Him

 

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Introduction

 

In his first year, he is challenged to uphold the grave responsibility he is entrusted with. He overcomes.

 

In his second year, he is threatened to relinquish the top pedestal by a most strange rival. He sustains.

 

In his third year, he is mesmerized to realize the foreign sentiment brewing uncontrollably within him. He eludes.

 

In his final year, he is drowned in the crazy concoction that is his duty, his rival-friend, his growing affections, and perhaps everything else. He surrenders.

 

And upon his surrender, he finally beholds the speck of light at the end of the tunnel- the one he so excruciatingly treaded in the past four years of high school. His pride shatters, but is transformed. His heart breaks, but is restored.

 

And he wouldn't have done it without his damsel in causing distress.

 

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Prologue

Prologue

 

 

I just can't dare to stain my reputation for three things: one, I'm the Head Prefect; two, I'm an able contender for Class Valedictorian; and three, I'm under the impression that if it weren't for me and the rather odd disciplinary methods I imposed particularly upon my class, she would have been kicked out years ago. Okay, perhaps I could rule out the first two. Being a Prefect hasn't exactly been a treat, let alone being the Head. Outperforming everyone in academics, on the other hand, comes in quite naturally. And maintaining one's rank has always entailed integrity so a good reputation generally follows a top student. The third, however. . .

 

An ear-splitting shriek ceases me from my pondering and I glide towards where I imagine, or rather where it has always come from— the room by the end of the hallway.

 

At the back corner, three girls are huddled protectively over another. Judging from the damp state of the latter's cheeks, she must have been crying. But somebody seemingly fresh from crying isn't supposed to look so flabbergasted. And blank.

 

I follow her gaze and land my eyes on a scene so absurd I would have cracked a good laugh if it weren't for the standard demeanor required of Prefects on situations like this.

 

Ashton is trapped beneath what I deduced was a failed attempt at shattering his jaw. His rounded eyes keep shifting from the face of his attacker to the hole now gaping on the blackboard just inches from his face, his attacker's fist still buried beneath the horrible damage.

 

"That's like the fourth board you've devastated in two months, Millen." I heave up a sigh when she turns around and faces me with her signature cold, lazy and mildly apologetic grin. "Ten hours detention and make sure you'll have that board replaced by the end of the week."

 

"I get five lab sessions' worth of detention for defending a classmate, how ungrateful." She withdraws her fist from the hole she just produced— Ashton pushing a relieved gasp at this— and trudges toward the four girls at the corner. She smiles at them but they return her gesture with a shudder and hastily look elsewhere.

 

When she retreats to her armchair, I take notice of her reddened fist and the scratches slowly taking form.

 

Trust Millen to make such a ruckus this early in school.

 

"To the infirmary, Millen. Get your cuts bandaged."

 

She pouts upon taking hear seat and says, "But you're supposed to carry around first-aid kits, aren't you? Would you mind doing me the honor?" As she says the last line, she raises an outstretched arm towards me, palm down, and replaces her pout with the same ridiculous grin I've come to memorize.

 

Suppressing the urge to drag her down to the infirmary myself, I slip off my backpack and reach inside for the bloodied kit. She squeals in delight once I coiled skin-toned bandage around her knuckles after I applied, with unnecessary roughness, healing ointment on her skin.

 

I watch Ashton beaming with pleasure out from the corners of my eyes. Annoyed, I set him off to reserve an audio-visual room for the rest of the week and to send an EUM to everybody in our class. On normal occasions, he would have whined his butt out until I finally delegate the task to another. Maybe it was the fear of earning a second attack from me that drags him immediately out of the room and onto his mission.

 

"What if I don't?" Millen, examining her bandaged hand in awe, asks. She sounds eerily calm.

 

"Don't what?"

 

"Replace the board." She smiles.

 

Why am I even putting up with this. . . alien? I could have simply sent her to the Student Affairs and Sanctions Department (SASD) and let them decide on her fate, and then report to the Property and Maintenance Department (PMD) about the damage and let them handle the procurement of a new blackboard themselves. Of course, this would not only cost more for Millen since she will be required to pay for the added work that the PMD people will have to do, this would also entail a more serious sanction from the SASD. Granted her already long list of grave offenses, she might find herself facing a serious case of expulsion.

 

And yet here I am, steering her away from what would have been the end of her student life and personally taking matters into my own hands. I don't necessarily ease her sanctions— in fact, I often increase or else intensify them. But a Prefect can't exactly do as much as suspend a student, let alone expel him or her. The most anyone could get are hours of detention, and Prefects just happen to have the liberty of choosing the nature and manner of detention. Well, as long as it doesn't endanger any student's life, the possibilities are boundless.

 

I'd want to say it's mere power complex kicking in just as it did two to three years ago. You know, the pleasure of having students' destinies at the mercy of one's hands, especially when we're talking about people you dislike, or better yet, the people— the girls you like. Add to that the fact that you're an ace student and undoubtedly, you're being stirred up in a state of indispensable importance.

 

Millen's lethargic eyes remain locked on mine the entire time. With as much authority I could muster, I say at last, "You will."

 

Welcome to my completely retarded way of life.

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