Chapter 1: Chapter 1: Hallow
In the city of Baton Rouge, a secretive gang of tattoo enthusiasts roamed the streets, seeking out the services of elderly tattoo artists who operated in the cover of night. Among them was a young woman, barely 18 or 20 years old, proudly donning a jacket emblazoned with the words "The Dregs." Accompanied by a group of fellow gangsters, all bearing the unmistakable signs of belonging to the same crew, they entered a dimly lit tattoo parlor.
The old tattoo artist, his weathered hands stained with ink, greeted them with a gruff voice, "It's about $100 per person," he stated matter-of-factly, emphasizing the cost and the time it would take. Undeterred, the gangsters nodded in unison, accepting the terms. With a sense of purpose, the old man began to gather his tools, preparing for the intricate work ahead.
As the young woman observed the scene unfolding before her, a sense of anticipation mixed with a hint of apprehension washed over her. It became apparent that she would have to wait her turn, as there were already ten individuals ahead of her. Taking a seat, she settled in, determined to exhibit patience.
Among the gangsters, one stood out as the de facto leader. Adorned in more extravagant attire than her comrades, she exuded an air of authority.
A sprawling tattoo adorned her back, further solidifying her status. Curiosity getting the better of her, the young woman leaned towards the gang leader and inquired, "Is it alright if I wait?"
With a slight nod and a knowing smile, the boss-like figure reassured her, acknowledging the shared understanding of the process. The young woman relaxed, reassured by the unspoken camaraderie within the gang.
The old man nodded in agreement, and the boss settled into a nearby seat. With deliberate movements, he placed the needles on the table and prepared some ink. The anticipation grew as he began to skillfully draw on his own back. A sense of disappointment washed over one of the onlookers. "Aw man, all I wanted was a simple tattoo, and he's getting a whole back piece?" he grumbled.
Meanwhile, the woman voiced her frustration, "I just wanted a single tattoo, and this guy already has one on his back? It's going to take forever." Her annoyance was palpable. However, after a few minutes, one of the thugs approached her, taking a seat beside her. Attempting to charm her, he asked, "Hey there, beautiful, what's your name?" The woman's expression turned to one of disgust, and she promptly moved to a seat outside.
The others burst into laughter, mocking the failed attempt. "Damn, Zack, she totally curved you! You really need to up your game, man," they taunted, finding amusement in the situation. Zack, feeling embarrassed, turned to the woman and shouted in frustration, "Well, fuck you too then! You're missing out on some good dick!"
Unexpectedly, the woman burst into laughter, unfazed by his outburst. She retorted with a witty remark, "Why would I want you when I can go to Target and get a small hot dog for $4.99?" The group erupted in laughter, finding her response both clever and humorous.
Zack's frustration was evident as he struggled to voice his thoughts. "Why are you small-" he began before being abruptly interrupted. The old man, sensing the tension, stepped in to defend his client. "Hey! You keep harassing my client; you're not getting a tattoo tonight," he sternly declared.
Zack, taken aback by the old man's intervention, was about to say something in response. However, the boss's stern gaze silenced him, leaving him no choice but to apologize. "I'm sorry, sir," Zack conceded, his voice filled with remorse. "This won't happen again."
The old man nodded in acknowledgment and returned to his work, the atmosphere easing slightly. Grateful for the old man's intervention, the woman expressed her gratitude. "Thank you," she said sincerely to the old man.
"It's okay, honey," the old man replied nonchalantly, his attention still focused on his task.
Feeling a mix of emotions, Zack decided to step outside for some fresh air. As he made his way outdoors, he reached into his pocket and lit a cigarette, seeking solace in the familiar routine. However, his moment of respite was short-lived as he noticed a note attached to his boss's car. Confusion washed over him, and he couldn't help but think, "What the hell?"
Curiosity piqued, Zack approached the car and picked up the note. It read, "Sorry, this is just work." The cryptic message only added to his bewilderment. "What does that even mean?" he pondered to himself, his mind racing with unanswered questions. With the note safely tucked away in his pocket, Zack decided to head back inside, hoping to find some clarity amidst the lingering uncertainty.
Back at the tattoo parlor, the owner carefully finished tattooing his client. "Hey, young man, you can look in the mirror," the old man said, gesturing towards the reflective surface. The boss eagerly stepped forward, admiring his new inked masterpiece. "Wow, this is really good," he exclaimed, a satisfied smile spreading across his face. He then proceeded to put on his jacket, preparing to leave.
