“You say you love me—what do you know about me? What about me is so lovable?”At that, Simon released the hand that held my arm. He raised his other hand and, without hesitation, touched my cheek. A few students in the garden whispered as they watched us, but Simon didn’t care—and neither did I. In that sweet moment of confession and acceptance, we stood stiff with sharp hostility and tension.The warmth of Simon’s fingertip on my cheek was unlike any warmth I’d ever felt. It felt like sun-warmed pebbles or petals drenched in sunshine, a gentle heat anyone would find comforting and friendly. Once, I had trusted that hand. I felt safe in its touch and consolation. Now Simon, with that same hand I’d come to despise, stroked my cheek and gently covered my eyes.His hand descended over my eyelids. When I tried to open my eyes, he closed them again—then, noticing my hesitation, he simply closed my eyes for me. At last he withdrew his hand. I stood before him, eyes still shut.For a minute or two, we remained in silence. My ears grew sensitive to sounds, my nose to scents, compensating for the dark. Then Simon stepped closer. I could feel his presence without seeing him. His voice came quietly to my ear:“Don’t answer, Raymond.”He spoke as if casually, yet tenderly:“Don’t speak. Keep your eyes closed. Just… stay like this.”…“I hate your smiling face.”Those were the first words Simon spoke after removing his hand. I almost opened my eyes in surprise, but Simon pressed a fingertip gently on my lid to keep me shut; when I stayed still, he withdrew. It felt like I was treated as a doll, and I could only stare in shock—but having agreed to play along, I forced myself to endure.“When you smile at me, I feel intense hostility. When you speak to me, I want to plug my ears and run away. Your voice tortures me. Every action of yours—your gentle gestures and light steps—fills me with hate. When the wind tousles your hair and you brush it back, I sometimes feel a strong urge to slash your wrists.”Simon’s calm, dry tone made each word more chilling. As he spoke, I wished I could open my eyes. He continued:“But I also hate seeing you in pain. Seeing you hurt and crying makes me sad. The marks of abuse on your body feel as terrible to me as if they were on me. I can’t bear to see you hate me and try to leave.”What in God’s name…?I could no longer stand it. I thrust my eyelids open. Simon’s face before me was perfectly serene as he scrutinized me. I gasped.His eyes… they were empty. There was no focus in them—no point of gaze that one feels when another truly sees you. Though he stared at me and spoke my name, those eyes gave the impression of not seeing me at all. I shivered despite the sun’s warmth on my neck. Simon and I stood barely a step apart, yet I felt no warmth of breath from him. He stood like a corpse or a ghost, watching me with those hollow eyes.“So, Raymond, to keep loving you, I will side with Hugh.”Even in my stunned state, the words slipped out:“You said I’m lovable?”The voice I heard jolted me back to awareness. I glared into Simon’s lifeless eyes. His composure was not that of the living but of a corpse too satisfied to change. I couldn’t fathom or wish to understand it.There was only one thing I felt toward Simon’s calmness: a desire to shatter it to pieces.“Tell me what’s so lovable about me, Simon. Maybe if I’m impressed by your confession, I might even love you.”“Don’t hate me, Raymond…”Simon murmured, staring at me. Then he added softly:“Love me.”I had no reply—speechless with disbelief. I just stared as Simon reached to cover my eyes again, then drew back and stepped away. He left the archway and vanished across the garden.It felt like I’d swallowed his words, still churning in my gut. Why had Simon hovered like a ghost for days only to confess love in that instant? Why now?I remained frozen in the arch until a thought struck me:I will side with Hugh.Something was about to happen—beyond Judy’s theft, there was more. Suddenly urgency flooded me.Jerome barged into the sculpture club;George gave me the key to kill Jerome;Simon declared he sided with Hugh…Had conflict erupted among them?The suspicion grew swiftly:Were they planning to betray Jerome and cast him out?To kill Jerome?I hurried back toward the annex. In the workshop, a few boys remained, whispering about the incident. I joined them, listening as I replayed the events.Steady.Simon might have tried to unbalance me—using love to trap me. No—their eyes proved they were experts at acting. I would not be fooled again.George and Simon’s behavior had thrown me into confusion—that was their intent. They’d aimed to keep me disoriented until I lost myself entirely. They wanted me to believe they were plotting to kill Jerome, so I’d walk straight into their trap.A transparent pattern. I would no