---
The night was quiet. The air was heavy, the kind that made the world feel too still. Inside his small bedroom, Happyhaste stirred in his sheets, sweat clinging to his skin like a warning. His breathing was shallow, eyelids twitching as his mind wandered deeper into a dream he would never forget.
Skywalker was there—standing under a warm, glowing sunset. His hair was backlit in amber light, his smile gentle, knowing. He leaned forward, brushing his fingers against Happy’s cheek with a softness that shattered all logic. Their lips met in the middle—slow, intense, like they had always belonged there. It felt too real. The way Skywalker sighed, the way his hand slid behind Happy’s neck to pull him closer. Happy’s heart was beating so fast it felt like it might burst—
He jolted awake.
It was still night. His room was dimly lit by the cold blue of the streetlamp outside. His sheets were tangled. His heart was racing. And he couldn’t breathe. Not from panic—but from loss.
He sat up slowly, wiping the sweat from his brow. The kiss… it wasn’t just a kiss. Something more happened in that dream, but he refused to think about it. Not now. He pressed a hand to his chest.
“Was that real?” he whispered to the darkness.
It didn’t matter. The answer had already been written on the inside of his skull.
Skywalker was his soulmate. He just knew it. The dream had revealed what words couldn’t. It wasn’t just a crush. It wasn’t just admiration. It was love—obsessive, possessive, desperate.
But there was a problem.
Skywalker wasn’t his. Not even close.
He belonged to the noise—to the laughter and chaos of his group of friends. Always surrounded. Always talking. Always joking. Especially with them. The Rivals.
Happyhaste didn’t have friends like that. Sure, he had his group—Lee, Ryan, Rman, Layle, Jessie. They were close. Some of them even knew he liked Skywalker. But none of them stood in the way.
The next morning, Happy walked through the school gate with a plastered-on smile. A mask. The real him was at home, writing in his black leather-bound diary. But here, he was the “quiet, sweet” Happy. Just another student. No one knew he’d already memorized Skywalker’s class schedule. No one knew he watched where the group went after school. And no one knew what he planned to do.
He saw them immediately, standing by the lockers. Skywalker was laughing with Ti, as always. Ti said something loudly—probably something about race, because everyone in the group burst out laughing and someone groaned, “You’re f***ing stupid, man.” Classic Ti.
Skywalker noticed him.
“Hey, Happy!” he called, waving casually.
Happy smiled. “Hey!” His voice sounded so fake. So… distant.
Lee was nearby, sipping from her bottle and texting. When she saw him, her face lit up. “Happy, babe!” she said, pulling him in for a side hug. “You look like s***. Didn’t sleep?”
He gave a weak smile. “Rough night.”
Layle popped up behind her. “Same here! My little brother threw up on my shoes and I nearly died.”
Everyone laughed. Jessie chuckled from where she stood next to Rman, leaning against the wall like a statue. “Sounds like a horror movie,” she said dryly. “Layle and the Vomit Demon.”
Ryan gave Happy a soft nudge. “You good, man?”
Happy nodded. He glanced at Skywalker, who was now talking to Beasty—another Rival. Happy recognized the way Skywalker looked at him. It was… admiration. Interest.
He clenched his jaw.
As the group dissolved into their usual banter, Happy mentally retreated. He could see it all from the outside. Skywalker, always surrounded by these people. These... rivals.
Back home, Happy flipped open his diary and scribbled down what he’d seen that morning. His entries weren’t just thoughts. They were strategy.
Entry 1: Ti
Talks too much. Laughs at racist jokes. Eats anything offered. Swears like he’s in a gang. Comes to me every few days asking for food, mostly when he’s broke or just lazy.
Plan: Poison. Something untraceable. Chicken quesadilla. He won’t resist.
Entry 2: Beasty
Quiet. Tough. Works out a lot. Almost emotionless. Watches people like he’s sizing them up. Always at Skywalker’s side when they train. Probably a gym buddy.
Plan: Unclear. Difficult to approach. May require staged accident. Possibly gym-related.
Entry 3: Melo
Stronger than Ti. Not as muscular as Beasty. Dangerous hands—once almost broke Ti’s wrist for fun. Doesn’t swear but insults people under his breath. Has a cold smile.
Plan: Observe more. Could be lured into confrontation. Weak spot unknown.
Entry 4: Lere
Short. Popular. Hard to isolate. But... walks home alone. That’s the window.
Plan: Alleyway. Fast. No evidence.
Entry 5: Bradley
New. Silent. Skywalker is glued to him like f***ing superglue. Almost impossible to catch alone. Always surrounded.
Plan: TBD. Watch. Wait. Patience.
