X01: MY PERFECTLY ABNORMAL LIFE

X01: My Perfectly Abnormal Life Chapter 1: King of Milton High They say life is full of ups and downs. Mine? Mine is a rollercoaster with no brakes. Three Years Ago – Milton High, 12:00 PM If Milton High had a throne, it belonged to Him. Final year. Captain of everything that mattered. When Xyan walked across the recess court, the whole school shifted to watch him. Today he stood at the center of the court, flanked by his three brothers-in-arms. He caught the ball Marco tossed him without even looking. Effortless. "Nice," Marco grinned. Marco was the charm of the group — sun-kissed skin, loose jersey hanging off his broad shoulders, a silver cross glinting against his chest, and that easy smile that made junior girls trip over themselves. "So, my place before Quincy's party?" Marco asked. Xyan spun the ball on one finger, his voice deep and calm. "I gotcha, bro." "Yuck! You two, WTF?!" Carlz pushed his nerd-style glasses up his nose. Carlz had sharp brown eyes, a model's lean physique, and an idol's fashion sense — oversized beige cardigan over a crisp white tee, loose pleated trousers, and clean Air Forces. He looked like he'd walked out of a Seoul photoshoot. "What's up?" Marco frowned. "That's real sus. What are you doing at his house? Where else do you wanna go? His room?" Carlz wiggled his eyebrows. The court erupted. "Brooo?" Heath choked out, laughing. Heath was the tallest — long, wild black hair tucked under a dark beanie, sharp jawline, piercing black eyes. White tee under a baggy black hoodie, chains on his neck and wrist catching the sun. "Thought he was cooking up something better," Heath added. Carlz clutched his chest dramatically. "Wow, you guys really adore me that much? I'm touched." "Let's go, bros," He said, a small smirk tugging at his lips as he tossed the ball back. They were kings. And tonight was Quincy's birthday party— the only thing anyone at Milton could talk about. Quincy was Milton High. Breathtaking without trying, class in every step, and a heart people underestimated. She'd been paired with Xyan in every rumor, every prom poll, every whispered wouldn't-they-be-perfect — but she'd never confessed. Not once. Behind her stood just two girls. Elena — calm, calculative, dangerously mature. Wavy black hair falling over her shoulders, the second most admired girl in school without even competing. And Amoxira — golden-hearted to a fault. Selfless to the core, she treated Quincy and Elena like blood sisters. Online, she was a different beast entirely: the social media queen, adored by millions. But popularity breeds obsession. Across the courtyard, hidden behind her phone, Jayen watched Marco laugh. Her nails dug into her palm. She wasn't just jealous. She was negatively obsessed. And she had already decided: if she couldn't have Marco's attention, she would ruin Quincy's party to get it. None of them knew that party would be the last perfect day of their lives. Present Day – Harrington College, Rassway City "Douchebag! Hey, trash-hole, pick that up!" Xyan didn't move. He sat in the back row. The very last seat at the edge, where the light barely reached. His head was down, resting peacefully on his arm — until a can slammed into his skull. Crack. Rotten egg exploded across his brown curls, yolk dripping down his neck. The stench hit instantly. Laughter. Cruel, gutting laughter that could crush a man's pride or make his blood boil. He jerked up, taking a slow, deep breath. Dark black hair with a tiny fade of brown ruffled hair matted with egg. Sharp jawline clenched tight. Thick eyebrows drawn low over eyes so blue, so perceptive, they felt like they could read your next move before you made it. He was every girl's dream — not in a polished idol way, but in a raw, real, dangerous way. On his locker behind him, hate was scrawled in thick marker: FRAUD. TRASH. LEAVE. DOUCHEBAG. DIE YOU LOSER!!. "Ohh... sorry, Xyan... it slipped," the tall guy sneered, faking a pitiful frown. "Did it touch you?" The four guys behind him howled. Xyan wiped the egg from his hair slowly. Calm. Too calm. Remember what I said about my life being a rollercoaster with no brakes? He stood up. And then he smiled — a cold, empty smile that made the laughter die in their