them alive so they can pay us a commission."
Malesh looked at Kniya, the murderous look in his eyes replaced by respect. "Democratizing corruption. Letting the sheep eat the wolf."
"Exactly," Kniya laughed. "We don't need a bomb. We just need to hand everyone a shovel and tell them to start digging at the foundation."
They shared a look—that specific, shared grin of two geniuses who knew they were destined to be the villains of someone else's story.
Suddenly, the heavy wooden door slammed open.
The classroom went silent. Even the History teacher paused mid-sentence.
Walking in with the confidence of a military general was Hyuma. She was the Class Representative, a girl with eyes sharp enough to cut glass and a posture that screamed 'I am going to report you.' She didn't walk; she marched.
"Listen up, idiots," Hyuma announced, dropping a stack of flyers on the teacher's desk without asking permission. "The Farewell Function is in two weeks. Attendance is mandatory. The Principal wants full participation, which means nobody gets to sneak out the back gate like last year."
Kniya and Malesh exchanged a glance under the desk. The 'Silent Telegraph' was instantaneous. Farewell? Mandatory?Not in this lifetime.
They had already mentally checked out. They were planning to spend that evening dismantling a stolen radio to salvage the copper wire, not watching the drama club cry about leaving school.
Hyuma, however, had a radar for dissent. She turned her head, locking onto the back bench immediately. She marched down the aisle, her heels clicking like a countdown timer.
She stopped right in front of their desk, crossing her arms.
"Malesh. Kniya," she said, her voice dropping to a tone that sounded polite but felt like a threat. "I see you two plotting your escape. Don't bother."
"We aren't plotting," Kniya lied smoothly, putting on his best innocent face. "We were just discussing the... uh... economic impact of the farewell on the school's budget."
"Save it," Hyuma snapped. She pulled a clipboard from her bag. "We are doing a play. 'The Founding of the Republic.' And we need two people to play the 'Corrupt Ministers' who try to sell the country. It's a crucial role. You have to stand there, look arrogant, and talk about money."
She looked at them, up and down. "You two have been rehearsing for this role your entire lives. You're in."
Malesh stared at her, his face completely blank. Inside his head, the rejection was violent. Be a part of a school play? Wear a costume? Pretend to care about school spirit? I would rather drink battery acid.
Kniya's internal monologue was equally loud. Fuck that. I'm not wearing a fake mustache for these people.
But outwardly, they didn't move. Creating a scene now would mean a trip to the Principal's office, which meant phone calls home, which meant wasted time.
"We're honored, Hyuma," Malesh said, his voice deadpan. "Truly. But we have... severe stage fright. Kniya vomits when he sees a spotlight. It's a medical condition. 'Photonic-Nausea.' Very tragic."
"Yeah," Kniya nodded solemnly. "It's messy. You don't want that on the new stage curtains."
Hyuma didn't blink. She leaned in closer, her hands slamming down on their desk. "I don't care if you vomit blood. You are doing the play. Rehearsal starts tomorrow at 4 PM. Be there, or I report that you two have been selling answers to the 9th graders."
She smirked—a sharp, victorious smile that mirrored their own evil grins—and turned around, marching back to the front of the class.
Kniya watched her go, then looked at Malesh.
"She's bluffing," Kniya whispered.
"She has evidence," Malesh whispered back. "We sold those answers last Tuesday."
"Damn," Kniya sighed, slumping in his chair. "We got out-corrupted by the Class Rep."
The Art of Negotiation
Hyuma had turned her back, ready to march to the front of the class, satisfied with her victory.
"Hyuma," Malesh called out. His voice wasn't loud, but it had a specific, flat frequency that cut through the classroom chatter. "One moment. We have a counter-proposal."
She stopped, turning around with an annoyed sigh. "There is no counter-proposal, Malesh. You're in the play."
Malesh ignored her tone. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a small, crumpled bundle of notes—20 credits. It wasn't a fortune, but in the micro-economy of Seistain High, it was significant. He placed it on the desk and slid it forward with two fingers.