Entry 6: Laila
Manipulator. Rich. Pretty. Dangerous. Has eyes on Skywalker. Tries to poison his mind about me.
Plan: Social exposure? Set her up? Needs to lose status first.
Entry 7: Rman
Old friend. But that walk he took with Skywalker after school... too close. Too familiar. Can’t ignore it. Strongest of them all. Muscle, speed, reflexes.
Plan: Endgame. Face-to-face. High risk.
Happy closed the diary and smiled. A real smile. It was happening. They would all fall, one by one.
And after?
Then Skywalker would be his.
They just had to be alone.
---
That evening, Happy sat in the corner of his room with the curtains closed and the faint hum of a fan stirring the warm air. He traced the edge of his pocket knife with his thumb, not in a threatening way, but almost thoughtfully. The blade was clean. Untouched. It wouldn't be for long. His eyes scanned the diary again, lingering on Ti’s name. It had to start with him. Ti was loud, unpredictable, and careless. He came to Happy for food like clockwork, and Happy had always offered it with a smile. That would be his downfall. No one would suspect anything. Just another day, another dumb joke, another chicken quesadilla. But this time, the joke would be on him.
The next day, Ti found Happy outside the school library, munching on a wrap. “Yo, Happy!” he shouted, jogging up with his usual swagger. “You got food again, my guy? You always got food, huh?” Happy smiled, nodded, and pulled out the wrapped quesadilla he had made that morning. It smelled delicious—warm cheese, toasted tortilla, a little kick of chili. Just like Ti liked it. “You saved my ass, man,” Ti said, snatching it and taking a huge bite without hesitation. “I’m f***ing starving. Damn.” Happy watched him chew, nodding slowly. The poison wasn’t immediate. It would take a few hours to fully take effect. He had crushed it into a fine powder, tasteless, mixed into the meat. By the time it kicked in, Ti would be far from school, probably on his way home, alone. Happy felt his stomach flutter with anticipation. Ti had no idea. None of them did.
At lunch, the group gathered around their usual bench. Skywalker sat at the center, animated, laughing at something Melo said under his breath. Beasty stood nearby, arms crossed, expression unreadable. Lere was bouncing on his heels, showing something on his phone to Layle and Jessie, who both burst into laughter. Ryan leaned against the table, arms folded, casually glancing around. Happy stood on the outskirts, smiling, nodding when spoken to, never giving away the thrill in his veins. Lee appeared beside him and leaned in. “You okay?” she whispered. “You seem… off today.” Happy looked at her and gave a soft chuckle. “Just tired.” She didn’t push. She never did. That’s what he liked about Lee. She cared, but she trusted him. Enough not to ask questions. Enough not to get in the way.
By the time school ended, Ti was gone. No goodbyes. No dumb jokes. Not even a text in the group chat. Happy walked home with Ryan and Rman, both of them oblivious. The walk was peaceful. Too peaceful. As they passed the basketball courts, Happy heard Ryan say, “Yo, has anyone seen Ti? He dipped early.” Rman shrugged. “Probably ditched. He always does that when he scores food. Lazy bastard.” Happy nodded in agreement, heart beating like a war drum. That night, the news came through.
A student had collapsed at the corner store parking lot. By the time paramedics arrived, he was foaming at the mouth, pupils blown wide. They said it was food poisoning. Severe. Rare. Tragic. The school would mourn him. Posters would go up. People would post tributes. But Happy already crossed the name off in his diary.
The next day, Beasty didn’t say much. He stood even more still than usual, arms folded, watching people, barely blinking. Skywalker was quiet, subdued, still processing the news. Ti was one of his closest friends. His death had hit hard. Layle cried during break. Jessie didn’t joke once. Lere tried to be his usual cheerful self, but his voice was thin. Happy stood near the bench again, quiet, smiling gently when spoken to. He made sure to look just as sad as the rest of them. Inside, he was already planning.
Beasty would be harder. Much harder. The guy was built like a tank. He trained daily, lifted weights during lunch in the gym, rarely let his guard down. But Happy had noticed something. Beasty always stayed after school to train. Alone. No one ever stuck around that long—not even the teachers. He would use that.
Two days later, Happy slipped into the school gym after hours. The lights were off, but he knew the side door was always slightly jammed. Beasty’s bag was there, next to the bench press. The guy was doing reps, sweat glistening down his arms, earbuds in. Happy waited, tucked in the shadows. When Beasty finally sat down, breathing hard, Happy stepped forward, pretending to stumble in. “Oh, sh*t, man. Didn’t know you were here.”
Beasty pulled one earbud out, breathing heavy. “What’re you doing here, Happy?”
