And immediately hated it.
Even though his vision was covered by the light of the screen, the smell was enough to send him reeling. The city reeked of oil, likely from the several thousand data centers that occupied the skyscrapers. He kept one hand over his nose as he walked, quickening his pace. His arms trembled in the chilly breeze that racked his body. Had wearing this tank top been a bad idea? Why wasn’t the weather accommodating for his outfit?! Grumbling irritably, he surged onward.
After five grueling minutes of torture, his headset dinged, signalling that he’d arrived. He couldn’t have moved faster to enter the building and, once the door shut behind him, push the headset off his eyes. Here, the smell of oil was severely reduced, instead replaced with the musty odor of a decaying building. The lights, though several in number, were dim and barely lit up the hallway. Around him, various individuals were leaning against old metal lockers, chatting with friends or flipping through books. It looked just like the world in his headset, though not nearly as nice. Straightening himself up, he puffed out his chest, walking past them with a proud gleam in his eye. He was the son of the richest couple in the city, after all! If he was going to be amongst these peasants, he might as well flaunt it. He could practically hear them praising him now.
“Wow, look at that guy!”
“Did you know he’s the son of the 907 family?”
“Whoa, really? He’s, like, super cool and much better than us.”
“Most definitely. See those muscles? They’re more visible than ours! He must be real amazing.”
Except that the hallway was silent.
He paused in his steps, head swiveling back and forth. Not a one of these side characters was interested in him! Didn’t they know who he was? Why weren’t they praising him? Groveling at his feet and begging to be his friend? Clenching his fists, he returned to the door and started down the hall again, ensuring to flex his arms as he passed.
Once again, nothing.
“What is wrong with these people?” He muttered softly under his breath, beginning to panic. Did they not care? How could they! Something must be wrong.
He went back again. Nothing.
And again. Still, nothing.
After his fifth passing, one kid, a pink-haired girl with freckles under her sparkling green eyes, looked up from her conversation. “What’s your deal? Lost?”
Woah, people didn’t need chat options to start talking?
His cheeks went warm at her words, partially with frustration, and partially with some unknown, terrible feeling. Embarrassment, perhaps? This girl had dared to speak to him with such an attitude, and when she was dressed in such foolish attire? Colored hair, a black leather jacket, and torn black jeans? Had she torn the holes herself? What an animal!
“Of course I’m not lost!” Brash crossed his arms, sticking his nose in the air. Him? Lost? Never! Why would she even think that? “Can’t you tell I’m trying to assert my superiority over you lowlives? I am the son of the two richest people in this country!”
For a moment, she appeared as if her system had crashed. She stared at him with a blank gaze, her eyes widening as she looked him up and down. Ha! She must be recognizing him. Now, she’d grovel at his feet and beg for his mercy! He’d pick the chat option with the most respectful prai-
“Ha!”
She was…laughing? He hadn’t told her to do that!
The girl had one finger pointed at him as she let out a high, sharp laugh. Her friend, a dark-blue-haired kid with eyes of the same hue, simply crossed his arms and stared down at him. That terrible, awful feeling of embarrassment returned as the girl continued to point and cackle, doubling over in hysterics. Why weren’t they listening? Why were they making him feel so disgusting inside?
“Ha! Your superiority? With the way you’re strutting around, someone would mistake you for a peacock!” She nudged her friend, each touch creasing the neat white shirt he wore. “I can’t be the only one seeing this! Tell me I’m not, Craven!”
Craven narrowed his eyes, pushing her off him with a semi-disgusted glare. “You’re ruining my outfit, Fickle.” Turning his sharp gaze to Brash, who felt as though he might shrink beneath it, he crossed his arms. “You shouldn’t give men like him such a hard time. Fools can’t help their own idiocy. Come on now, class is starting.”
A fool?! His mouth hung open as the older boy pushed his comrade toward the classroom, creasing his mouth as she fought against him. Brash watched them go, rage and humiliation burning beneath his skin. Suddenly, he wished he had a coat to throw over himself, and worst of all, he couldn’t understand why. Was it because those students had laughed at him? Why did he care about their opinions? He’d said it himself: he was the son of the two richest people in town. Nonetheless, those two had somehow managed to make him feel like the lowest street rat. Adjusting the bag on his shoulders, he lowered his head and followed them inside. Best not make this day any worse by being late.