throats. "Do you guys..." he said quietly, his deep voice filling the silent classroom, "want to know why the King of Milton High became the trash of Harrington?" He picked up the dented can. ... Xyan didn't answer. He just stared at the dented can in his hand for a second, his eye twitching. Then he bent down, picked up the other trash on the floor, and walked quietly to the bin. He was too tired to fight them. Behind his thick, obscure black glasses, his sharp blue eyes looked dull. Hidden. Shy. The glasses gave him that invisible, nerdy look — a perfect mask for the King he used to be. He turned to leave. Thud. Another empty can bounced off his back. "Hey, pick this up too," one of the four guys at the back — Theo — sneered, laughing. "You shouldn't be in our college. You should be picking up trash. It fits you better." Xyan's jaw tightened. He bent down again and picked it up. Don't let them get to you, he told himself. If you react, you're the fool. He dropped it in the trash and glanced nervously at them. They weren't leaving. They were here for him. Fine. Let them have the space. "Umm... I'll... I'll be going to the restroom now, okay?" he muttered, heading for the door. A hand yanked his uniform hard. "Hey... hey there... where are you running off to?" Gaiz, the tall ringleader, pulled harder. RIIIP. The white sleeve tore clean off. "Oops..." Gaiz smirked at his boys. Xyan stood there in half a shirt, the torn fabric hanging off him — exposing a cut, muscular torso and abs that didn't match the shy nerd glasses at all. The entire class turned at the sound. "He's at it again," someone whispered. "Is he that jobless? Why does he just like picking on others?" a girl muttered. "Here we go again," another guy said loudly, not even bothering to whisper. Gaiz raised his fist, his gang closing in around Xyan on the floor — DING. The elevator doors opened outside the lecture hall. Onix walked in sync with the girl beside her, their long black designer boots clicking against the marble, white and dark blue uniforms crisp and perfect. The girl beside her was more beautiful than Onix. Breathtaking was an understatement. Class had no name without her, and her family name alone could move countries in seconds. Old money. Ancestral artifacts. Power in every generation. And she , Kitarah, was Little Ms. Perfect. She aced studies, sports, cooking, linguistics. Everything. Onix anxiously parted her braided hair back. "Kitarah, what are we gonna do about the competition? Weiss might have been bluffing, but what if he's serious?" Kitarah smacked her lips, eyes on her watch as they walked the long hallway. "Well... we'll see." They were Echelon Class — the lowest rank, the starters. But everyone had their eyes on her and her terrifying potential. "Mmm," Onix said, pushing open the lecture hall door. Kitarah looked up from her watch at a loud THUD. Not an object being hit. A person. Xyan was on the floor, curled as Gaiz and his gang kicked him. "Our goddess is here!!!" someone whispered excitedly. "Finally, someone to stop this madness," a guy told his friend. The atmosphere shifted instantly. Kitarah walked in, disgust curling her lip. She had always hated prideful boys, but Gaiz made her hatred feel personal. "D-Don't do anything, you'll regret it later, Kitarah," Onix warned, but she knew Kitarah wasn't listening. She was furious. Kitarah gave her a bright, dangerous smile. She packed up her hair in one swift motion, raised her long leg high — SMACK. Her boot print landed square on Gaiz's face. Red. Very visible. He fell flat. "Is he your punching bag?!" she yelled. Then, quieter, colder: "Even if he is... let this never repeat itself again." Her eyes locked with Gaiz's. Fierce. For a second, his pride wavered — he had always had a soft spot for her. He gave his guys a silent signal to back off. Kitarah turned to the bruised boy on the floor. She felt nothing for him. Pity? No. But she couldn't stand by and watch someone get trampled. She crouched, her voice suddenly sweet as butter, soft as a feather, only for him to hear: "Don't let them trample on you. Fight." Xyan adjusted his broken glasses and looked up at her for the first time — And Kitarah froze. Because behind those dull, thick lenses, those blue eyes...