“Forgot my water bottle. From PE. Figured I’d grab it.”
Beasty grunted. “Aight. Don’t creep around like that. I almost dropped the f***in’ weights.”
Happy laughed nervously. “My bad.” Then he turned and “accidentally” knocked over a barbell, letting it crash to the floor. “Sh*t! Sorry—”
Beasty groaned, putting the earbuds back in. While he was distracted, Happy unscrewed the cap on his protein shake, the one he always drank after workouts. A few drops of clear liquid slipped in. Not poison—no, this time it was a muscle relaxant. Strong. Enough to mess up his coordination. Make him weak. Just for a little while.
He watched Beasty drink it ten minutes later. The effects were subtle. Slow. As Beasty moved to bench again, his arms trembled. The bar slipped. He cursed. “F***’s wrong with me—”
It was too late.
Happy didn’t help. He just watched.
The bar slipped. Crashed. Right on his throat.
Silence.
Then the quiet hum of the gym lights buzzing above.
Happy turned and walked out.
The next day, it was chaos. Two deaths. No clear connection. No evidence. But fear was growing. The group was fractured. Skywalker was pale, lips tight, fists clenched. Layle wasn’t speaking. Lere looked like he hadn’t slept. Ryan kept glancing at everyone suspiciously. Jessie was quiet but watching.
And Happy? Happy just smiled. He was getting closer.
Closer to being alone with Skywalker.
Closer to love.
Closer to the end.
Skywalker didn’t come to school the next day. Word got around quickly. Layle said he was “sick,” Jessie shrugged and said he just needed space. But Happy knew. Skywalker was grieving. Two of his closest friends gone within days, both in ways no one could explain. He was probably trying to make sense of it all. Searching for patterns. Questioning everything. That made Happy nervous—but also excited. If Skywalker was thinking hard enough, he might eventually see the truth. But not yet. There was still more work to do.
In his room, Happy stared at the next name in his diary: Melo. Not as strong as Beasty, but certainly no pushover. He had this freaky habit of grabbing Ti’s hand and nearly crushing it, like it was a game. Always testing strength. Always smirking like he knew he could win any fight he entered. Happy had never seen him swear, not even once, but that didn’t make him any nicer. Melo mocked people, quietly but sharply. His words had teeth. He made people feel small. Even Happy had been on the receiving end of Melo’s teasing once. Just a “cute little quiet boy” comment. But that was enough.
Melo hung out after school, sometimes near the back of the school building, sitting on the maintenance shed roof. He said it was his spot, his peace. Nobody bothered him there. Happy had to get close. Not too close. Just enough.
He packed his backpack carefully the next afternoon—rope, gloves, tape. No knives this time. No poison. This kill had to look like an accident too, but it needed to be brutal. Terrifying. Melo was athletic. He climbed, ran, jumped like he was part machine. That was going to be his weakness. His trust in his body. His ego.
Happy waited until Melo was up there again, stretched out under the sky, earbuds in. He was tossing a rock up and down, catching it lazily, staring at the clouds like they were talking to him. Happy crept toward the side wall and called up, “Hey!”
Melo sat up fast, peering down. “Happy? The f*** are you doing out here?”
“Just… needed to clear my head,” Happy said, forcing a weak smile. “Mind if I come up?”
Melo rolled his eyes but shrugged. “Whatever. Don’t fall and break your neck.”
That would be ironic.
Happy climbed up with practiced ease. He’d done it before, when no one was watching. He sat beside Melo, just far enough that it wouldn’t be weird. They didn’t talk. Just stared at the sky.
After ten minutes, Melo said, “You ain’t like the others.”
Happy blinked. “What do you mean?”
“You’re quiet. Weird, but not in a bad way. Just… like you’re always thinking sh*t. The others are loud. Stupid. You watch.” Melo chuckled. “You’d probably survive a horror movie.”
Happy didn’t laugh.
He waited. Then pointed at a nearby tree. “Ever jumped from up here to that branch?”
Melo raised an eyebrow. “Hell yeah. That’s my thing.”
“Can you show me?”
Melo smirked like he’d just been challenged. “Watch and learn, little man.”
He stood, stretched, and took a few steps back. Happy’s fingers twitched near the thin wire in his pocket. He’d tied it earlier between two small spikes he screwed into the roof edge while Melo had his eyes closed, pretending to nap. Barely visible in the fading sunlight.
Melo sprinted, launched himself—
And caught the wire mid-calf.
His body flipped, momentum hurling him forward in a blur of limbs and a scream that was cut off too fast. The tree branch never came. His back slammed onto the school’s concrete path below with a sound that didn’t even seem real.
