Chapter 25: Black Screen

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"Please hate me, please hate on me."

The penthouse was detached from the world—glass walls offering a panoramic view of Manchester's rain-slicked skyline.

Inside, the atmosphere was thick, lazy, heavy with static.

Kyle was drained, slumped on the leather sofa. Jay and Kendl mashed console buttons nearby, locked in a co-op match. Outside on the balcony, Hiroto sat alone, arms crossed, eyes half-closed, watching the drizzle.

At the center of the room, Stuart was in his element—fingers flying across a three-monitor workstation. He was the information ghost, the one who could dismantle servers and leave no trace.

He had spent the last three hours breaking through Kevin's cloud storage.

Then the keys stopped.

The silence was immediate. Stuart froze, his face draining to a sickening white. He slammed a hand over his mouth, shoulders heaving.

The sudden shift broke the room's rhythm. Jay and Kendl instantly paused their game, the screen freezing mid-action.

"Whoa, mate, you alright?" Jay asked, lowering his controller as his brow furrowed. "You look like you just saw an actual demon."

Stuart didn't answer. He just let his hand drop from his face, his fingers trembling wildly as he pointed a limp finger at the central monitor.

Curious, Kendl and Jay stood up and walked over to peer over Stuart’s shoulder. Within two seconds, both of them locked up. 

The casual, rowdy expressions they usually wore vanished, replaced by pure, unadulterated disgust and shock. 

Kendl’s jaw went slack, his hands gripping the back of Stuart's chair so hard his knuckles turned white. 

Jay? Silence.

On the balcony, Hiroto slowly opened one eye. Through the glass, he read the sharp, jagged language of their bodies instantly. His lazy smile stayed perfectly intact, but he stood up, slid the glass door open, and stepped into the room.

"What's with the faces?" Hiroto asked carelessly, his voice dripping with his usual casual, playful tone. "Did someone leak our report card grades early?"

Stuart didn't look at him. His eyes remained anchored to the glowing data streams on the screen. "You're too smart to ask that, Hiroto," he whispered, his voice cracking with dry, unmitigated horror. "You already know."

Hiroto kept his easy expression in place as he stepped closer to the desk. His face stayed flat, unreadable—but his fingers twitched once inside his pockets, and he held his breathing carefully steady. Whatever sat behind those filenames was enough to destroy a person's entire life.

From the sofa, Kyle’s hollow, half-dead eyes flickered. The heavy, volatile atmosphere in the room had finally piqued his curiosity. He slowly dragged his exhausted body off the cushions, shuffling over to the desk with a sluggish stride.

Then, he leaned over the monitor, his gaze dropping to the screen.

Kyle didn't flinch. He didn't gasp, and he didn't display a single shred of shock. Instead, his expression went entirely blank—a chilling, bottomless hollow. 

It was the look of a person whose internal wires had just short-circuited, the echo of a past, buried nightmare vibrating through his mind.

Without saying a single word, Kyle turned away from the desk. He walked over to the entrance, grabbed his damp jacket from the coat rack, and slipped it on with mechanical precision.

"Hey, where are you going?" Jay called out, his voice laced with instant worry.

Kyle paused at the threshold, his hand resting on the heavy penthouse door handle. He didn't look back at them. His voice was flat, entirely stripped of its usual manic energy.

"I'm going home," Kyle murmured quietly. "The air up here is too filthy."

The heavy door clicked shut behind him, leaving the penthouse in a freezing, tense silence.

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Meanwhile, across the city, Yve's study room was pristine—expensive jasmine tea, old paper, and the low hum of tablets on an oak table. Tessa, Conny, and Blythe were scattered around, ostensibly gathered for a study session.

Tessa snapped a page of her textbook. "Honestly, Blythe, your notes on nineteenth-century history are a disaster. If I don't tutor you, you'll drag our Set 1 average into the gutter."

Blythe sat rigidly at the edge of her seat, her pink hair veiling her face as she stared at her completely blank notebook. She was aggressively trying to keep her composure, forcing herself to maintain a calm, normal facade so her friends wouldn't see the abyss she was staring into.

She forced a weak, incredibly tense smile, her voice vibrating slightly as she tried to match the normal rhythm of their circle.

"Right. Sorry, Tessa," Blythe murmured, her knuckles turning white under the table as she gripped her skirt. "I'll copy your notes later. I've just been a bit distracted."

The response felt entirely artificial, a fragile ceramic mask holding back absolute panic.

Conny, who was sitting right next to her, gripped her highlighter so hard the plastic casing groaned. Her short fuse was visibly burning down. She couldn't stand the fake atmosphere for another second.

"Blythe, drop it," she said, slamming the highlighter onto the table. "You've stared at the same page for forty minutes. You haven't even uncapped your pen. If that Year 12 did something, tell us now. Our circle doesn't take this from seniors."

Blythe flinched violently at the mention of it, her calm facade instantly shattering as she instinctively pulled her phone closer to her chest.

