But I was still suspicious. I couldn’t trust him easily. George’s violent negligence, the reasons he’d kept silent until now, even the way the Jérômes treated him—all of it demanded explanation, and what I’d been through just last night had instilled in me an excessive wariness and distrust.And yet… seeing those photos of George and now sitting across from him at this very moment—the one person who could share my wounds—there was an irresistible surge of comfort and affection. That made it impossible to speak up right away. George sat with me in silence before finally breaking it.“Albert.”I looked at him without a word.“Peter.”George continued.“Daniel. Joseph. Christopher. Nicholas.”He slowly enumerated the six names and then added, “They’re the six predecessors you found without names. Well, they actually had names—until they were all erased.”I asked, “Under what circumstances do they erase their names? Are they planning to erase mine too? George, there’s so much I don’t know.”He answered, “They will erase your name as well. But you’ve been different from all the others. You stood out. That’s what draws their interest.”I asked, “What happened to them?”By the end of our long conversation, my mouth was bone-dry.“Did they all die?”George replied, “I can show you.”He placed a plastic box inside his laptop bag and powered it on. A moment later, the images he showed me wiped every thought from my mind. One by one, six photographs of my predecessors appeared on the screen. Beneath each, their names were scrawled in handwriting.The first photograph: a gravestone in a cemetery—Albert’s grave.The second: Peter. He sat in a wheelchair beside an iron sign reading “Psychiatric Hospital,” and behind him stood three boys at attention, smiling as they stared into the camera.The third photograph was of Daniel, and it was clearly a picture of a corpse. My skin crawled. The boy was so gaunt he looked like a skeleton, lying on a hospital bed under a white sheet, with only his closed face exposed.The fourth was Hugh. He grinned while holding a newspaper. The paper carried the report of a boy’s suicide—and that boy had to have been Joseph…The fifth photograph—Goddamn it—was taken in a brothel. Christopher sat on a stranger’s lap in a tight T-shirt and jeans, and beyond him on the table, Jérôme’s face was blurred in the background…The final photograph showed only the back of a boy holding luggage, walking toward a car. It was Nicholas. He was the only one captured looking normal.“Nicholas left the school and was admitted to a psychiatric hospital,” George said in a flat tone. “I heard he committed suicide not long ago.”“Why?” I asked. “Why… why are they doing this? Why? How could they… why?” My voice grew desperate before I knew it.George stared at me with his usual impassive expression, then abruptly said, “Don’t be pathetic, Raymond.” His voice was sharp. “Don’t act like worthless trash, like those before you.”He called the boys he’d just called victims “trash.” Hatred flickered in George’s voice. But I couldn’t remain as detached as he was. I was afraid of death. I was afraid of pain. I was afraid of torture and abuse.“What about you? You’re the real cowardly, contemptible trash. You said it yourself—you survive by submitting.” I spoke fiercely.“And you were clever,” George said quietly. “You survived and waited for an opportunity. And now you’re here.”Once more, George’s voice burned with strange longing as he continued, “So don’t waste my chance, Raymond.”The sun had risen. George looked toward the window as sunlight poured in, then put his laptop back into his bag.“There isn’t much time left,” he said. “They’ll erase your name soon.”I stared at him without a word, and as if declaring it, he said, “They’ll abuse you, degrade you, torture you, tear you apart alive, and kill you mercilessly. All the violence and humiliation you’ve endured so far was just a test.”His voice was calm and unwavering, exuding intimidation. I asked, “How can I kill Jérôme? I can’t take on those three by myself.”George answered curtly, “I’ll help you.”I glared at him suspiciously. “You said you wouldn’t get involved.”He asked sharply, “Why haven’t you done anything from the start?”George added, “I’m only using you. Because I want to survive.” He glanced at his wristwatch and said, “I’ll help you—but only as long as I’m sure it’s safe for me.”In that moment I realized: we were not comrades. Though we had shared the same abuse, violence, and wounds, our experiences of betrayal and mistrust were just as intense. Still, George confessed without hesitation that he would use me. His selfishness was pure—and so, at least, I could trust his motives.Using me would cost him nothing. If George gave me the information I needed, I would share nothing further with him. There was still much I didn’t know about George: where he got the information about the six predecessors, how he had survived, or why his bizarre relationship with the Jérômes continued to function. Until I discovered those things, George remained merely a friendly enemy whose goals aligned with mine.George slung his bag over his shoulder and stood up. After gauging my expression, he said, “Go back to your room and sleep.”I snorted. “And then let them rape me all night again?”George gave a crooked smile—one that showed he knew exactly what I’d endured. “That’s over now.”His words were chilling. I asked, “You… you knew? Why didn’t I notice it happening every night?”George explained dryly, “Since you arrived at this school, you’ve eaten dinner with Simon, with