Individualism

A sleeping student rests on a desk in an empty classroom. He wore a snow-white uniform that contrasted with the elegant wood underneath. His tie, a neat ribbon, moved along his chest as he breathed quietly. His trousers, which were also neat, showed the wrinkles of his awkward posture. His gloves, also white, showed his meticulousness as they were gripped loosely in his sleep.

His hair, a raven-black, was tousled from the countless times he had run his hands through it in frustration or exhaustion. The dark circles under his eyes painted a picture of countless sleepless nights spent in pursuit of knowledge, or perhaps escaping from it. These physical signs of fatigue betrayed the turmoil within his mind.

The classroom was empty and silent, except for the occasional ticking of the clock that echoed in the room. He had arrived an hour early, hoping to get some sleep before facing his new class that day. He didn't care much about school, but he had to keep up appearances for his family and friends.

He hated school, where he had to act like someone he wasn't. He played his role well, keeping up an image of a normal and disciplined student. Yet behind that carefully crafted mask was a young man longing for liberation from these chains of pretense.

As he slept on, unaware of the world around him, one could only wonder what dreams flickered behind those shut eyes. Maybe they were full of visions far away from textbooks and classrooms—dreams of a world where he could simply be himself or anyone he wants to be.

The curtains were suddenly swept open with a dramatic flourish, allowing a shaft of sunlight to pierce the room and illuminate his face. He squinted at the blinding light, feeling its warmth on his skin. He stirred at the gentle prod on his shoulder.

Blinking awake, he was greeted by the sight of his best friend's grin. As he looked around, he realized that other students had trickled in and taken their seats.

"Good morning. Mr. JellySweetSalt," his friend whispered, using his online alias.

He let out a muffled groan and flailed his arm to fend off his friend's teasing.

"Don't use that name here, you jerk." He hissed, lowering his voice.

His friend chuckled as he peeked at his phone screen, which was awash with notifications from gaming admirers.

"Wow! You're still a big shot, huh? How do you sleep through all that noise?!"

[Mr. JellySweetSalt! You rock! Please be my friend!] - JellySweetSalt_Number 1 Fan.

[More videos please! I'm dying to see you play!!] - JellySlave225.

[I can't get enough of your content! Feed me more!!] -HungrySweetSalt123.

[You're the best gamer ever! When's your next livestream?!] - Saltyketchup32.

[Thank you for beta testing my game! I have a special gift for you that I think you'll love!!] - GodOfMana222.

Those were some of the messages that his friend could see, all filled with excitement and admiration.

His friend was the only one who knew his secret identity as a famous online gamer. He had millions of followers and subscribers who loved watching him play and comment on various games. He was a wizard of any game he touched, and people looked up to him.

"Yeah, yeah," he replied, rolling his eyes. "You know how it is. Gotta keep the fans satisfied."

His friend arched an eyebrow.

"Satisfied, or addicted?"

He paused for a moment, as if considering his friend's words, before shrugging casually.

"Same thing," he said with a sly grin. "It's all about the clicks and likes."

But deep down, he knew that it wasn't just about the clicks and likes. Gaming was his refuge - a way to deal with the stress and pressure of life.

And his best friend understood him better than anyone else. They had been through hell and back since middle school. So, his best friend knew what he really meant by those words.

"Hey, are you busy today? Why don't you join me for some shopping? I need to get some clothes for my girlfriend."

He looked at his best friend with a puzzled expression.

"Why don't you just take her with you?"

His best friend sighed and rolled his eyes.

"Man, you're so clueless. It's a surprise present. You wouldn't get it. You should get out of your gaming cave and find a girlfriend for yourself. We're almost out of high school and this year might be your last shot. You have some potential. You're logical, wealthy and not bad… looking?"

"Why the question?"

"Anyway, it doesn't matter. You just need to hit the gym, develop some fashion sense, and gain a bit of charisma. I'm saying this as your best friend."

He shook his head and shrugged off his friend's advice.

"Thanks, but no thanks."

His friend's eyes narrowed, a hint of doubt creeping in. He shifted in his seat, crossing his arms over his chest. He felt it too - the feeling that if he didn't respond quickly enough, some unfounded rumor would spread through the school like wildfire.

"Are you ga-"

He cut him off with a sharp glare.

"No. I'm not. I just too busy to play that game I told you about."

His friend raised an eyebrow.

"You're still playing that game from that obscure developer? That's risky, man. It could be malware or a scam or something."

He shook his head firmly.

"No, it's safe. I've checked it out. They just haven't released it to the public yet."