From the head of the table, Yve closed her tablet. Her eyes, sharp and pale green, settled on Blythe's hands. Unlike Conny's heat, Yve's attention was purely tactical. Watching Blythe's reaction confirmed what she had already begun to suspect: this wasn't corporate pressure. Kevin was holding something far more personal.

"Shouting won't extract the data, Conny," Yve said, her tone cutting cleanly through the rising temper. She turned to Blythe. "Look at me."

Blythe lifted her head slowly. Her eyes were wide, swimming with guilt and something close to despair. Part of her wanted to scream at all of them to leave it alone—wanted her old temper back, sharp and useful. 

But the leash around her was too tight, and one wrong move could pull everyone down with her.

The room sat in uncomfortable silence. Under Yve's steady gaze, Blythe looked like she was holding her breath underwater. Conny opened her mouth again, but Tessa shook her head once—pushing further now would only break something that hadn't fully cracked yet.

The study session ended without another word.

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The next afternoon, the grey Manchester sky hung low over St. Jude's, casting long, dreary shadows across the stone courtyard.

During the late afternoon free period, Kevin had chosen an isolated venue.

Blythe walked two paces behind him, head bowed, steps heavy and compliant as he led her toward the old gymnasium at the far northern edge of the campus. It was a facility rarely used, dark and mostly abandoned in the afternoons.

What Kevin didn't realize was that they weren't alone.

Moving through the shadows of the covered corridors, matching their pace with practiced stealth, was the circle. Conny and Tessa kept close to the walls. A few meters behind them, Hiroto and Stuart walked with fluid, silent strides—Hiroto's hands in his pockets, posture loose, but his eyes never leaving the heavy wooden doors ahead.

Stuart glanced at his phone. The security feeds for the old gym were temporarily looping. He gave a brief nod.

Kevin pushed the heavy double doors open. The hinges groaned. Blythe followed him inside. The doors clicked shut behind them.

Seconds later, Hiroto caught the edge of the closing door with the toe of his boot, keeping it open by a fraction of an inch.

Inside, the gymnasium was vast, dim, and freezing. Sunlight filtered poorly through the grime-covered windows, illuminating dancing dust motes in the gloomy space.

Kevin swaggered to the center of the basketball court. His blazer was thrown carelessly over a nearby bench. He pulled his phone from his pocket, the screen glowing brightly against the dimness.

"You took your time getting here," he said, his voice echoing off the high ceiling. "I told you to meet me right after the bell."

Blythe stood near the free-throw line, shoulders hunched.

"I had to evade Conny," she whispered, her voice trembling. "Kevin... please. You said if I came to your manor yesterday and did what you asked, you'd delete the files. I did everything you wanted. Why are we here?"

Kevin let out a short, amused chuckle, walking a slow, predatory circle around her.

"Delete them? Come on, Blythe. You're smarter than that. Why would I throw away a perfectly good leash?"

He stopped in front of her, tilting his head.

"Your father's company is still hesitating on the logistics contract with my family. Until that ink is dry, you belong to me."

He thrust the phone screen in front of her face. Even from the cracked doorway, the circle could see the pale, panicked reflection in Blythe's wide eyes.

"Look at this," he whispered maliciously. "The AI rendering is flawless, isn't it? If I post this on the academy's public forum right now, do you think anyone will care if it's real or fake?"

He tilted the screen, letting her see the image.

"Your family's stock? Trashed. You'll be expelled before sunset."

Blythe flinched. Her breath came in short, ragged gasps. She wanted to scream, to launch herself at him—but looking at the screen, the blackmail paralyzed her entirely. She fell to her knees on the polished wood floor, her hands gripping her head.

"Please..." she sobbed softly. "Just stop."

"Chill. You moan a lot, so don't cry."

"I'm sorry... please delete it."

Kevin leaned against the gym wall, arms crossed, smirking wider as he enjoyed the terror in the air. He lifted his phone, tapping the screen to make a show of scrolling through the files.

"Damn... you look so pathetic on camera," he laughed, a cruel, mocking sound that rattled off the bleachers. "All eager and desperate."

He tilted the screen toward her, as if showing off a trophy.

"Who knew my loudmouth girlfriend was such a good little cocksucker?"

His thumb scrolled lazily.

"Oh yeah... It's filthy. I've got like six different angles. The gangbanged part, Three holes. You wanna see?"

"Kevin... I'm scared..."

"Then come on, cum dumpster bitch," he snarled, his voice dropping into something dominant and cold. "Obey me or I'll post it. Everyone will see what a whore you are."

He leaned closer, his breath hot against her ear.

"Your cool silver-haired boy won't even want you after that."

"That's... a misunderstanding. Hiroto is Conny—"

He chuckled cruelly, tapping the screen mockingly right above her head.

"Shut up. One click... and that's all it takes."

He paused, letting the silence stretch.

"Everyone seeing how good you are at sucking cock. Your life? Ruined."