Just as the boss was about to make his exit, Zack, one of the Lackeys, called out to him. "Hey, Lieutenant Scarface," Zack called, catching the boss's attention. Curious, Scarface turned towards him and asked, "What's the matter, Zack?"
Zack hesitated for a moment before speaking up. "I'm sorry, sir. I just saw a note on your car," he explained, a hint of concern in his voice. "It says 'Sorry, it's just business'."
Intrigued and slightly alarmed, Scarface requested, "Who? Show me this note." Zack promptly handed him the paper, and Scarface carefully examined it. As he studied the handwriting, he noticed that it differed from what he had seen before. "Who wrote that?" Zack inquired, his curiosity mirroring Scarface's own.
Scarface shook his head, a sense of uncertainty creeping in. "I don't know, but it can't be from just any gang. The style is too good," he replied, his voice tinged with a mix of intrigue and caution.
Suddenly, Scarface's attention was drawn to the note itself. He noticed that it contained a powdery substance. Reacting quickly, he wiped it off, but unfortunately, some of it accidentally fell onto Zack. Concern etched across his face, Zack began to speak, "Oh! Lieutenant, what..."
Before he could finish his sentence, Zack collapsed onto the floor, his body succumbing to an unknown force. Scarface's instincts kicked in, and he rushed towards Zack's side. "Hey, hey, snap out of it, man!" he urgently called out, hoping for a response. However, Zack remained unresponsive, his condition deteriorating rapidly.
Realizing the gravity of the situation, Scarface's voice filled with urgency. "Everyone, cover your mouths!" he shouted, his words echoing through the store. The people inside quickly complied, shielding themselves from potential danger. Scarface's mind raced as he pieced together the puzzle. "That note is laced with fentanyl!" he exclaimed, his voice filled with alarm.
With a deep understanding of the substance, Scarface knew the severity of the situation. "How do you know that?" one of the gangsters questioned, their fear evident. Scarface's response was swift and resolute. "Because I've seen this happen before when one of my guys cooked it. I know how to recognize a fentanyl overdose," he explained, his voice tinged with a mix of anger and determination.
Realizing that this was no ordinary gang attack, Scarface's mind raced to identify the culprit. "No one can do this without killing themselves. Who did this?" he thought, his mind filled with a mix of anger and concern for Zack's well-being. Without hesitation, Scarface reached into his pocket and pulled out a nasal spray. With practiced precision, he administered the spray into Zack's nose, hoping to counteract the effects of the deadly substance.
"What's that you're giving him, boss?" one of the gangsters asked, curiosity evident in his voice. Scarface, focused on saving Zack's life, replied without missing a beat, "Naloxone." He knew the importance of acting swiftly in this dire situation.
Naloxone, Scarface explained, is a powerful medication specifically designed to counteract the effects of opioids. It works by blocking the opioid receptors in the brain, effectively reversing the dangerous effects of drugs like heroin, morphine, and codeine. Scarface's knowledge of this life-saving medication showcased his understanding of the dangers they were facing.
"It's a medicine that rapidly reverses the effects of an overdose," Scarface continued, his voice filled with a mix of relief and concern. "It seems that there wasn't enough fentanyl to kill everyone here. But unfortunately, there was enough to harm one person." Scarface's words carried a weight of grim realization, highlighting the severity of the situation.
With a steady hand, Scarface administered the Narcan, a brand name for naloxone, to Zack. The medication quickly went to work, and soon, Zack's breathing began to stabilize. However, despite this positive sign, Zack remained barely responsive, his body still struggling to recover from the overdose.
Scarface's focus remained unwavering as he monitored Zack's condition, ready to take further action if necessary. The room filled with a tense silence, the gangsters anxiously awaiting any signs of improvement in their comrade. The gravity of the situation hung heavy in the air, emphasizing the importance of Scarface's quick thinking and the life-saving power of naloxone.
"Scarface believes he's stable now, but insists he still needs to see a doctor," he says.
The old man's anger flares up, and he yells, "What kind of bullshit did your hooliganism bring to my shop!?" Scarface quickly retorts, "Shut the fuck up! We're getting out of here right now." Sensing the tension, the woman grabs her purse and heads towards the door.
However, her attempts to open it are met with frustration as she realizes it's locked. "Hey! Who locked the door!?" she exclaims.