Happy leaned over the edge, heart calm. No one else around. Just him and silence. The perfect accident.
The school was in uproar again. Three dead. Students started whispering about curses, about bad luck, about someone targeting the popular kids. Security was called in. Cameras were checked, but nothing showed. The spot Melo died had no angles. No one could explain the trip wire—it was gone by then. Happy made sure to snip and pocket it before the body was even cold.
Layle broke down in class. Lere stopped showing up. Jessie sat still during lunch, no jokes, no teasing. Ryan started sticking closer to Happy, weirdly enough. “You okay, bro?” he asked one day. “I feel like this is hitting you too hard.”
Happy blinked. “Too hard?”
“I dunno. You look… drained.”
“Just tired. It's a lot, right?”
Ryan nodded, clapped his shoulder. “Yeah. S***’s f***ed.”
Happy smiled.
Lere was next.
He was tricky—not because of strength, but because of attention. Lere was always surrounded by people, bouncing around, charming, giggling, jumping from group to group like a social butterfly on caffeine. But Happy had noticed one thing. Lere always walked home alone. Always. He took a shortcut down a quiet alley that looped behind the old train station. No cameras. No streetlights. Just rusted fences and shadows.
Happy waited until Friday. Students were quieter now. The air at school was thick with fear. Skywalker was back, his face harder, quieter. He barely spoke. Layle sat beside him like a ghost. Jessie stopped talking completely. Only Happy kept his smile going, and now Ryan walked home with him every day like a loyal dog.
That night, Happy followed Lere from a distance. Head down. Hoodie up. Footsteps timed perfectly with the rhythm of Lere’s bouncing jog. The boy had headphones in, singing to himself, too caught up in his own little world.
When they hit the alley, Happy sped up.
He grabbed him from behind, quick and precise, arm around the neck, pulling him down fast into the gravel. Lere thrashed, elbowed, scratched, but Happy was prepared. He slammed Lere’s face into the dirt once, twice, stunned him just enough. Then he rolled him over and wrapped the cord—his own headphone cord—tight around his throat. It took a minute. A horrible, violent minute.
And then, it was done.
The next day, no one spoke. Not even the teachers. School became a place of silence. Four students gone. All accidents. All freak incidents. All unconnected—officially. But eyes were starting to search.
Skywalker didn’t speak to anyone. Just sat on the stairs during break, staring at his hands like he was calculating something. Layle had her face buried in her arms. Jessie didn’t even come. Ryan kept watching Happy. Not suspicious—concerned.
Happy sat beside Lee and whispered, “You think they’re watching me?”
She gave him a look. “You think they wouldn’t?”
He smiled wider.
He was halfway there.
Bradley. The quiet one. The newest addition. Nobody knew much about him, except that he was calm, polite, and somehow magnetic. People just liked him. Teachers praised his “gentle spirit.” Students laughed at his dry jokes. And Skywalker—Skywalker was glued to him. That was the problem.
Every break, they were together. Every lunch. Every time Skywalker needed to get out of class, Bradley was already waiting at the door, like some sort of psychic best friend. Happy watched. Took notes. Observed how they moved together like puzzle pieces, like they'd known each other forever. It burned inside him. Not with hatred. With panic.
Bradley was ruining everything.
But Bradley was also difficult. Unlike Ti, he didn’t beg for food. Unlike Melo, he didn’t climb rooftops. Unlike Lere, he didn’t walk alone. Bradley was always surrounded by light. Always with someone. Always where people could see him. Happy couldn’t find an opening. And it was driving him insane.
He started pacing his room at night. Scribbled on every surface of his diary page for Bradley. Times. Schedules. Patterns. Failed attempts. Every plan unraveled. This one was a fortress.
Until one Friday, after a long and rainy school day, Bradley didn’t leave through the front gate with Skywalker. Happy noticed it immediately. Skywalker had detention for throwing a chair after a teacher said something disrespectful about “mental trauma” in class. Bradley, for once, was alone.
Happy followed.
Bradley wasn’t walking fast. Just humming something under his breath, bag slung over one shoulder, umbrella spinning lazily in one hand. He turned into the woods behind the soccer field, a shortcut kids took when they didn’t want to wait for traffic at the gate.
Perfect.
Happy already had the idea.
He’d studied the terrain before—soggy, steep, and slippery when wet. He ran ahead quietly, using a back trail he’d memorized. Up the slope. Down into the curve. There, he laid the trap: fishing line, tied between two thick roots at shin level. It was almost invisible against the wet dirt. Then, he waited behind a tree.
Bradley came.
Still humming.
Still alone.
Still calm.
His foot caught the line and he stumbled forward. But instead of falling, he somehow caught himself.
