Chapter 3 – The Cafeteria Hierarchy
WClass passed surprisingly without major incident. Professor White dove into the origins of Mesopotamia, and the room settled into a heavy, academic calm. Titus still felt eyes on him, but they weren't openly hostile… not yet.
Every so often, Cristal would turn her head with excruciating slowness, her yellowish‑golden eyes locking onto him. Sometimes her gaze came with a mocking pout or a smile that promised nothing good. Behind him, Bruno's heavy breathing was constant—an inescapable presence that made Titus tense so hard his shoulders ached.
He couldn't relax. Not for a second.
When the bell rang, it was a stampede. Lunchtime. And for Titus, lunchtime meant another test of survival.
He tried to stand quickly to get into the line, but his courtesy and shyness betrayed him. Classmates leaving the room moved in front of him deliberately, blocking him with shoulders, backpacks, or "accidental" steps.
"Excuse me… sorry… I—" His voice failed him every time.
By the time he managed to squeeze out of the classroom, he was one of the last students in the hallway. He bought his lunch—an oily, suspicious‑looking portion of pasta—and searched for the farthest corner, the most solitary table where no one would notice him.
It was a bad choice. A terrible one.
That corner belonged to the invisible hierarchy of the school. Three large figures approached his table, blocking the light from the window. Their shadows fell over him like an omen.
The leader was Ken Cambiazo, a 1.85‑meter tall student, devastatingly attractive, with tanned skin and thick, well‑kept hair. His body was extremely fit—every muscle carved by hours of training. His attitude radiated dominance and superiority, the effortless arrogance of someone born into the wealthy and powerful Cambiazo family. He was flanked by two equally intimidating followers.
"Well, well… look what we've got here. The new toy," Ken said, dropping his tray loudly and sitting so close that Titus felt his personal space vanish.
Titus shrank into himself, wishing he could disappear into the floor.
"Since it's your first day, we'll be 'nice' to you," Ken continued, his cruel, emotionless smile slicing through Titus like a blade. "But starting tomorrow, the rule is simple. You'll be our slave. From tomorrow on, you call us 'Sir' whenever you see us. You bow. You do whatever we tell you. You're our slave."
His henchmen laughed—a hollow, unpleasant sound.
"Give us your money and your food," Ken ordered.
Hands trembling violently, Titus opened his backpack, retrieving the small bundle of bills his mother had given him and the extra sandwich she packed. He handed them over like tribute, humiliated.
"And tomorrow," Ken added, leaning in with a predator's certainty, "you're doing homework for the ten of us. Know this—I am the leader. If you don't want to die, you obey everything I say."
Then he raised his hand and slapped Titus across the cheek—hard. A dull, humiliating hit that echoed in the forgotten corner of the cafeteria.
Titus didn't cry, didn't speak. He simply nodded in a desperate, silent "yes," the sting on his cheek burning hotter than shame itself.
"My name is Ken," he said. "Remember it. You belong to me."
At that moment, the murmur of the cafeteria grew into a rising roar. Heads turned—every single one of them. Cristal and Bruno had just entered.
Instantly, Titus's table emptied. Ken's entire gang bolted toward the twins, eager to greet them, desperate to befriend them—like insects drawn to a bright flame.
Bruno, the giant, stopped and looked at Ken, who was now smiling servilely, trying to regain dignity.
"Hey, Ken! How are you?" Bruno's voice was loud and confident—not threatening, but undeniably dominant. The way a king addresses a loyal peasant.
"Do you play rugby?" Bruno asked. "I'm the captain of the team. Want to join us?"
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Hook: That was how the calm ended, just before the storm began…
Chapter 4 – The Revenge Plan and the Horror
Titus, cheek burning and heart trembling from humiliation, watched the scene with bitter disbelief. The giant who terrified him was the ultimate social authority of the school. And now he had offered his hand to the bully who had just slapped Titus across the face.
His cursed luck… somehow… kept getting worse.
Just as the tense silence settled over the table, a beautiful girl approached Ken, who was still drowning in humiliation. It was Melanie, the undisputed princess of the school. Colombian by origin, she was an exotic fruit of astonishing beauty: piercing green eyes, long straight black hair, and a fit, sculpted body envied by every girl on campus.
But behind that angelic facade lived a heart made of stone. Her parents had fulfilled her every whim since childhood, building a monster with an angel's face—someone who truly believed the world revolved around her. Melanie had the frozen soul of a fairy‑tale witch, and her very presence inspired equal parts fear and admiration.
"What do those two think they are?" Melanie hissed, staring with pure hatred toward the twins' table. "Ken, we have to destroy them. Nobody takes our place."
Ken, feeling his pride slowly return thanks to Melanie's thirst for blood, thought exactly the same. He knew what she was capable of. Everyone remembered the girl who left the country last year—the victim of Melanie's cruelty, her beatings, and the hell she unleashed on social media. The last straw had been stripping her in the girls' bathroom, taking photos, and posting them online. That had been her breaking point.
And nothing happened to Melanie or her group. Their families were too rich, too influential, too powerful.