Scarface's frustration grows as he shouts, "What do you mean the door is locked?! Zack just came in here not too long ago!" One of the gangsters joins in, yelling at the old man, "Hey, old fuck! Open this fucking door!" The situation escalates as the gangsters start pounding on the door. Suddenly, a chill runs down the woman's spine, and she remarks, "Hey, why does the room feel cold all of a sudden?" The old man's face turns pale upon hearing her words.
"My god," the old man breathed, his voice trembling, "it's coming here." He instinctively grasped the table, seeking support to steady himself. In that moment, all he could hear was the thunderous pounding of his own heart, while the rest of the room fell into a stunned silence, fixated on him. Curiosity and concern etched on their faces, the gangsters inquired, "What is?"
With a haunted expression, the old man began to recount a chilling tale. "Last year, something similar happened at my old shop in Hammond. I was in the midst of tattooing a group of gangsters when, out of nowhere, the lights were abruptly cut off. Chaos ensued, and before anyone could react, everyone was mercilessly killed. I was the sole survivor." His words hung heavy in the air, carrying the weight of a horrifying memory.
The gangsters exchanged glances before turning their attention back to the old man. Curiosity evident in their eyes, one of them finally spoke up, "If what you're saying is true, then how did you manage to survive?"
Leaning in slightly, the old man began his tale, "I was in the back of my shop when it all unfolded. I heard the commotion from a distance, and as I listened, I realized that something monstrous was responsible for their demise. I can't say for certain what kind of creature it was, but it was certainly no ordinary being. It single-handedly wiped out an entire room of armed gangsters. Fearing for my life, I made the decision to relocate to Baton Rouge."
The gangsters exchanged concerned glances, their voices laced with apprehension, "So, you're telling us that some kind of monster is coming after us?"
"That's exactly what I'm saying," the old man responded, his voice filled with conviction. Before one of the gangsters could finish his skeptical remark, a horrifying sight unfolded. In an instant, the top part of his skull was gruesomely severed, blood spraying across the woman's face. Her scream pierced the air, a chilling mix of terror and shock.
The remaining gangsters reacted swiftly, their hands instinctively reaching for their guns, prepared for a fight. However, their readiness was abruptly interrupted as an unseen force shattered all the light bulbs in the room, plunging them into darkness.
"What the fuck!?" Scarface's voice reverberated through the room, a mix of fear and disbelief. Suddenly, from the depths of the darkness emerged a sinister figure, swiftly snatching one of the men and dragging him back into the shadows. Panic ensued as the remaining gangsters unleashed a barrage of bullets towards the mysterious assailant in the hallway. The relentless gunfire ceased only when their ammunition ran dry, leaving behind an eerie silence that hung in the air.
Turning to the women, Scarface urgently spoke, his voice filled with urgency, "Hey! Do you have a flashlight on your phone? If so, quickly shine it into that doorway." Reacting swiftly, the woman retrieved her cell phone and illuminated the hallway with its piercing light. What they witnessed sent shivers down their spines - the dismembered body of one of their own, brutally torn into small pieces. The gruesome sight proved too much for the women to bear, and they couldn't help but succumb to their nausea, vomiting in horror.
"Holy shit!" Scarface exclaimed, his voice filled with a mix of shock and realization. "The old man was right! No human could possibly do this." The gangsters nodded in agreement, their faces etched with fear and astonishment.
With determination in their eyes, the gangsters readied their weapons, preparing to unleash a barrage of bullets at the elusive dark figure. However, before they could pull the trigger, the figure vanished into thin air, leaving them bewildered.
"Where did it go?" Scarface questioned, his voice filled with a sense of urgency. The gangsters scanned the room, their eyes darting from corner to corner, searching for any sign of the mysterious entity. Suddenly, their worst fears were realized as one of their own was snatched by an unseen force, lifted towards the ceiling.
"No! It took Thomas!" The gangsters screamed in horror, their voices filled with despair. They all looked up, their trembling hands pointing their guns at the ceiling, ready to unleash a hail of bullets upon the dismembered remains of their comrade that rained down to the floor.
"What the fuck is going on!?" Scarface's voice echoed through the room, a mix of confusion and anger. "This goes beyond any rational explanation; the only conclusion we can draw is... This is a demon," one of the gangsters uttered, his voice trembling with fear.