He didn't want to admit that he was obsessed with the game, even though he had no idea about its origin or objective. He just felt an inexplicable attraction to it, as if it was calling out to him. He couldn't explain it, but he couldn't resist it either.

"Wow, so you're their beta tester. Is it worth playing?" His friend asked in awe.

"It's incredible and I've almost completed the storyline. It's called -" His words were cut short by the squeaking sound of the classroom door opening.

"Later," his friend whispered and turned around.

The chatter that had filled the room like a swarm of bees quieted instantly, replaced by a tense hush. All eyes darted towards the doorway, where a woman stood bathed in the golden sunlight streaming through the window.

Confidence radiated from her with every purposeful stride. Her warm and genuine smile crinkled the corners of her eyes, disarming the room instantly. Even from his desk, the young man could sense her quiet authority.

As she spoke, her voice was a melody, soft yet surprisingly firm. It demanded attention without a hint of coercion. "Hello everyone," she announced, her voice carrying through the sudden silence. "My name is Lisa Lawrence, and I'm thrilled to be your homeroom teacher this year. I can't wait to get to know each and every one of you."

The student's gaze locked on the woman at the front. She was tall and elegant, her dark hair cascading down her shoulders like a shimmering curtain. Kindness radiated from her, sunbeams pushing through storm clouds, softening the sharp lines of her professional suit. Clipboard clutched in hand, she surveyed the class with warm, curious eyes.

Lisa stood tall, a beacon of confidence in a room thick with summer's remnants. "This year," she declared, voice ringing clear, "we're on a quest for knowledge together. You all have hidden talents, just begging to be discovered." Her gaze swept over the classroom, catching a few bored expressions. "But," she continued, a pointed finger emphasizing her words, "talent without effort is like a firecracker without a match - all sputter, no boom."

Lisa stood in front of the class, her posture professional and confident. Her eyes, sharp and alert, scanned the students sitting before her. She knew she had only one chance to set the tone for the year, and she was determined to make it count.

'How naive. Talent is not worthless without hard work, but rather it is wasted.' the young man thought.

"Here," she announced, voice firm, "we push beyond the easy stuff. We question everything, grow our minds, and become better versions of ourselves. Every single day, I expect your best. Because each of you," she leaned forward, a touch of warmth in her voice, "is a story waiting to be written. And guess what? The coolest cover in the world doesn't matter if the story inside stinks."

She scanned the faces before her, searching for a flicker of life, a "whoa, really?" moment. Instead, she was met with a brick wall of apathy. Blank expressions, a wall of indifference – these were teenagers, a mix of fifteen to seventeen, clad in the finest white uniforms, complete with ties, pristine gloves, and polished shoes. While personalities differed – some shrinking violets, others social butterflies, a few perpetually bored – a collective apathy hung heavy in the air. Especially from the lone student in the corner, his gaze fixed on the window, twirling a pen between his fingers.

"By the way," Lisa announced, hoping to break the monotony, "we have a new transfer student joining us today."

As one, a wave of indifference washed over the class. These students, products of privilege, were likely already aware via their own social networks. All eyes, however, flickered to the back corner, where a lone figure hunched over a desk, seemingly oblivious to the sudden scrutiny

"Hey, you. Come on, introduce yourself to the class."

With a sigh that spoke volumes, the figure rose from his seat. Messy ginger hair framed a pair of glasses perched precariously on his nose. His face was devoid of pretense – neither conventionally handsome nor unattractive. Sharp features, thin lips, and deep, enigmatic eyes gave him an air of quiet intensity.

"Hi," he said simply, his voice a low rumble, "I'm Artham Lanis. Seventeen. Books and games are my thing. Feel free to ask if your curiosity gets the better of you."

He slid back into his seat, the picture of nonchalance.

"Ok, that was brief… but thank you. So, everyone, if you want to know more about Artham, talk to him later after class. Now, let's start our lesson for today."

Lisa scanned the classroom, her teacherly enthusiasm deflating faster than a kiddie pool with a hole. Whispers buzzed from a corner like cicadas on a summer day, punctuated by the rhythmic snores coming from a student who looked like they'd rather be napping under a tree.

Shrugging mentally, Lisa tells herself, "This is just a gig, right? Up to them if they wanna learn or not." A small consolation prize: a few faces actually seemed interested.

The rest? Well, let's just say their designer labels screamed more "money" than "scholarly potential." Lisa had pictured wide-eyed students, brains like sponges ready to soak up knowledge. Instead, a thick fog of apathy hung in the air, heavy enough to make you lightheaded.