"We feel that our absence from the play might cause... emotional distress to the drama club," Malesh said, his face devoid of emotion. "So, we are willing to offer a 'Non-Participation Fee.' Consider it a donation."
Kniya leaned in, flashing his best salesman smile. "Don't look at it as a bribe, Hyuma. That's such an ugly word. Treat it as... compensation. It's a convenience tax. You know, that very, very small amount of money that magically moves files from the 'Pending' pile to the 'Approved' pile in every government office in this country. We are just following the national standard."
Hyuma stared at the money, then up at them. Her eyes narrowed into slits of pure disgust.
"You think you can buy me with twenty credits?" she hissed, loud enough that a few students turned their heads. "I'm the Class Representative, not one of your desperate customers. Keep your dirty money. You are doing the play, and that is final."
She turned to leave again, more aggressive this time.
Malesh didn't blink. He calmly put the money back in his pocket. "She rejected the compensation model," he noted to Kniya.
"Plan B it is," Kniya sighed, looking genuinely disappointed that they had to escalate. "I really liked Plan A. It was cheaper."
Malesh cleared his throat. "Hyuma."
She didn't stop.
"Does the name 'Rian' mean anything to you?" Malesh asked. "Point guard. Basketball team captain. Tall. Average intelligence. Surprisingly affectionate behind the chemistry lab at 4:15 PM?"
Hyuma froze. It was like someone had cut the strings holding her up. She spun around slowly, her face draining of color. The arrogance was gone, replaced by pure, unadulterated panic.
"What did you say?" she whispered.
Malesh tapped his temple. "We have documents. Timestamps. And perhaps a very high-definition sequence of images involving you, Rian, and a distinct lack of 'social distancing' behind the science block."
"It's a touching romance, really," Kniya added, checking his fingernails. "But I don't think the Principal—or your strict father—would appreciate the... cinematography."
Hyuma walked back to their desk, her hands trembling slightly as she gripped the wood. "How?" she demanded, her voice shaking. "How did you get that? No one goes behind the labs."
Malesh looked at her with dead, shark-like eyes.
"Hyuma, please," Malesh said, sounding almost bored. "I have installed passive surveillance in every blind spot on this campus. Do you think I care about your love life? I don't. I've watched enough... 'content' online to understand the mechanics of human mating. It's illogical and messy. I'm not attracted to it."
He leaned forward, his voice dropping to a whisper.
"But if an event—any event—occurs on this property without my camera capturing it, it would be a total waste of my efficiency. I don't watch to enjoy, Hyuma. I watch to know."
He let that sink in. The implication that he wasn't a pervert, but something far worse—a machine that recorded everything just for leverage—hung in the air.
Kniya looked at her, then down at the crumpled 20-credit note on the desk. He didn't put it back in his pocket. He picked it up, crumpled it into a ball, and flicked it casually at her. It hit her chest and fell to the floor.
"I think so," Kniya said, his voice laced with venomous amusement. "It is going to work this time."
Hyuma stared at the money on the dirty floor, then back at them. She didn't say a word. She couldn't.
Malesh watched the note land, calculating its value against the current situation. "I think so," he muttered to Kniya, ignoring Hyuma completely. "That money... it would be enough to just buy basically one thing. A dinner at a normal restaurant. Perhaps a 'Romantic Special' for two?"
Kniya laughed, a sharp, cruel sound. "Yeah, this is that much. And I hope this time nobody would encourage us to be a part of a fucking, you know... whatever it is."
He waved a hand at Hyuma, a gesture of pure dismissal, like shooing away a fly.
"Just leave with this," Kniya said, turning his attention back to his notebook. "Now I have some work to do."
Hyuma stood there for one more second, humiliated and outplayed. Then, without a word, she snatched the money from the floor and marched out of the classroom, slamming the door behind her.
Malesh didn't even look up. "She took the money. Transaction complete."
"Naturally," Kniya replied, sketching a new supply chain on the paper. "Everyone has a price. Hers was just cheaper than expected."