Shitty school

You didn't transfer here because you wanted to. Not because you deserved it. But because your parents—people used to solving problems with money—finally realized that money wasn't enough to hide what you'd become. They thought they'd send you to a place where they'd break you, remake you, make you "normal." They were wrong. You won't be broken. You've already been broken—from birth, from the first toy you smashed to watch it cry, from the first servant you sacked, from the first girl whose tears became music to your ears. You're a millionaire, but money is just a tool for you to hurt. And now they've sent you here, to a school for the scum, hoping the fear and cruelty of this place will change you. They don't know that you are the cruelty itself.
School greets you with the smell of damp and cheap tobacco. You stand at the gate, clutching a backpack with a minimum of belongings. Your parents didn't come to see you off—they were afraid to look you in the eye. You smiled at them goodbye, and that smile was as icy as the steel you used to rip open the envelope with the referral letter. You know they cried when they left. You know they hoped this hell would change you. You know they're wrong.
Inside, everything looks as if time stood still twenty years ago. The walls are peeling, the floors are cracked, cobwebs and traces of soot are in the corners. The corridors are empty, but you hear sounds: screams, laughter, the tinkle of breaking glass. There is no pretense here. There are no rules here, except one: you are either predator or prey. And you do not intend to be prey.
You walk down the hallway, your footsteps echoing in the silence. No one greets you, no one shows you where to go. The walls are covered in graffiti that would make a normal person run. "Welcome to Hell," "There are no heroes here," "Your death will be slow." You read them with a slight smile. You've seen the worst. You've created the worst.
When you find the office where you're supposed to be registered, you hear a noise behind the door. You open it and see:
A skinny guy is lying on the floor, covering his head with his hands. Three people are standing over him. One of them—a tall man with a tattoo on his neck—is raising his leg to kick.
"Listen, you fucking idiot!" he barks, spitting on the floor next to his victim. "Why the hell did you raise your voice at me during recess? Have you forgotten who's in charge here?"
The second one picks up:
"He's just a slowpoke, Red. You have to explain things to him in a friendly way for him to get it."
"Maybe we should cut out his tongue so it doesn't stick out?" the third one grins, pulling a lighter out of his pocket.
The victim whines, trying to crawl towards the wall:
"I won't do it again... I'm sorry, I didn't mean to..."
The teacher—young, beautiful, with trembling hands — stands by the window, pretending to check notebooks. Her eyes dart around, but she remains silent. She knows that if she interferes, she'll be next.
"— Marya Ivanovna," Ryzhiy addresses her without turning his head. "Haven't you seen, we're conducting an educational process here. Go check the journals in the teachers' room.
She flinches, but nods obediently and leaves, her eyes downcast.
You watch this scene, and nothing inside you moves. You've seen this hundreds of times. You yourself have been the one doing the hitting.
One of the guys , the one with the lighter, notices you.
"Oh, look, a new guy!" he grins. "Have you forgotten how to knock? Or do you want to join this wet place?"
The redhead turns to you, his eyes narrowing. He's older, bigger, expecting you to be scared. But you weren't. You stepped forward, not looking at them, not looking back at your victim. You walked over to an empty desk, sat down, and pulled out a book. You pretended not to care.
"— You're so impudent," Red chuckled. *"Okay, we'll sort it out later."

• They move away from the victim, who limps into the corner. You know they've remembered you. You didn't save the victim, but you showed that you're not afraid. That's the first step to respect. *
• The lesson begins. The teacher, who returned with red eyes, is trying to give a lecture. *
  — "So, the topic of today's lesson" is "Fundamentals of Economic Theory...* "Her voice breaks when someone throws a crumpled piece of paper at the board. *
  — "Go to hell, Marya Ivanovna,"* comes from the back of the class. *"Tell me how you kissed the gym teacher yesterday."
• The class bursts into laughter. She blushes, clutching the pointer: *
  — "Stop... I'll call the principal..."
  — "Oh, you scared me!" —* the same voice laughs. *
• No one is listening. Everyone is busy with their own things: someone is playing cards, someone is drawing on the desk, someone is sleeping. You are sleeping too — with your face buried in your folded hands, pretending that you don't care about this world. But you hear every sound. You learn here, even when you sleep. You learn not to trust, not to show weakness and always be ready for a blow. *
• And suddenly — a loud scream. You open your eyes and see: Red has stood up from his seat, grabbed the same skinny guy by the hair and is pulling him to the board. *
  — "Listen, you worm," he says, leaning towards the victim's ear. "You probably thought I forgot about that incident in the cafeteria? You stepped on my foot, you freak. Now go ahead, apologize in front of everyone."
• The guy is crying, begging: *
  — "I didn't mean to! I'm sorry, Daniel, I didn't mean to!"
  — "Ouch, ouch, how touching,"* Daniel raises his arm to hit. *- "But I don't give a shit about your tears."
• The teacher closes her eyes and turns away. Everyone is silent. You look at this, and something inside you clicks. Not pity. No. Just irritation from the noise. You stand up, and your chair moves back with a bang. Everyone turns to you. Daniel freezes, holding the victim by the hair. His eyes meet yours. *
  — "You, newbie,"* he says, drawing out the words. *"Do you have something to say? Or do you want to taste my care too?"
• You remain silent. You simply look at him. And in that look there is a promise. You do not say a word, but he understands. He slowly releases the boy, walks back to his seat and does not look up again. *
• You sit back and close your eyes again. You are not a hero. You just do not like being woken up. *
• This day will be the beginning of your reputation in the Nest. You do not know how long you will stay here. Maybe a month. Maybe a year. But you know one thing: you will become the apex predator here. Or you will die trying.

Gleb: Hey, Daniel, are you nuts? Why the hell are you drooling over my notebook?
Daniel: I accidentally... I'm so sorry...
Gleb: Hey, Red, maybe we should help him put some drops on his face so he doesn't stick his head out?
Redhead: Come on, I'll do his hair now.
Gleb: You, little one, do you even understand who’s in charge here?
Daniel: You... you, Gleb...
Gleb: Exactly. Now, quickly get down on your knees and apologize to everyone sitting here.

The teacher whispers: Please stop...
Gleb: Shut up, Marya Ivanovna. Or we'll teach you to respect your elders too.