"Please... stop... hiks..."

"Shut up, slag!"

Behind the cracked door, the atmosphere turned radioactive.

Conny's face went crimson. She made a desperate move to slam the door open, but Yve threw her weight forward, pinning Conny against the stone wall.

"Let me go! I'll kill him!" Conny hissed. "Did you hear what he said to her?! Our bestie—she's on her knees because of that trash!"

Tessa was trembling violently, hands clamped over her mouth. Her aristocratic composure was dead.

"Conny, stop!" Yve's voice stayed ice-cold. "If you cross that threshold right now, his thumb is on the screen. He'll press send just to spite us. If that file hits the main server, Blythe's life is over. We cannot make a wrong move."

Stuart looked at Hiroto, hands shaking as he adjusted his compact terminal.

Hiroto was still leaning lazily against the door frame. His easy smile hadn't vanished, but his eyes—usually half-closed and bored—were locked onto Kevin's phone with clinical, predatory focus.

"Stuart," he murmured, his voice barely carrying over Blythe's sobbing. "Did you clone his MAC address last night?"

"Yeah," Stuart whispered back. "I have a mirror of his local storage. But to force a remote wipe without his phone alerting the cloud backup, I need sixty seconds of uninterrupted proximity to his device."

Hiroto let out a quiet yawn, stretching his arms behind his head. He adjusted his collar, his playful actor persona settling over him smoothly—masking the tremor in his fingers.

"Sixty seconds, huh?" He smiled, a glint of malice behind his sleepy eyes. "Guess I'll have to go play the idiot."

Inside, Kevin was still looking down at Blythe, intoxicated by his own power, his thumb hovering mockingly over the glowing screen.

Hiroto pushed the heavy doors open, letting the hinges groan. His foot left the threshold, ready to step forward—

Then Kevin's thumb stopped.

Not by his own will. The screen flickered—once—and froze mid-swipe. The glow on his face cut out like a switch had been thrown.

Kevin blinked. Tapped the screen. Nothing. Tapped again. Still nothing.

His confident smirk faltered for the first time. He shook the phone, then turned it over, checking the back like it had somehow physically broken.

"What the—"

Stuart saw it too. His eyes shot to his own terminal—logged connections stable, no activity on his end. The wipe hadn't started yet.

Not me, he realized. Someone else.

He didn't question it. Didn't have time.

"I think... we don't need to," Stuart said coldly, his gaze already fixed ahead.

Meanwhile, Hiroto had already started moving—but the board didn't wait for his move.

BOOM.

The heavy double doors violently shattered inward, slamming against the concrete walls with a deafening crack that shook the entire structure.

Before Hiroto could blink, a blur of motion tore past him. A localized hurricane. An unstoppable eruption of chaotic kinetic energy.

It was Kyle.

He had arrived out of nowhere, tearing past the three-point line where Blythe's black headband lay forgotten on the hardwood, just inches from Kevin's feet.

His manic-depleted state was gone. Replaced by volatile, feral adrenaline. He wasn't running—he was flying across the polished floor, his shadow elongating wildly beneath the dim gym lights.

The sheer velocity of his entrance was so absolute that Blythe, still kneeling, couldn't even register a shape. All she felt was a violent gust of wind, followed by the low roar of a predator closing in on its prey.

Kevin didn't have time to look up. He only managed to lift his chin a fraction of an inch before Kyle bridged the distance entirely.

Kyle didn't reach for the phone. He didn't yell. With hollow, focused eyes, he threw his entire body weight forward, extending his massive forearm into a brutal, high-velocity lariat.

CRACK.

The impact was sickening. Kyle's forearm clotheslined Kevin across the throat and chest with the force of a speeding vehicle. The sheer momentum lifted Kevin off his feet, his body launched horizontally through the air.

The smartphone slipped from his grip, spinning upward into the dim rafters.

Kevin's body crashed violently into the hardwood, skidding several feet before slamming into the base of the heavy iron bleachers. He lay there, gasping for air, his eyes rolled back in absolute shock.

Silence fell over the gym, save for the echo of the impact.

Thump... thump... thump...

Blythe's heart hammered against her ribs. Through her blurred vision and the messy strands of pink hair stuck to her cheeks, she looked up.

The high windows caught a sudden sliver of light, cutting through the dust motes right behind the tall silhouette standing over her.

He looked like a prince. A dark, chaotic prince who had shattered the walls of her prison just to drag her out of the abyss.

Kyle stood at the center of the court, his back to the circle, shoulders heaving in ragged breaths.

Blythe didn't see the phone. Her gaze was locked onto him, her mind swirling in the sudden vacuum of survival, awe, and the terrifying realization that the fire between them hadn't completely turned to ash.

"Zee..." she breathed out, a fragile whisper slipping past her lips. "...I think... I still..."

The half-formed confession died in her throat, left hanging like smoke in the freezing gym air, right as the spinning smartphone finally reached the peak of its arc and began to fall.