"A demon!? What are you talking about?" Scarface questioned, his disbelief evident. Before the old man could offer any insight, a sudden onslaught of projectiles came hurtling towards the gangsters, claiming the lives of four of them in an instant. Panic consumed the room as they fired their weapons in the direction of the attack, but their bullets found nothing but empty space.
"What the fuck!? Why can't we hit this thing!?" Scarface's voice reverberated with frustration and desperation, as they grappled with the terrifying reality of their situation.
Some of the projectiles get stuck in the wall. Scarface looks over and is shocked by what he sees. "What the hell... These are throwing stars!" Scarface says. "No way..." The old man says. The old man takes a look at the weapons that were thrown. "These are Chinese made; I haven't seen these since I was in China." The old man says.
As the chaos subsided, Scarface's gaze fell upon the projectiles embedded in the wall, and a wave of shock washed over him. "What the hell... These are throwing stars!" he exclaimed, his voice filled with disbelief. The old man's eyes widened in recognition. "No way..." he muttered, examining the weapons closely. "These are Chinese made; I haven't seen these since I was in China," the old man revealed, his voice tinged with nostalgia.
Scarface's mind raced with new possibilities. "So, this is not a demon! This thing is human?" he questioned, seeking confirmation from the old man. "It seems that way," the old man responded, his voice filled with a mix of uncertainty and intrigue. The question lingered in the air - if this adversary was indeed human, how could they move with such incredible speed, invisible to the naked eye?
"Well," Scarface began, his voice brimming with determination, "it seems that the weapon that was thrown at us holds the key to understanding." The old man's curiosity piqued, he inquired, "What do you mean?" Scarface's eyes gleamed with a newfound resolve as he picked up the note that had been left on his car. "Hey! You wrote 'Sorry, this is just business' on this note, right? So you must be human. Whatever someone is paying you, I'll double it!" he declared, his voice laced with a mix of defiance and negotiation.
Suddenly, as if in response to Scarface's words, the dark figure reappeared before them. This time, it took on the form of a teenage boy dressed in a Ninja-yoroi, a sight that struck the woman with a sense of astonishment. "God, he looks so... young; he seems to be in his mid- to early teens," she remarked, her voice filled with a mix of disbelief and concern. Scarface's voice resonated with a mix of disbelief and empathy as he uttered, "He's just a kid."
The stage was set for a confrontation that defied expectations, as the true nature of their adversary slowly unraveled before their eyes.
Without warning, the ninja boy throws three kunais at the gangsters, killing the three behind Scarface. Scarface fires at him, but the boy pulls out his Ninjatō and cuts all of his bullets; this shocks everyone in the room.
"Oh, oh, nah... He can cut bullets!" Scarface says. "This is no ordinary child." The old man says. "Oh god almighty..." The woman says.
The ninjatō, a Japanese sword with a long, single-edged blade and a curved, circular guard, held a deep association with the concept of the "ninja" and stood as a symbol of the "katana," the epitome of mastery. With his ninjatō still firmly grasped in his hand, the young ninja boy approached Scarface with deliberate steps. Scarface, driven by fear and desperation, fired his gun at the boy, but with astonishing precision, the boy deflected each bullet effortlessly while continuing his advance.
Scarface's movements became increasingly erratic, causing him to stumble and collide with the wall. In a last-ditch effort, he attempted to fire his gun again, only to be met with the disheartening click of an empty chamber.
Frustrated, Scarface hurled his now useless weapon at the ninja boy, but the agile warrior effortlessly sidestepped the projectile. With an unwavering gaze, the boy raised his ninjatō, its sharp edge now poised menacingly at Scarface's vulnerable neck.
"Look, kid, you don't have to do this. Guns, money, drugs—whatever you want! I'll take a plane and leave Baton Rouge; you'll never see my face again! I'll go anywhere!" Scarface begs. The ninja boy ignores Scarface's begging and cuts off his head in one swing.
In a chilling display, the ninja boy effortlessly severs Scarface's head from his body, causing it to tumble to the floor. Unfazed, he calmly approaches the lifeless head, lifting it up and locking eyes with the lingering spark of life until it fades away completely. The old man's gaze remains fixed on the ninja boy, his voice filled with certainty, "He's not human," he declares.
With a swift motion, the ninja boy sheathes his ninjatō on his back, turning his attention towards the old man and the young women. Tension fills the air as they stiffen, unsure of his intentions. However, to their surprise, he takes no aggressive action.