These rich kids, the cream of the social crop, weren't battling poverty, but an overdose of privilege. Tests? Meh. Who needs good grades when your parents have already built you a golden elevator to success? Exams were just hurdles to be cleared, not gateways to exciting discoveries. The only murmurs Lisa heard (when they weren't napping) were about last weekend's yacht party, not the finer points of the lesson. Spoiled rotten, their curiosity had shriveled up like a forgotten apple core, and learning felt about as fun as cleaning their parents' sports cars.

Frustration gnawed at Lisa. The meticulously crafted curriculum, the carefully chosen assignments – all felt like empty gestures in the face of their indifference. A sigh, heavy with the weight of unmet expectations, escaped her lips. Her fingers pressed against her temples, staving off a headache that threatened to bloom behind her eyes. Were these students, devoid of passion and curiosity, truly worth the fire that burned within her, the fire that yearned to ignite a love for learning?

The dismissal bell's shrill shriek shattered the oppressive silence. A stampede of designer-clad teenagers flooded out, leaving a wake of empty chairs and Lisa feeling like a lone tumbleweed in a dusty desert town. All except one. Artham, the new kid in the corner, shuffled towards her desk.

"Uh, thanks, Ms. Lisa," he mumbled, scuffing his shoe against the floor. "See you around, I guess."

His voice, a low rumble that surprised her after his earlier cool-guy act, echoed as he ambled out. Lisa stood there, a flicker of amusement replacing disappointment. At least one student, it seemed, held a shred of decency she hadn't counted on.

The classroom door clicked shut behind her. Now, the question burned in her mind: what was that?

Artham stalked down the school corridor. The cold tiles mirrored his lifeless expression as he walked under the glaring fluorescent lights that cast harsh shadows on his face, making him look like a ghost in a prison.

He caught fragments of conversations about a TV show called [Genius Boy], the chatter buzzing around him like a swarm of annoying flies.

The TV show [Genius Boy] was a global sensation, featuring a young man who had a rare genetic mutation that allowed him to mimic anyone's skills in a short span of time. However, rumors were circulating that the show might be canceled because the star, known as [Genius Boy], wanted to quit for some unknown reason. Many speculated that he was unhappy with his life and wanted to escape from the spotlight.

He felt a wave of irritation wash over him as he listened to the students gossip about [Genius Boy]. He clenched his jaw and frowned, trying to block out their voices. He quickened his pace and headed to the library in search of something to occupy his mind.

Artham slipped into the library, seeking refuge from the incessant chatter. He spotted an empty seat and picked up a random book from a nearby shelf. His eyes widened in surprise as he discovered a fantasy novel nestled among the mundane textbooks in the school library. Intrigued by the story, he began flipping through its pages. He felt a mysterious force tug at his curiosity and decided to take a leap of faith.

The novel was an intriguing tale about a boy who played an RPG story game that changed his life forever. The hero in the game, interestingly, always regressed whenever he met his end, only to rise again to save his world from impending doom.

Artham found himself engrossed in the story, the words painting vivid images in his mind. He was pleasantly surprised by how much he enjoyed the novel, considering it was a random pick from the library shelf.

He just wondered if someone had left the book there by mistake or if it was a hidden gem waiting to be discovered.

He paused when he read a line that made him reflect.

[Are you satisfied with your life?]

The question echoed in his mind, demanding an answer that he couldn't find.

He wondered how his life would be different if he could answer yes to that question truthfully without lying to everyone and himself.

He felt like he had no control over his own destiny, as his parents and managers decided everything for him. He didn't feel any joy or passion in his life, as he played what others expected him to play.

He felt a gaping hole in his soul, a hollow ache that nothing could fill. He wondered what was missing from him, what he had lost or never had. He longed for something more, something that would make him feel alive and happy.

Artham closed the book with a sigh and checked the time. It was almost eleven in the morning.

"Another day filled with overthinking." He shook his head and muttered to himself.

Suddenly, a familiar melody pierced the silence of the library. It was Chopin's Nocturne in C Sharp Minor (No. 20), the same melody he had played years ago. It was a haunting tune that stirred his emotions and memories.

A flood of memories engulfed him, transporting him to another time and place.

In his mind's eye, he saw himself as a five-year-old boy sitting at a piano, surrounded by cameras and reporters. He was a tiny boy with big eyes and curly hair, but he had already become a sensation on social media and television. He had been chosen to perform at a prestigious event as a special guest.

His parents were watching from the sidelines, their faces beaming with pride and joy. They had always praised him and pushed him to excel. They had bought him a piano when he was four years old after they saw him mimic a classical music performance on TV. They had recorded his every move and broadcasted it online, where it quickly went viral.

