The school grounds were rife with tension. Students walked with their heads down, avoiding eye contact as Damien and his friends roamed the halls like predators. Anyone who caught their attention was fair game, and today was no different. Damien led the charge, pushing a classmate roughly against a locker while his friends laughed.

"Come on, get a move on!" Damien barked at the trembling boy, forcing him to carry their books like a servant. The brutality was casual, almost routine. They moved from one victim to the next, with little resistance from anyone. It was the way things worked in their world.

Ethan watched from the side, arms crossed, eyes glinting with amusement. His presence made everything worse—his calm, cold demeanor seemed to push Damien further, subtly encouraging him to be more cruel. Damien smirked as he knocked the books from another student’s hands, but even as he laughed, something in him felt... wrong.

As the final bell rang, Damien and his crew gathered near the school gate, ready to head home. They joked loudly, recounting the day’s humiliations they’d inflicted on their classmates, their laughter filling the air. Just as they were about to leave, an old beggar approached them. He was frail, dirty, and his clothes hung loosely on his thin frame. His eyes, hollow and desperate, locked onto Damien.

"Please, some money..." the beggar muttered, holding out his hand, his voice trembling.

Damien paused, looking at the man with a mix of curiosity and disgust. Before he could respond, Ethan stepped forward, a cruel grin tugging at his lips.

"Let’s have some fun," Ethan said, nudging Damien. "Why don’t you help him out? Show him how generous you are."

Damien hesitated, but Ethan’s words had a pull he couldn’t resist. He nodded, feeling an odd pressure to keep up the act in front of his friends.

The group moved through the street, their eyes still on the beggar, who followed them closely. They made it to a busy corner, the beggar trailing behind, still pleading for help. His desperation seemed to amuse Ethan, whose smile grew darker by the second.

"How about we make this interesting?" Ethan suggested, his voice calm and collected. The others perked up, intrigued by whatever twisted plan Ethan had in mind.

Damien’s friend chuckled and pulled a handful of coins from his pocket. "Here, Damien, make him earn it," he said, tossing the coins into Damien’s hand. "Throw it near the dustbin. Let’s see if he’s desperate enough to pick it up with his mouth."

The group erupted in laughter, their eyes locked on the beggar. Damien, feeling a knot in his stomach, threw the coins near the overflowing dustbin at Ethan’s urging.

"Go on," one of the boys said, sneering. "Pick it up with your mouth."

The beggar hesitated, his gaze flickering between the boys and the coins lying next to the trash. His face twisted with shame, but he slowly bent down. The crowd grew silent as the beggar lowered his head toward the ground, his lips brushing the dirt as he picked up the coins with his mouth.

As the beggar straightened, clutching the coins in his hand, the laughter returned. His humiliation was complete, and the boys reveled in it, their voices echoing with cruel amusement.

But for Damien, the moment felt different. As the beggar thanked him, something snapped inside. The laughter around him faded into a distant hum. He stared at the man, a strange, uncomfortable feeling rising within him. It wasn’t guilt—he’d never felt guilt before—but a deep confusion, as if something had cracked in his mind.

Why did this feel so wrong?

Damien’s heart pounded in his chest, and he could barely hear his friends’ laughter anymore. He wanted to leave, to escape the scene. He shoved his hands into his pockets and started walking away, ignoring the pats on the back from his friends.

The sun was setting as they walked home, casting long shadows across the streets. The others were still laughing, replaying the scene over and over, but Damien wasn’t listening. His mind was elsewhere, consumed by a storm of thoughts he couldn’t control. The beggar’s face lingered in his mind, haunting him.

He wasn’t sure why it affected him so much. It wasn’t like he hadn’t done worse before. But this... this felt different. He could still see the man’s lips touching the ground, his eyes filled with shame, and it made Damien’s stomach twist in ways he didn’t understand.

He wasn’t used to feeling like this.

By the time they reached the crossroads where they usually parted ways, Damien was completely withdrawn, his friends’ laughter barely registering in his mind.

"You good, Damien?" one of them asked, slapping him on the back.

"Yeah, fine," Damien muttered, forcing a smile. But inside, he was anything but fine.

When Damien arrived home, the air felt thick with tension. His parents sat at the kitchen table, their voices low but serious. His father’s face was set in a deep frown, and his mother avoided making eye contact as he entered the room.

"Damien, we need to talk," his father said, his tone heavy with frustration. But Damien wasn’t in the mood to listen. Not now.

"I’ll be in my room," Damien replied, brushing past them. He didn’t want to deal with whatever it was that was bothering them. Not tonight.

Later that night, Damien overheard his parents talking in hushed voices through the thin walls of their apartment. His father’s voice was tight with worry as he spoke about the family’s financial troubles. Bankruptcy. Losing everything. The words hit Damien like a punch to the gut.

He stared at himself in the bathroom mirror, gripping the edges of the sink. His reflection felt foreign to him, like he didn’t recognize the person staring back. The beggar’s face flashed in his mind again, followed by his father’s worried voice. Everything felt like it was closing in on him, suffocating him.

Damien clenched his fists, the weight of everything pressing down on him. The incident with the beggar, his father’s downfall—it was too much.