longer fall for their direct hints.By evening, Judy’s ordeal had become schoolwide gossip. The girls’ dorm, normally supervised by two matrons, doubled its staff to four after her report. Guards sat outside, watching every passerby.Most students were convinced the culprit was one of their own. One overzealous boy even called for internal searches during dinner in the dining hall. At first everyone laughed, but as more supported him—especially after the tire-slashing and then Judy—they grew uneasy, and soon most backed the idea of a dorm inspection.Crowds of angry boys formed, and I wondered how the guys in Building B’s fourth floor would react. Surely, they’d hide the stolen clothes somewhere secret…A chilling thought struck me: what if they’d hidden Judy’s things in my room? Under my bed? In my closet?Dread seized me. I wiped clammy palms and tried to appear calm—but froze when I looked at the first boy’s table and saw Hugh sitting there.Hugh, having shouted for internal searches with his classmates, turned and smiled at me with half-closed eyes. He nodded as if greeting me. Then, swept up by the crowd’s momentum, the boys leapt to their feet; chairs scraped loudly. Before I knew it, I was being swept along toward the upper dorms.The boys rose toward the second floor rehearsal rooms, then the third, then pressed on to the fourth. Each dorm had twelve to sixteen students per floor, but B-Block was smallest—once a royal monastery, each floor originally had only two rooms. Now four shared each, except Jerome kept a renovated marble suite to himself. I’d seen it once; it alone was not rough stone but polished marble.I followed the throng up to B-Block’s second floor, glaring at Hugh’s back. He was clearly egging them on. He still shouted beside the boy who first demanded searches, telling everyone to check Judy’s things. That made me uneasy—why was Hugh inflating the scandal?What if they’d hidden her clothes in my room …?I couldn’t slip away to check; suspicion would flare if anyone left. So I was carried by the wave up to the second floor entry. The matron barely glanced at us, doing nothing. The staff’s policy of non-interference had backfired.The boys searched 201: first the common room, then under the sofa, flipping tapestries on the walls, even the bathroom. Each room they searched, they dragged the owner back in to help. None objected; all °• N 𝑜 v 𝑒 l i g h t •° were intoxicated by righteous zeal.I stayed silent—any protest would’ve made me the culprit. Probably other boys who disagreed stayed silent for the same reason.I stood among them, but my own tension was different: I felt like the prey beneath a trap set by the upper-floor boys.“Cal! Where’s Cal?” someone called.“Cal’s in his evening exam,” another replied.“Then—from Eric. Eric, guard for us.”They surged into Cal and Eric’s room. A terrible premonition struck me: what if they’d hidden Judy’s things not under my bed, but under Cal’s?I forced my way through the crowd to the doorway of Cal’s room. Inside were five boys. One I recognized: Eric, Cal’s roommate. They were overturning his belongings—flipping his mattress, rifling through his bookshelf, swinging open the wardrobe. Eric’s room was in chaos.They turned next to Cal’s bed. My heart sank. Should I intervene? But I dared not risk being labeled suspicious. Already they’d flipped his mattress.At that moment, I jumped—someone’s hand landed on my back. Hugh stood there, draping an arm over my shoulder as if we were friends.“You’re cold, Raymond.”Hugh teased softly, “Twitching as if you’ve got something to hide?”His hand was still on my shoulder, but I now saw he wore that sly, half-smile. His eyes were a vivid blue, unlike George’s pale gaze. He stared as if relishing my panic. I had no reply, helplessly watching the boys search.They upended the mattress, checked beneath the bed, emptied every drawer, and disassembled the bookshelf. Finally they flung open the wardrobe and searched inside every coat, bag, and drawer. No sign of Judy’s things. The boys, convinced of Cal’s innocence, departed the room.Relief surged through me. My blood felt like it rushed back into my limbs. Then I realized Hugh’s gaze on me—still wrapped around my shoulder, expression now blank.“You little rascal,” Hugh murmured softly. “Were you worried about your friend? If I’d known, we’d have hidden it here, not in your room.”Of course it had been my room.My face drained of color as the boys completed 201 and charged toward 202. It took them less than ten minutes to scour 201; they needed only moments to sweep floors two, three, and then the fourth…At that moment, the power cut out. Every light in the dorm went dark. We were plunged into pitch black. I reflexively turned toward Hugh—he smiled enigmatically.

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