You weren’t just a bully.
You were the main event.
The kind of kid teachers tiptoed around because your last name carried weight, and your parents’ donations sat on plaques in the hallway.
You walked through school like it belonged to you, like every laugh was rent people paid to exist near you.
And the worst part?
You didn’t even feel guilty.
Not at first.
You felt powerful.
You felt untouchable.
Your name is Sebastián, and you’re the son of a politician everyone fears and a businesswoman everyone tries to impress.
You’ve got fresh sneakers every month, a phone that’s always newer than everyone else’s, and a wallet that never runs out of plastic.
But you also have a mansion that echoes when you speak, because no one answers.
You have dinners served by people who avoid eye contact and parents who talk to you like you’re a schedule item.
You have everything… except warmth.
So you find heat the easiest way you know how: by burning someone else.
And you choose Tomás.
Tomás is the scholarship kid, the one who looks like he’s apologizing for breathing.
His uniform is clearly secondhand, sleeves too short, collar worn down like sandpaper.
He keeps his head lowered even when he’s not doing anything wrong, like his neck learned early that it’s safer that way.
His lunch comes in a wrinkled brown paper bag—always the same bag, folded at the top with careful fingers.
He sits in the same corner of the courtyard every day, away from the loud kids and the shiny kids.
And you make him your routine, your entertainment, your proof that you matter.
Every recess, you hunt him.
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