Imagi Mark

Asphalt Academy wasn't like any other school. It wasn't just the polished floors that reflected your every move or the plaques that lined the walls, each one commemorating some senator, CEO, or billionaire alum. It wasn't even the lush green quad with its ornate fountain that looked like it belonged on a college campus instead of a high school. No, Asphalt was different because of the unspoken rules. The ones that determined exactly where you stood—and, more importantly, where you didn't.
At the top of it all was Dustin. He didn't just rule the school; he owned it. But if Dustin was the king, then Arthur Graf was something else entirely. He wasn't part of the hierarchy; he existed above it, like a force of nature too big and too strange to fit into anyone's plans.
For the rest of us, there were only two choices: play by the rules or get crushed by them. Me? I wasn't even in the game. I was one of the scholarship kids, the ones who made it into Asphalt by sheer talent or dumb luck. For most of us, it was the chance of a lifetime. But it came with a price.
At first, high school wasn't much different from middle school. I kept my head down, stayed quiet, and tried not to draw any attention to myself. That was easier said than done at a place like Asphalt, where everyone seemed to be watching, judging, weighing you against their own impossibly high standards.
I did my best to stay invisible. At 5'3, with pale skin and white hair that my mother insisted on cutting herself, I didn't exactly scream "blend in." She said my hair was too fine for anyone else to handle, that they wouldn't be gentle enough. It was a small thing, but it reminded me that she cared, even if we barely saw each other these days.
Then there was Dustin. He was in my class, and for the first few weeks, he didn't even notice me. He walked past me in the halls like I didn't exist, his perfect smile flashing at anyone who mattered. He was everything I wasn't—tall, charismatic, and confident. People gravitated toward him, not just because of his looks or his charm, but because of the power he wielded so effortlessly.
Dustin wasn't just popular; he was untouchable. His father was one of the school's largest donors, and everyone knew it. Teachers turned a blind eye to his antics, and the administration bent over backward to keep him happy. If anyone tried to challenge him, they didn't last long.
I thought I could avoid him. I thought I could stay in the shadows, focus on my studies, and make it through the year without incident. I was wrong.
I first noticed Arthur Graf during my second week at Asphalt. It was hard not to notice him.
Arthur was a sophomore, but he didn't act like any of the other upperclassmen. He had this air of confidence that wasn't cocky or forced—it was just there, like he didn't need to prove anything to anyone. He was tall and lean, with messy blonde hair that always seemed to be in his eyes. People whispered about him in the halls, but he didn't seem to care.
He was the president of the Chivalry Club, which sounded like something out of a medieval fantasy novel. Most people thought the club was a joke, but Arthur didn't. He talked about honor and virtue like they were sacred, reciting lines of poetry in the middle of class or letting birds perch on his arm during field trips.
And then there was his sword.
Arthur didn't carry it around, but everyone knew about it. He claimed it could shine as bright and as hot as the sun, though no one had ever seen him use its full power. Some people thought it was just a story, something he made up to seem more mysterious. But the way he talked about it, you couldn't help but believe him.
One afternoon, I was in the library, poring over Vincula Imaginis, the Latin book I'd found in my father's old study. The library was my sanctuary, the one place where I felt safe.
"You're smart, Christian," Mrs. Harding, the librarian, said as she walked by. She was one of the few adults at Asphalt who didn't seem to fear Dustin, but even she spoke in hushed tones.
"Thanks," I said, glancing up from my book.
"But being smart won't protect you here," she continued, her eyes scanning the room as if she were looking for someone. "Keep your head down. And stay away from him."
"Who?" I asked, though I already knew the answer.
"Dustin," she said, her voice barely above a whisper. "I've seen what happens to kids who get in his way. You don't want to end up like them."
I nodded, but her words only made the knot in my stomach tighten. I didn't want to be on Dustin's radar any more than I already was, but it seemed like it was too late for that.
The first real confrontation came a few days later. Dustin cornered me in the hallway after class, his friends laughing behind him.
"Library boy," he said, his tone mocking. "What're you reading now? Spells to make you taller?"

Laughter echoed down the hall, it seemed forced because it was the same joke from last week and yet I felt my face flush because of the sheer volume of laughter.

"Leave him alone," a voice said from behind me.
I turned to see Arthur standing there, his hands in his pockets, his expression calm but serious.
Dustin's smile faltered for a moment, but then he shrugged. "Just having a little fun," he said, backing off.
Arthur didn't say anything else. He just looked at me, his eyes sharp and knowing, before walking away.
For a moment, I felt a flicker of hope. Maybe, just maybe, I wasn't completely alone.
But that hope didn't last long. Because if there was one thing I was learning about Asphalt Academy, it was that hope was dangerous. And Dustin wasn't done with me yet.