Hugh, and with me. We drugged your food.”It felt like a blow to the head. I’d often eaten alone with George—just the two of us. Only days ago, too. Reading my expression, George answered with a blank face, “They ordered me to. I drugged your food, too.” He glanced at his watch and said, “When you fell asleep, Simon gave you injections. Haven’t you been without ❖ Nоvеl𝚒ght ❖ (Exclusive on Nоvеl𝚒ght) appetite since you came here? That’s a side effect.”Suddenly a bell rang in the glass door, drawing our attention. We both snapped our heads toward the door. It was only a cleaning woman entering.George peered sharply down the corridor through the glass and said, “We have to go now.” He paused, turned back to me, and added, “The photos—they gave them to you. No matter what, don’t let anyone take them.”With that last instruction, George strode out of the café.Looking back, George had been right. Except for that Saturday when my tire went flat, that morning was different. For the first time since coming to this school, I’d woken up early. Unlike usual, I’d had an appetite and devoured breakfast. If, as George said, “that’s over now”… if they hadn’t raped me after sending those photos… and if my constant lack of appetite was really due to the drugs…To verify George’s words, I headed straight to the school bathroom. I locked the door, stripped off all my clothes, and instead of inspecting the scratches and bruises from last night’s struggle, I looked between my thighs and at my butt. There, clear as day, were the injection marks—evidence that they’d been poking needles into my real buttocks.I realized I had never thought to check my reflection for marks there while washing. Even if I had glanced at the mirror, I’d only examined the wounds on my back. I couldn’t have imagined something like this happening to me…I stared blankly at the reflection in the mirror. When had I gotten this thin? Losing months of proper meals made the weight loss inevitable—but I’d been so preoccupied with my wounds and so focused on my face in the mirror that I hadn’t seen the rest of my body. The reflection showed a wreck: a pale face devoid of any flesh, my body covered in scars. A chill ran down my spine. They had done this to me.Suddenly, a photograph George had shown me—Daniel’s—flashed before my eyes: Daniel’s dead face, hollow-cheeked and gaunt, lying under a white sheet on a hospital bed. How pitiful the thin contours of his body looked, even covered.I want to live. Standing naked before the mirror, I shuddered at the raw impulse stabbing through my chest. I want to live. The ghostly face staring back at me overlapped with my father’s face in his coffin. I wanted vengeance on those who made me like this. I had to avenge Julia. I had to avenge Jérôme, Simon, and Hugh.Stunned by the events of that Saturday, my eyes slowly regained life. A strange sound echoed in my ears—a grotesque noise that made the back of my neck prickle. It was the sound of my teeth grinding. I trembled all over as I stared at my reflection.They said they would erase my name? If blotting my name out with ink could make me disappear, how delighted Julia would be. If they could solve everything by throwing me into some institution, how pleased they’d be. If I failed to endure and jumped from a window or hanged myself, what an exquisite ending it would be for all of them!You bastards. I began to dress, pulling on each garment one by one. My gaunt, wounded body was slowly concealed beneath clothes. I wouldn’t give them what they wanted. Buttoning my shirt as I looked in the mirror, I vowed not to become another submissive wretch, stamping out everything by merely blacking out my name like those before me. It wouldn’t be that easy.A twisted smile crept across my face as I stared at myself in the mirror. The cheek Hugh had struck was swollen grotesquely. In this game, I was the one with nothing left to lose. No matter how many times they violated this body, it could never count as their victory.After six in the morning, I headed to the dining hall. Though it was early, a few students who had studied all night were gathered, eating a light breakfast. I squeezed into their circle and forced down my breakfast. George had told me, you have to eat well to recover fast. Since there were no drugs in this meal, I ate with relief.After finishing, I dragged my exhausted body back to the dormitory. Simon was not in our room—he must have gone for a jog. I didn’t care. One round was over; there was still time before the next.I was utterly spent. I’d woken early that morning, rushed to the library to find the bundle of photos, fought in the struggle, been raped, and then had to face everything without sleep.I could no longer stay awake. I retrieved the hidden photos from my ankle, stashed them behind the bookshelf, and collapsed onto my bed without even removing my shoes or pulling up the covers. I fell asleep as I lay there.I woke to the sound of the bell. I had slept all day and, at the chime, my eyes snapped open. My body must have remembered it was four in the afternoon. Simon was still absent. As I sat up, the blanket that had covered me slid off. My shoes were gone. It had to be Simon’s doing. I tossed aside the covers and walked out barefoot.I froze at the sight in the living room. Jérôme had appeared, perched on the sofa armrest, one foot propped up as he surveyed the room. Simon sat on the sofa beside him, watching too.Hugh asked me, “You’re awake. Does a little sleep make life bearable?”

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