The audience applauded and cheered for him. They had flocked to see him play, to witness his genius and marvel at that very young age. They showered him with compliments, admiration, and envy.

The piano keys felt familiar and comfortable under his fingers. He had taught himself to play by observing and imitating others. He had conquered the instrument through diligence and memory.

He closed his eyes and began to play, hiding his true feelings behind a mask of calmness.

A sublime melody cascaded from his fingertips, soaring and swelling with emotion. He felt the music flow through his veins, the notes dance in his ears, and the harmony touch his soul. He felt the piano keys tremble under his fingers, the spotlight scorches his skin, and the audience hold their breath. He played with flawlessness and exactness that left no room for error or doubt. He hit every note with precision and grace, making the piano sing with his touch. He played with confidence and a flair that impressed everyone who heard him.

But everyone didn't know the truth. The truth was that it was all a lie all along.

A lie? Yes, a beautiful lie.

A lie that glittered like gold, but crumbled like dust. A lie that he had told himself and everyone else for years.

What he actually felt was nothing.

Absolutely nothing.

No excitement or curiosity or any emotion from playing the piano or exploring new things after experiencing them for the first time.

He opened his eyes and saw the same faces gazing at him, their expressions unchanged. And he wondered.

Did they acknowledge him as anything beyond an entertainment object? As a person, a child, a human being? Or was he nothing more than an object of their admiration and envy?

He looked at his parents, who were smiling and clapping for him. But he felt no warmth or appreciation from them or anyone anymore. He felt like a puppet, performing for their amusement.

Boredom was his faithful shadow, a numb pain in his heart that never faded. He wondered how long he could keep up this charade, how long before someone discovered his lie.

He snapped out of his memory with a jolt. He stood up and returned the book to its shelf before leaving the library in search of something more.

As he was about to return the book to where it came from, he saw Lisa, his homeroom teacher, looking for something on the same shelf where he picked up the fantasy book. He wondered what she was doing there, and why she seemed so nervous.

"I swear I hid it in here. But where did it go?" she muttered, frantically moving the books around.

"Hello, Ms. Lisa. Are you looking for something?" he asked politely.

She gasped and spun around to face him, her face turning pale. Her eyes widened in shock as she saw him holding the book she was looking for.

"Oh, Artham, yeah! I was looking for a special book." she stammered, trying to come up with an excuse.

"I guess this is it. I was just quite surprised to find something like this in here. I didn't know you were a fantasy reader." he said, offering her the book.

"Oh, no, no. I'm not. It's for my… son! Anyway, thank you." she said quickly, snatching the book from him.

She hurried away, clutching the book to her chest. He watched her go, puzzled by her strange behavior.

"She really is a fantasy enthusiast, huh? She even imagined she had a son while she's actually not married yet." he thought to himself, chuckling at her lie.

Artham was about to leave the library when he heard a familiar voice call his name.

"Hey, Artham!"

He turned and saw a flash of white and red running toward him. It was Julia, the class president, who always wore her uniform with a bright red ribbon in her brown hair. She was a bundle of energy, always smiling and cheerful, but also straightforward and opportunistic. She ran up to him with a dazzling grin, her footsteps pounding on the floor, her voice ringing in his ears, her perfume filling his nose.

She caught up with him and flashed a dazzling grin.

"Hi, Artham, I'm glad I found you. I wanted to talk to you about something."

Artham arched an eyebrow and asked.

"What is it…?"

Julia pulled out a flyer from her pocket and handed it to him. It was an invitation to a talent show in their school, with colorful fonts and images of various performers.

"You should sign up for this talent show that I'm organizing. You have amazing talents, you know." She said, her eyes sparkling with admiration. "You can master any instrument, sing any song, speak any language, and win any award… You're a prodigy! If I were you, I would have won every time! Hahaha!"

She spoke as if she had done her research on him, rattling off his achievements and accolades. But Artham knew that she was wealthy and well-connected, connections that allowed her to dig up anyone's secrets.

Most of the students in this school came from rich or super-rich families. That was why it was a normal thing in this institution. You could enter it even if you were from a poor family, as long as you had the highest exam score in your country.

But Artham also transferred to this school because of his connections. Therefore, he could understand the point of view of this place. However, to hear such familiar praise, he felt a surge of annoyance. He had heard it too many times, and he was sick of it.

"No, thanks. I'm not interested," he said—his voice icy and bitter.

Julia's expression darkened, her lips curving into a displeased frown.