Instead, he retrieves a small device and deftly presses a series of buttons. The sound of unlocking doors resonates through the space, leaving them in a state of both relief and intrigue.
"Blackjack 'Scarface' Moran is dead; he was my intended target. You can all go now." The ninja boy says. The woman and the old man were shocked to hear his voice. "My god, he is young. Did this child really do all of this?" The woman thinks to herself. The ninja boy walks over to the women, digs into his Ninja-yoroi and pulls out something. He gives it to the woman, and she quickly runs out of the shop.
The old man's trembling legs give way as he drops to his knees before the ninja boy. His voice quivers with a mix of astonishment and recognition, "It's you... Do you remember me?" The ninja boy kneels down, his gaze meeting the old man's. A flicker of familiarity crosses his face as he responds, "Of course I remember you; you're the guy whose shop was destroyed a year ago."
A moment of silence hangs in the air before the ninja boy continues, his tone laced with a hint of admiration, "You stabbed me in the lung; you missed my heart by a hair." The old man, his eyes filled with remorse, begins to explain, "Well, lucky you, then. As a matter of fact, let me give you two things before I go." With these words, the ninja boy reaches into his pocket, retrieving something of significance.
The old man becomes worried about what he's grabbing, but then he pulls out a gold coin. "Here, you can have one." He said. "N-No way! What are these even for?" The old man asks, "Gold coins are universal currency for the underworld, so they can be used anywhere. You can buy anything with them. They can also be exchanged for cash." The hooded figure replied before throwing the coin at the man.
"There's an ATM named 'International ATM' a few blocks from here; put the coins in there, and they will give you the amount the coin is worth." The old man turns back to look at the hooded figure, but he vanishes without a trace. "Damn it, why does the world have to be such a scary place?" …The old man said as he slumped over to the floor. The old man looked around the room and saw all the dead gangsters on the ground. He then got up and walked out of the shop without saying a word.
Meanwhile, the ninja boy is walking into an office building in his Shinobi's Shozoku and holding a duffle bag in his hand. He walked up to the front desk and met with the front desk receptionist. "I need to talk to Mr. King." The ninja boy said.
The receptionist at first thought it was a joke, but then she realized that he was serious. She then called him to Mr. King's office. The door opens, and Mr. Benjamin King comes out.
"Ah! Leo, my boy, it's nice to see you. Come into my office," Benjamin greeted Leo warmly. Leo followed Benjamin into the office, his expression devoid of emotion.
"So, you've done what I asked you to do?" Benjamin inquired, anticipation evident in his voice. Leo remained silent, his actions speaking louder than words as he nonchalantly tossed the duffle bag onto Mr. King's desk.
"They're all there in that bag," Leo stated flatly. Benjamin approached the bag cautiously, unzipping it to reveal the gruesome contents - severed heads.
"Holy shit, so you really did it," Benjamin exclaimed, a mixture of shock and admiration in his voice as he looked up at Leo.
"That's all 20 heads of every lieutenant from every gang in Baton Rouge; that took me two hours," Leo responded, his tone devoid of any pride or satisfaction.
Benjamin marveled at Leo's efficiency. "So... I gave you a seemingly impossible task to do, and you did it in two hours flat, not even a whole night," he remarked, a sense of awe in his voice.
"Yeah, yeah, I know that. Now pull out the marker already, so I can go," Leo said, his words devoid of emotion, his focus already shifting to the next objective.
"Sure," Benjamin said, retrieving a black marker from his pocket and handing it to Leo. Leo took it, opened it, and swiftly used his kunai to cut his thumb, leaving a bloody thumbprint on the marker. Closing it, he tossed the marker back to Benjamin without a hint of emotion.
"That's it, I'm done," Leo stated matter-of-factly, his voice devoid of any sentiment.
"I'm so done with this assassin lifestyle," Leo declared as he turned to walk away, his resolve unwavering. However, Benjamin's plea halted his departure.
"Leo, wait! I want to ask you one thing before you go," Benjamin called out, his voice filled with urgency. Leo paused, turning back to face Benjamin, his expression blank.
"Ask me what?" Leo responded, his tone devoid of emotion.
"You have been my number one killer for four years; why do you suddenly desire a normal life?" Benjamin inquired, seeking to understand Leo's sudden change of heart.
"Because I'm tired of killing people, it's not for me anymore." Leo said.
"You're a walking, talking killing machine; you break skulls and necks; why would you turn your back on that?" "It's the only thing you've ever known." Benjamin said.
