The Human Wreck
The corridor of Ceres Central College dawned beneath artificial dew, the floor still damp and the light far too white. There was a suspended silence before the siren. Theo walked slowly, his arm bandaged, his breathing short. Eyes followed him — not with curiosity, but calculation. In Ceres, no one asked what they already knew.
At the far end of the corridor, Cors leaned against the wall, his eyes burning. Beside him, Vanks watched everything without expression — simply waiting for the chaos to begin.
— I heard you got beaten up by a woman... the weakling Ceres — Cors said.
Theo did not stop. He walked past him as if crossing through a shadow.
Cors shoved him against the wall; the sound echoed, dry and sharp. The students fell silent immediately, forming an invisible semicircle around them.
Theo, still held by the collar, slowly raised his eyes.
— You're going to hit someone who's weakened, in front of everyone?
He paused.
— You're better than that, Cors.
Another pause.
— Wait until I'm in condition. You gonna beat a dead dog? Go find Kan. He's in better shape.
Cors trembled with rage. His fist rose, but Professor Ikar appeared between them in a swift movement, separating the two.
— The show is over. Classroom. Now — the professor said, his voice cold and cutting.
Cors stepped back, but his gaze remained locked with Theo's.
There was no hatred there.
There was something more dangerous — envy disguised as contempt.
Theo straightened his crumpled collar and muttered:
— Until further notice, I'm a human wreck.
A pause.
— We'll settle this on the field.
The professor gave him a light push, ordering him to keep moving.
Vanks, leaning against the wall, laughed quietly, moving his lips without making a sound:
“Failure. Shitty leader.”
Theo noticed. He answered with a cynical smile, the kind of smile that says “I know.”
Then he entered the classroom.
At the end of the corridor, Ceres watched everything.
She saw his bent body, his dislocated finger, his unsteady walk.
She felt no guilt — guilt was a luxury — but something inside her weighed heavily.
She knew she had gone too far.
“Strong,” she thought, “but not two.”
She entered another classroom.
The camera remained on the empty corridor.
Theo's dried blood still marked the wall where Cors had pinned him.
The Silence of the Classroom
The classroom was immersed in Mother Ceres's translucent light — cold, precise, impersonal.
The students entered in a line without looking at one another.
The sound of footsteps replaced any conversation.
Theo entered last.
He could still feel the weight of the corridor, his crumpled collar, the dried blood at the corner of his lip.
He sat in the second-to-last row, like someone who wanted to be forgotten.
Shortly afterward, Cors and Vanks entered.
There was no coordination between them, but they moved like a single body.
The silence between them was a pact.
Cors sat one row behind Theo; Vanks beside him.
Between them, the air vibrated.
Professor Ikar wrote on the holographic screen:
History of Ceres — The Value of Individual Sacrifice.
No one took a deep breath.
Theo raised his eyes, read the sentence, and smiled faintly — cynical, exhausted.
Cors whispered without looking at him:
— Pretty lesson for a coward.
Theo did not react.
He continued staring at the board, at the professor's words.
Only his fingers trembled beneath the desk.
Vanks leaned closer, almost whispering only to Cors:
— Look at the hero... blue blood still dripping.
Cors held back his laughter, but it escaped.
The professor turned his gaze toward them — brief, cutting.
Silence returned.
Theo spoke quietly without turning:
— Keep going. I want to see how far that courage goes without an audience.
Cors leaned back in his chair, feeling the blow — not the physical one, but the other, the one that disarms you from within.
He looked at Vanks, trying to smile.
The laugh died before it could come out.
The class continued.
The subject was sacrifice.
Ceres was absent, but she seemed to be watching them from somewhere.
On the screen, the sentence was completed:
In Ceres, strength is not winning. It is enduring what the other cannot endure.
Theo read it.
The imaginary camera closed in on his eyes.
The reflection of the word “endure” gleamed in his pupils.
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