Chapter 1 : Encounter in the Restroom

The air in the classroom was stiflingly hot, and Mr. Smith''s monotonous lecture on the blackboard was making everyone drowsy. Patrick Percy thought he heard a faint snore from the desk behind him. He glanced up at Mr. Smith, who was droning on from the textbook, then turned his head to look out at the greenery outside the window.

It seemed to be raining! Tiny raindrops were seeping through the window cracks, splattering onto Patrick''s pristine white school uniform collar, leaving small spots.

"Ring... ring..."

Mr. Smith closed his textbook with a blank expression and said, "Class dismissed," before turning and walking out.

Patrick stared out the window, lost in thought. He remembered how Amara had rushed off to work this morning, seemingly forgetting her umbrella.

But if he went to bring it to her, she would probably get mad.

Better not to go.

So, Patrick opened his textbook and started on his homework.

After a while, he suddenly heard a sobbing sound. Someone slammed a hand down on the guidebook in front of him.

Patrick looked up along the slender hand in front of him.

It was Angie Johnson, the class beauty.

"Was it you who told the teacher I was dating?"

Angie had expressive eyes, and her tearful, furrowed-brow look was particularly moving. She looked at Patrick with grievance for a moment, then, without waiting for his response, she snatched the pen from his hand and scribbled several circles on his book.

The once clean and tidy book now had several black lines.

Angie threw the pen into the trash can and, still crying, said angrily, "Whether I date or not is none of your business!"

Before Patrick could react, Angie ran out crying.

A tall, skinny boy hurried after her, kicking Patrick''s desk as he passed.

The class was abuzz with whispers, and no matter how hard Patrick tried to focus on his textbook, he couldn''t concentrate.

"What a jerk, why does he care if someone else is dating! Always tattling to the teacher, so annoying."

"Teacher''s pet. Look at that smug face, just because he''s good at studying."

"No wonder he has no friends, thinks he can boss everyone around just because he''s the class president."

...

Patrick remained silent, his eyes fixed on his textbook.

It''s useless.

No matter how much they talk, it''s useless.

Patrick was the class president.

Many people in the class hated him.

It was like having an outcast or a traitor in a group! He was always watching you, reporting everything you did to the teacher.

Information, news. Once the teacher knew, it was because of Patrick.

So no one wanted to be friends with him, but he didn''t need friends. He spent all his time studying, and he enjoyed it.

At noon, the teacher called Patrick over, reminding him to note down the names of those who slept in class.

Patrick silently agreed, and the teacher let him go after a few more reminders.

A monotonous and endlessly repetitive routine.

When school ended, it was still raining. Patrick gave his umbrella to a girl from another class who had a long way home. He looked at the pouring rain outside, hesitated, and decided not to run out. He went back to his seat to do some homework, planning to wait until the rain let up a bit before heading home.

Around six o''clock, Patrick glanced at the clock on the wall, packed his bag, and headed to the restroom.

He planned to go home right after using the restroom.

School restrooms were usually located at the far right end of each floor. Patrick made sure all the classroom doors were closed, including the windows, before slowly heading to the restroom with his backpack.

The restroom entrance had mirrors and sinks, and beyond the door were the stalls.

As Patrick approached the door, he heard some unusual sounds—muffled sobs and someone cursing.

And there was a faint smell of smoke coming from the door crack.

Patrick frowned slightly.

He knew these things happened at school, but encountering it himself was a different matter.

Patrick went to the sink to wash his hands, the sound of the running water loud and clear. The noise in the restroom seemed to pause for a moment.

Just then, his phone rang. Squatting down, Patrick fished it out of his pocket and saw it was Amara calling.

He answered, "Hey, I''m stuck in the restroom. Can you come over?"

"Ten minutes? Thanks, I appreciate it."

After hanging up, Patrick remained squatting.

A few moments later, some guys walked out of the restroom, pausing as they passed Patrick. One of them clicked his tongue.

"Dude, are you squatting here to take a dump?"

Patrick, feigning discomfort, replied, "My stomach hurts."

Another guy laughed mockingly, "Stomach ache? Either you need to take a dump or you''re on your period. Need me to get you a pad?"

He found his own joke hilarious and turned to someone behind Patrick, "Right, Samue?"

Patrick realized there was another person there. This guy was scrutinizing him, his gaze piercing through Patrick''s clothes, making him feel exposed and humiliated.

Patrick''s heart pounded.

"Let''s go," one of them said, and they left.

Patrick stayed squatting for a while longer, making sure they were gone before he stood up and walked into the restroom.

Inside, a boy was slumped against the wall, his hair disheveled, his white school uniform marked with several black footprints. His face was pale and swollen, with a hint of blood at the corner of his mouth.

Seeing Patrick, the boy covered his face, his frail body trembling, sobs escaping through his fingers.

He looked pitiful.

Patrick handed him a pack of tissues.

The boy''s sobs paused as he shakily took the tissues.

Patrick, with his backpack on, turned and left.

Often, it''s like this—helplessness, sadness, cowardice.

What we go through, others might not understand, but Patrick was willing to try and help those in pain.

It might not change anything.

But it brought peace of mind.

Patrick''s life took a turn from the moment he handed that boy the tissues.