"Why not? Don't you want to share your talents with everyone? Aren't you proud of what you can do?!"

Artham shook his head, his eyes flashing with a hidden fury.

"No, I don't. I've showcased my abilities enough already. It's become so monotonous."

Julia looked taken aback, her eyes wide and mouth agape.

"Monotonous? How could you say that?! You possess a remarkable gift, Artham—a rare and extraordinary one! You should cherish it, not dismiss it!"

Artham sighed heavily.

"You don't understand, Julia. You don't know what it's like to be me. To be able to do anything, but to feel nothing. To be admired by everyone, but to care for no one. To be a genius, but to have no dream."

"I don't need to understand you, Artham. You have a duty to share your talents with the world, because your gift is something to celebrate, not hide away. Many people out there would love to be in your shoes."

After hearing that, Artham felt a surge of anger rising in his chest. His fists clenched, his jaw tightened, and his eyes narrowed. One more word from her and he would lose it.

"Enoug..."

"As a class president, it is my duty to showcase what our student class can do for the society. I do this for the greater good, not for my own selfishness, Artham." She said, her eyes sharp and piercing. "So, I ask you this last time, can I write your name?"

He couldn't stand Julia's nagging anymore. Artham had enough of her bullshit. He crumpled the flyer in his hand and threw it on the floor.

"You can write it and you can also take your stupid flyer then shove it up your ass!" he snapped

"What the hell?! You… I- I don't get what pissed you off so much at me."

"I'm tired of… Argh, damn! I'm sorry, but I have to go."

Without glancing back at Julia, he turned on his heels and stormed off, leaving her in a state of bewilderment. She stood there, frozen and speechless, her hand still reaching out for him.

"Artham, wait!"

She reached out her hand, trying to stop him, but he ignored her. She felt a pang of hurt and confusion, wondering what she had done wrong.

Artham's mind was a storm of thoughts about his own brilliance. They swirled and crashed with frustration and resentment. He felt a tightness in his chest, a burning in his eyes, and a ringing in his ears.

He was a prodigy, a genius, a phenomenon. He was a star that shone brighter than anyone else, but also burned faster than anyone else. He had a knack for understanding complex theories and mastering any skill he desired.

But as he walked away, he felt a surge of anger rising in him, threatening to explode. He clenched his fists, his nails digging into his palms. He bit his lip, trying to hold back his words. He knew he had to get out of there before he said something he would regret.

He was just tired of hearing the same dialogue every day that praised him for being this and that. That anger was not toward Julia, who was just trying to be nice, but to himself. He wondered if there was anyone who could see beyond his facade and understand his true feelings. He wondered if there was anyone who could make him feel something other than boredom and emptiness.

He had a vision for his life since he was a child. He saw his future as a clear-cut plan, a blueprint he followed with precision. He devoured books, soaking up every detail and reciting them flawlessly.

He soared to the top of his class, his community, and his level. He collected trophies and medals, symbols of his excellence. He faced every challenge, every opponent, every test. But when he repeated his triumphs for the second time, he felt no pride or joy.

He felt hollow.

He looked around and saw only blandness and repetition.

His bedroom shelves were littered with remnants of his past triumphs. He had achieved everything he had set out to, but somewhere along the way, he had lost his light. He felt a void within him, a missing piece that once made his life vibrant, but he couldn't remember what it was. It was like a puzzle with a crucial piece missing, leaving a gaping hole in the picture. Consequently, his ambition gradually faded, and he blended into the crowd, squandering his time on trivial pursuits that failed to fill the emptiness in his soul.

Ever since he entered this school, he has been making rules that adhere to his own code, a set of rules that he made for himself, only himself.

As he strolled towards the cafeteria, he found himself staring at a solitary, colorless wall in the hallway. It mirrored his life - bland and monotonous. He wondered what color he could add to make it blend with the others or stand out as unique. He felt like a blank canvas, waiting for someone to paint him with life, or maybe there was someone who had already painted him with life but left him unfinished. He wondered if he would ever find that person again, or if he would remain incomplete forever.

"Who knows." He shrugged and walked away, leaving the wall behind.

Just like what he wanted to do with his final year of high school. Was there anything left to chase or anyone left to meet? Did he have a purpose or a destiny, or was he just floating in a pointless loop of emptiness?

He had savored the common flavors of life, such as love, friendship, and betrayal. But none of them had left a lasting impression on him. He had also experienced the rare and darker ones, such as the act of taking a life. He once shuddered as he remembered the two faces that haunted his dreams.

The two faces that he had erased from this world.