"Do you think I enjoy this?" Huh? I don't enjoy taking life, and I'm sure as hell not going to spend my whole life doing this crap. I'm 14 years old, and for once, I just want to live an ordinary life." Leo said.
"But if you leave, I can't guarantee my boys won't try to attack you." Benjamin said. Leo then looks at Benjamin with a blank but cold look in his eyes.
"Then tell them if they try to impede on my life in any way, shape, or form, I will steal their lives without any hesitation." Leo said. Benjamin is silent as he feels a chill run down his back from Leo's words. With those words said, Leo then takes his leave.
That was four years ago, and Benjamin has kept his word by not attacking Leo. However, he also never saw the ninja boy again after that day.
In the present day, an alarm clock rings in the distance. A young boy awakes, yawning, and haphazardly turns off the alarm clock. As he stretches he looks to the ceiling, thinking of where he last left his slippers.
As he relaxes from his stretch, his eyes fall upon them. After slipping them on, he walks downstairs, into the kitchen, to be greeted by his "parents.". "Oh hey, good morning, Leores! "How did you sleep?" His father asked. "Good, thanks for asking, Mr. Hughes." Leores said.
"Sorry to keep you waiting, dear. Have a seat," Mrs. Hughes said as Leores settled down, she began preparing breakfast.
"So, how does it feel to start your first day of college, Leores? Feels like high school went by so fast, huh?" Mrs. Hughes asked, her tone filled with a mix of curiosity and nostalgia.
"Yeah, it really does," Leores replied, his voice devoid of emotion.
"So, what do you plan to be when you graduate?" Mrs. Hughes inquired, her question hanging in the air.
"I don't know yet; I was thinking about becoming a doctor," Leores stated, his response lacking any hint of excitement or uncertainty.
Mr. and Mrs. Hughes exchanged a brief moment of surprise, their reaction confusing Leores.
"What's wrong, you two?" Leores questioned, his voice remaining emotionless.
They both chuckled, their laughter breaking the tension.
"Nothing at all, Leores; we just thought it would be amusing to see you become a famous surgeon, considering how skilled you are with your hands," Mr. Hughes explained, his words met with a neutral response from Leores.
"Well, given my 'experience,' I am sure I'll be a top-notch surgeon." Leores stated matter-of-factly.
"Speaking of which, you should get going soon; you only have 2 hours to get dressed and walk there," Mrs. Hughes advised, her practicality shining through.
"Alright, Mrs. Hughes, I'll go get dressed now," Leores acknowledged, his voice devoid of enthusiasm.
He made his way to his room, donning his college attire - a white shirt, black school trousers, patent black shoes, a loose tie, and a V-necked gray pullover adorned with the school's embroidered badge. A sense of routine guided his actions.
Before leaving, he entered the bathroom to take his medication, his movements methodical and detached.
As he stepped out the door, thoughts of his future self lingered in his mind. Curiosity sparked within him as he pondered the person he would become.
"I wonder..." Leores whispered to himself, his voice void of emotion, as he embarked on his journey towards the unknown.
In the middle of his wondering, he sees a girl wearing black thigh-high socks with pantyhose, black low-heeled school shoes, a dark gray knee-length pleated skirt, a white shirt, a tie, and a V-necked gray pullover with an embroidered badge with the same name of the school as his. "Oh, hey, Leores! "Wow, you got into Clearwater Private University too!" The girl said, "Nice to see you too, Lishcelle; yeah, I got in; it was kind of hard to get in for me." Leores said.
"Wow, really? Didn't you have the highest S.A.T. score of 1600?" Why did you have a hard time getting in?" Lishcelle asks.
"Not sure? I was on the honor roll when I was in middle and high school; maybe it's because I don't come from a working-class family. "Clearwater Private University is filled with nothing but rich kids." Leores said.
"But that's not fair!" "You worked your ass off to get there; you're the smartest guy I know!" Lishcelle said.
"I guess so; I'll just be glad that I'm already accepted." Leores said.
Leores and Lishcelle began to walk together. Lishcelle looked at Leores and saw that he had a stoic facial expression.
"Leores, why do you always have that look on your face?" Lishcelle asks. Leores just shrugs his shoulders and replies, "It's just the way my face looks." Lishcelle then steps in front of Leores to stop him from walking.
"Let me see you smile." Lishcelle says. Leores then looks at her with a confused expression. "Why?" Leores says.
