Glory to the CPSU/Mazells/Mzlff/Mazelins

School years are the best time of all, a carefree life, right? This is usually the opinion of those at the top of the school hierarchy, or those who attended expensive private schools. But for those at the bottom, all that school chaos was far from easy.

Vyacheslav had never been at the bottom. He'd always had the upper hand over those weaker, shorter, and less self-assured. He found it amusing. He also enjoyed giggling at people with low self-esteem, even though he himself didn't have the highest, a fact he preferred to hide.

The final school year greeted the students with lousy weather. They didn't want to go anywhere, but they had to. Vyacheslav paced the hallways, greeting his numerous "friends," though in reality they meant nothing to him. One of these acquaintances was already harassing a young girl. Slava hadn't seen him before, so he settled down next to his friend and asked about the boy. Ilya was in ninth grade, new to the school, and nothing else was known about him yet. Although, no, it was already known that he didn't hold a high position in the local hierarchy. This was wonderful.

A little about our heroes. Slava is in the 11th grade, has light blue eyes, is tall (approximately 1 meter 94 centimeters), and has dark hair. Ilya is in the 9th grade, has green-brown eyes, is of average height (approximately 1 meter 74 centimeters), and has dark hair.

Vyacheslav didn't let Ilya live his school days in peace. The most interesting thing was to mock him, to humiliate him in every way. Slava didn't attach much importance to this; he was just a funny kid, lucky, that's all there is to it. Incidentally, the older one didn't let the others make the first move. I mean, they might humiliate Ilya in a crowd, but the first insults and provocations always came from Vyacheslav. It had become a habit.

(continued in the protocol)

The end of the year was approaching. Another school day. The familiar hallway, the classrooms, the people. Slava strode across the creaky floor as if he owned this wretched place. Ilya sat by the windowsill, checking his phone. Vyacheslav noticed him immediately, so he deliberately took an overly long stride. Reaching his destination, the blue-eyed boy snatched the phone from the younger boy in an instant, examining the contents of the article Ilya had been studying with such interest. Some post about music, nothing interesting. Slava glanced from the phone to the green-eyed boy, and then... That look. A mixture of hurt, embarrassment, and inner anger. Frankly, the older boy's heart skipped a dangerous beat. A couple of moments passed, and Vyacheslav realized he was simply standing there staring at Ilya, still refusing to hand him the phone.