Suddenly, the cafeteria doors burst open and a student ran in—Marco, the notorious gossip who knew everything about everyone. His eyes were wild as he shouted:
"Have you seen the news? Social media! We're on TV!"
Chaos erupted instantly. Students pulled out their phones, screens lighting up with the same macabre headline. Titus's smart glasses activated their camera automatically, scanning the shared information.
The focus of the news was the school's mini‑park—normally a serene place with benches, a small artificial lake full of colorful fish, water birds, and turtles. Couples often met there; art classes used it for observational drawing; athletes used the trail around it to complete the 2.5‑kilometer run from the gym.
The panic transformed into a collective scream of horror.
"They found three bodies!"
Police had cordoned off the area. Marco kept describing the horrific details now spreading like wildfire:
One body—a boy—was missing both legs and one arm, with his torso split open. The second victim, a girl, had a bite so deep it nearly tore her in half. And the third—found under a tree that looked like it had been used to whip her—was disfigured, drenched in blood, her bones exposed.
They were three students who had been reported missing a week ago.
At that moment, the harsh roar of a V8 engine flooded the campus, loud enough to vibrate inside the cafeteria walls. A classic 1965 Ford Mustang, jet black, pulled into the main entrance, cutting off the path of the uniformed police vehicles.
From the driver's side stepped Detective Nash Martinez, a stunning blonde with green‑gray eyes and an athletic body. She looked sculpted by the gods themselves—but she was also one of the top criminologists in the country, with extensive experience hunting serial killers. She had been assigned to the case for her professionalism and terrifying expertise.
Beside her, Officer Smith, freshly graduated from the academy, trembled slightly from excitement and nerves. He was a thin, pale‑skinned young man with brown eyes—not very tall, but sharp intelligence shone in his gaze. Yet his innocence was obvious; sometimes, with his clumsy movements and enthusiasm, he seemed more like a child than a police officer. His admiration for Detective Martinez was painfully obvious.
The detective approached the commanding officer with undeniable authority. "Smith, give me a report on what you have from the investigation."
Titus, seated between the cynical victim of bullying and the two possible golden‑eyed psychopaths, realized something chilling: His fear of social interaction had been replaced by something far more primitive.
Clear Creek Private College was more than a school. It was a crime scene.
And he was sitting right in the center of the hurricane.
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Hook: And somewhere, a gaze was following his every step…
Chapter 5 – The Return Home
The afternoon felt heavy, thick with the smell of fear and metal. After authorities ordered the suspension of classes, Titus found himself on the fast train heading home. The sepulchral silence inside the train cars clashed violently with the chaos and bloodshed of the morning. He sat alone, replaying everything in his mind: the twins' unnerving presence, Ken's slap burning on his cheek, and the horrific news of the mutilated bodies.
When he arrived home, the ritual unfolded exactly as always. The door opened before he even finished turning the key. His mother pulled him into a hug—tight, almost painful—her hands touching his arms, face, hair, as if checking for wounds.
"My sweet boy! You're home right at one o'clock, just like we agreed. How was your first day?" she asked, her smile unnaturally wide as she scanned his face.
"A… disaster," Titus murmured. His cheek still burned from Ken's slap, although that was the least of his problems. "Mom… Dad… terrible things happened. They found three bodies… students… in the park on campus. The police… a criminologist, Nash Martinez, shut everything down. It was horrible."
Titus's father, who had been opening his briefcase, froze mid‑motion. He lifted his head. His stare was fixed, distant. His parents exchanged a look—and for the first time, Titus didn't see overprotection in their eyes. He saw silent fear.
Titus waited for the explosion he knew so well: the overprotective panic, the demand that he never return to the school, the immediate phone call to the principal. But the explosion never came.
Instead, his parents remained silent for several seconds. The familiar tension in the house shifted abruptly—becoming cold, almost artificial.
Then a strange sound broke the silence. A laugh. Sharp, dry, unnatural. His mother. Then his father joined in, their combined laughter sounding hollow, sarcastic, and entirely devoid of joy.
"Three bodies? Oh, Titus!" His mother waved a hand dismissively, brushing aside the tragedy as if it were nothing. "Don't worry about that, sweetheart. Things like that happen in big schools. Just… a little youthful madness."
His father stepped closer, ruffled Titus's hair, and gave him a smile that never reached his eyes. "Relax, kid. Those problems aren't yours. It's nothing. Don't worry at all. Your only focus is getting good grades and coming home at the agreed time. Tomorrow you'll go back to school like nothing happened. Understand?"
Titus felt something colder than panic settle inside him. Their reaction didn't make sense. It was wrong.
They worried obsessively about spare chargers for his glasses, yet they dismissed three brutal murders with mocking laughter and absolute indifference. Their "protection" wasn't about keeping him physically safe. It was about something else. Something hidden.
Titus nodded, feeling the ground open beneath him. An abyss. A realization that gnawed at his thoughts:
The real danger wasn't only inside Clear Creek Private College. It was here—inside the fake refuge of his own home.
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Hook: But something in the darkness was already moving, ready to change everything…
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