"Because I want to see your smile." We've been friends since middle school, and I've never seen you smile once, so I just want to see." Lishcelle said.
"What do I have to gain from flexing the muscles at the sides of the mouth to make such a useless facial expression?" Leores asked. "Because smiling has a favorable influence on others and makes one likable and more approachable." Lishcelle said.
"Yeah, if it makes me more approachable, then I'm sure as hell not doing it." Leores said. Lishcelle then grabs Leores' arm and pulls him closer to her.
"Leores, it's important to me, so please smile." Lishcelle says it with a serious expression. Leores looks at her with a blank expression.
"So... you're not letting this go till I do, huh?" Leores asks. "Yes," Lishcelle said.
Leores sighs and starts to think about something. He then breaks his arm free from Lishcelle's grip and walks closer to her.
"Uh, Leores, what are you doing?" Lishcelle questions. Leores remains silent as Lishcelle walks backwards from him but walks into a wall, and then Leores puts his arm on the wall next to her, pinning her there. Lishcelle then blushes, feeling embarrassed. Leores then looks at her with a smirk. "You know, although I can tolerate your company at best, you can be so exhausting at times." Leores says. "Oh!" Lishcelle screams in surprise. "There, I smiled for you. Are you happy now?" Leores asks.
Lishcelle blushes again and shakes her head. "Good, now let's get going. I work hard to get into this school; it would be bad if I was late on the first day." Leores said. "Yup, I'm sorry for keeping you waiting." Lishcelle said. The two continue to walk to school, but Lishcelle looks at Leores.
"I never knew he had such a handsome smile; it's a shame that he doesn't smile much." Lishcelle Thinks. Lishcelle then thinks about what happened and blushes. "Why did he have to do that just to give me a smile? For a second there, I felt like he was going to kiss me." Lishcelle thinks to herself.
For the rest of the way to their campus, they didn't say a single word to each other. When they arrive at the school, Lishcelle is taken aback by how big the campus is.
"Wow! Look how big it is, Leores; this is amazing!" Lishcelle exclaims.
"Yeah, of course it is." "The alumni of this school are rice too, so it only makes sense that the campus would be this size." Leores says.
This replay bummed out Lishcelle, who was just trying to admire the campus. "Why do you always have to be a killjoy?" Lishcelle says.
"This is the same place where I just barely got accepted by the people who only want fellow rich people to join, so why would I care about those who mostly care for themselves?" Leores says as he starts to walk on to the campus. "Well, I'm not rich, so how can I get in here?" Lishcelle said.
"Only God knows, but you're decently smart, and your S.A.T. score is 1515, so you could have gone to Harvard University if you really wanted to. So tell me, why didn't you?" Leores asks. Lishcelle blushes.
"Well, I wanted to stay close to home, so I could still hang out with you." Lishcelle said. Leores turns around and looks at Lishcelle.
"I see. Well, then why are you wasting a life-changing experience, so you can hang out with a "killjoy" like me?" Leores asks. Lishcelle stands there with her hands on her hips, looking down at Leores.
"It's because we're friends, Leores; I know you don't show emotions much, but I know you can still feel them." Lishcelle said as she put her hand on his chest. I think he might just suffer from Alexithymia." Lishcelle thought.
Alexithymia is defined as "the inability to identify or express one's own emotional state" and is a clinical disorder. It's when someone has difficulty with their self-awareness and doesn't understand that they're feeling a certain emotion. People with alopecia can't recognize their own feelings and emotions.
Therefore, they're unable to describe, judge, or communicate these feelings to others or even to themselves. While it is considered a mental illness and a disability, many researchers believe that there's a substantial chance that Leores has alexithymia.
"If I could help him with it, maybe he'd learn to express his feelings better, and I could understand how he really feels." Lishcelle thinks. "So you really think I have feelings, huh?" Leores asked.
"I know you do!" Lishcelle exclaimed. "I see. I appreciate what you're doing." Leores said. Lishcelle blushed. "What's wrong?" Leores asks. "Umm... I'm just a little embarrassed." Lishcelle said.
Leores then continues walking ahead of Lishcelle. "Hay! "Wait for me!" Lishcelle yelled.
CREATORS' THOUGHTS 
AMVDragoneel
AMVDragoneel What awaits the two friends at this new school? You will have to wait and see in the next chapter!
Chapter 2: Hierarchy and history!
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