SWEET CHAOS

DAY 1 - PART TWO - THE INVISIBILITY

Alex Miller sat at his desk, his gaze lost beyond the glass of the window. The teacher continued to speak, but for Alex, his words were just a noise like any other, an insignificant hum that failed to penetrate the barrier of his own thoughts. He rested his cheek in the palm of his hand, feeling the softness of his perfection, and let out a sigh that carried the weight of centuries of boredom.

"I am so perfect that even the act of studying feels like an insult," he thought, while watching the dust floating in a beam of sunlight.

"Knowledge should bow before me, enter my mind out of pure respect for me. Why am I wasting my time here?"

Suddenly, a movement in the courtyard below captured his attention. A group of girls was in the middle of their physical education class. Amidst the sports uniforms, one of them stood out like a flame in the middle of snow: she was the girl with the intense red hair he had seen before. She didn't run like the others; she moved with an almost rhythmic elegance, an elegance that seemed to mock the laws of physics.

Alex watched her intently. For a moment, a spark of genuine charisma crossed his face.

She wasn't simply "pretty"; she was a work of art in motion. "She's perfect," he whispered to himself, feeling a strange respect. "She's almost as perfect as I am."

But then, his gaze drifted to the rest of the group. He saw a blonde girl whose dance was impeccable; he saw a young woman with blue hair who exhaled a calm and an enviable technique. Every single one in that courtyard possessed a grace that bordered on the unreal. Alex’s chest tightened. That wasn't a class; it was a parade of deities.

"Wait...", he thought, and his jaw tightened. "Is everyone perfect here? If everyone is special, then no one is. This is a direct insult to my exclusivity."

The lunch bell rang, bringing him back to reality. Alex stood up and walked toward the cafeteria with a straight back, radiating an aura of desperation that made him no longer care about the dirt in the air. He sat at a circular table, completely alone, waiting for someone to approach and ask permission to breathe near him. But the silence was only broken by the sound of a metal tray hitting the table next to him.

It was the boy with the glasses from this morning. He sat down without an invitation as if they were acquaintances, cleaning his lenses with a worn-out cloth. —Hey, free advice —the boy said without looking at him—. If you sit all alone in a place like this, you're going to draw attention... and not in the way you want. You're going to end up being the official "weirdo" of the class, just like me. He smiled.

Alex looked at him with an immense discouragement, his eyes fixed on the bridge of the boy's glasses.

—Get out of here, unpopular boy. Your presence is polluting my field of vision —Alex responded with a cold voice.

The boy cringed and prepared to get up. But just as he was about to leave, Alex heard the whispers from the surrounding tables. They were like invisible pinches: "Look at the new guy, seems like he doesn't have a single friend," "How pathetic, you can tell he'll be the laughingstock here."

The panic, that cold sweat that Alex hated, struck his ego. His reputation, his invisible crown, was crumbling before it was even placed. Before the boy with glasses took another step, Alex grabbed his arm in desperation.

—Wait... —Alex said, softening his tone—. Stay. You can sit here... just for today. Consider it an honor you don't deserve, but I feel like having some company. I smiled forcedly.

Lunch passed between Alex's awkward silence and the other boy's observations. Later, in physical education class, Alex decided that the world needed a reminder of who he was. He changed into the sports uniform —which even then, fit him better than anyone— and headed out to the court. He ran, jumped, and performed every exercise with a precision that bordered on the ridiculous. He expected the gasps, the looks of awe, the recognition that he was the superior specimen.

But when he finished and looked around, reality gave him a slap. No one was looking at him except for the look of disgust on the face of the boy with glasses. A few meters away, other students were performing even greater physical feats with an insulting naturalness. They were elite athletes, gym models who didn't sweat or lose their breath. In that school, Alex wasn't the sun; just another ray.

Frustration began to burn in his chest, a dark aura that pushed him toward the locker rooms. He needed to be alone. He needed to remind himself who he was before this place devoured him. He was about to cross the door of the men's locker room when he heard a voice coming from a mixed room, a storage area that connected both sides.

He stopped and peeked through the c***k of the door. There she was: the red-haired girl from the previous class. But she wasn't the ice queen she showed outside. She was alone, hitting the door of her locker with a fury of disappointment.

—Damn it! —she growled between her teeth, her voice loaded with deep disappointment while placing her head on her locker—. Why does everyone in this place have that speech and that ridiculous style? Why does everyone have to act so perfect? I'm sick of this place!

Alex, led by an impulse he couldn't control, opened the door a bit more. The sound made her stop dead in her tracks. In a microsecond, her expression changed. The rage vanished, the vulnerability disappeared and was replaced by a mask of coldness and an unreachable style. She straightened up, wiped the sweat with a silk towel, and looked at him with eyes that could freeze even the air.

—Did you lose something? —she said, her voice regaining that tone of superiority that Alex had looked at—. This is no place for someone who doesn't know where they're stepping.

Alex was left speechless. The duality of that girl left him in total shock, as if he had seen a c***k in the multiverse. He didn't answer. He simply turned around and went to change in silence, feeling that the weight of defeat and superiority was now more real than ever.

Leaving the school, he walked down the street toward his house. Frustration poured out of him, but even in his defeat, there was something clinging to his pain. People on the street stopped to look at him.

—Look at that young man... he looks like a prince —a woman whispered.

—Even when he looks angry, he has an incredible bearing —commented a man passing by.

Alex heard the praise and closed his eyes, letting the balm of public adoration heal his wounds. —At least out here I'm still the center of existence —he muttered to himself.

Late at night, Alex found himself lying in his immense bed. The room was in dark silence, illuminated only by the light of his phone as he mentally reviewed the events of the day. The humiliation, the red-head, the feeling of being just one more...

One of the maids entered the room timidly, holding a seductive aura. She stopped near the bed, remembering the tension and the dark desires Alex had shown in the morning.

—Master... —she whispered, her voice trembling slightly—. About what we talked about this morning... do you still wish for me to stay? Do you still... want...?

Alex, who at any other time would have pounced on that opportunity like a predator, simply sighed. He looked at the ceiling, with tired eyes and his ego still humiliating him because of the day at school.

—I'm not in the mood today... go away —he said with a flat voice, with no trace of the previous lust. The maid bowed and left, leaving behind a trail of disappointment and nervousness.

In that moment, the narrator would intervene with a voice full of mystery: > BUT IF ALEX HAD BEEN IN THE MOOD... IF HE HADN'T LET HIMSELF BE CONSUMED BY THE FRUSTRATION OF THAT SCHOOL... WHAT WOULD HAVE HAPPENED IN THE SILENCE OF THAT ROOM? WHAT SECRETS WOULD HAVE BEEN REVEALED BENEATH THE SILK SHEETS? WELL, LET'S LET POOR ALEX SLEEP FOR NOW. FATE DOES NOT FORGIVE.

—Turn off the light —Alex ordered the room's smart system. The darkness enveloped him completely, and finally, the "God of the story" closed his eyes to try and forget that, in the real world, he was only one more than the rest.