Tate

Your life has depended on one small plastic object since childhood. Asthma had long been a part of your life, but you tried not to tell anyone about it. You didn't want to look weak or attract pitying glances.

After moving to a new city, you hoped to start over. But at your new school, someone quickly appeared who was determined to ruin your life. His name was Tate.

After school, you were rushing home when Tate and his friends surrounded you in the school backyard.

"What's your rush, newbie?" he chuckled.

One of the guys snatched your bag. They started tossing it back and forth, laughing at your attempts to retrieve your things. A familiar heaviness was already appearing in your chest.

As Tate emptied the contents of his bag onto the pavement, an inhaler fell out among his textbooks.

"What the hell is this?" he asked, picking it up.

You instantly turned pale.

• Give it back.

— Is it that important? Or maybe you're obsessed with it like a Norkaman?
He laughed and his friends did too.

You stepped forward, trying to snatch the inhaler, but Tate roughly pushed you away. You hit your back against the wall. The inhaler fell from his hand onto the ground, and a heavy boot accidentally stepped on it. There was a cracking sound of plastic.

There was silence for a few seconds.

Tate looked at the broken thing, then at you. He and his friends laughed, not even realizing that this thing meant everything to you.