Happy flinched.
Bradley stood still, looking down. “What the f—?” he mumbled, bending to inspect the ground. Then he straightened up, scanning the trees. Eyes narrowing.
Happy stepped out.
No mask. No fake smile.
Just himself.
Bradley stared at him, confused.
“You?” he asked. “What the hell are you doing out here?”
Happy stepped closer, heartbeat steady. “You’ve been hanging around him too much.”
Bradley’s expression darkened. “What? Who—Skywalker?”
“He was mine first.”
Bradley let out a short, sharp laugh. “Bro. You sound psycho.”
Happy didn’t reply. He lunged.
Bradley dodged, fast. He wasn’t just quiet. He was fast, too. The two boys tumbled through the mud, fighting for control. Bradley punched with more power than Happy expected. One hit caught his cheek and burst it open.
But Happy fought dirty.
He smashed his head forward, cracked his skull into Bradley’s nose. Blood gushed. Bradley fell back, groaning. Happy leapt onto him, pulled the cord from his pocket—a noose he’d tied already—and wrapped it around his throat. Bradley kicked, thrashed, clawed. But Happy held tight, whispering, “He doesn’t even see you. You’re nothing.”
Bradley’s hands slowed. Then stopped.
The rain washed the blood away.
Happy stood there in silence.
He left the body on the slope. Broken nose. Bruised eyes. Cuts from the rocks. No witnesses. No camera. Just another tragic fall.
At school, the horror hit hard. Bradley had barely been there three weeks and now he was gone. Skywalker didn’t cry. He didn’t scream. He didn’t talk. He just walked out of the principal’s office and threw his bag into the lockers so hard the metal bent.
Layle hugged him. Jessie still wasn’t coming to school.
And Happy? Happy smiled in his notebook.
Five gone. Two left.
The next was Laila.
Laila was different. She wasn’t athletic. She wasn’t quiet. She wasn’t even close to Skywalker—at first. But something shifted after Bradley’s death. Laila stepped in like it was her moment. She talked to Skywalker with a sweetness that felt fake. Brought him snacks. Sat closer than she needed to. Laughed at things he didn’t even say. Everyone else gave him space. She didn’t.
And Happy hated her for it.
He listened in when she spoke. Her tone. Her words. She told Skywalker, “I think Happy’s a little weird, you know?” Skywalker didn’t reply. “Just saying,” she added. “He looks at you like you’re a f***ing god.”
Happy heard it all.
That night, he sketched her house from memory. Wrote her name in huge block letters. Underlined it four times. “Laila = Lie-La,” he wrote. “The manipulator.”
She had influence. She had boys who liked her. She had the school wrapped around her finger. He had to be careful. Too clean and it wouldn’t work. Too messy and it’d expose him. He needed to humiliate her. Break her reputation. Then finish the job.
He planned for days.
The opportunity came during a group art project. Skywalker, Laila, Layle, and Happy were assigned together. They had to work after school. Alone in the old art room on the top floor.
Happy slipped a photo out of Laila’s bag. One she’d taken with another guy, kissing him. He didn’t know the guy. Didn’t care. But he knew Laila would. He photocopied it twenty times and taped it to every bathroom wall the next morning. People whispered. Some laughed. Some didn’t believe it.
Laila found out at lunch.
She screamed. Stormed around. Accused everyone. Skywalker just shook his head and left the table. It was enough.
That same afternoon, Happy followed her to the back staircase after school. She was crying on her phone. Telling someone to come get her.
Happy approached from behind.
One shove.
She fell all the way down. Her skull cracked against the cement landing.
Another “accident.”
Another body.
And Skywalker? He changed.
He didn’t talk for days. Layle tried. Lee tried. Even Ryan tried. But he only stared into space, jaw clenched, hands trembling.
And Happy… Happy watched him with pure obsession.
Only one name left now.
One friend turned rival.
Rman.
Rman wasn’t just a rival. He was a threat. The strongest one. Muscles like coiled wires under his hoodie. Reflexes sharp enough to catch a fly mid-air. And worst of all—he was loyal. Loyal to Skywalker. Loyal to Happy. Or so Happy thought. Until that day.
It was after Laila’s funeral. The air still felt like her perfume, fake-sweet and suffocating. Skywalker had said nothing the whole week. Just clenched fists and empty stares. Everyone was falling apart. Jessie still wasn’t coming to school. Ryan barely spoke. Layle stopped smiling.
And Happy watched. Waited.
Then he saw it. Skywalker and Rman. Together. After school. Walking along the field near the west gate. Talking. Laughing. Skywalker even slapped Rman’s arm playfully.
Happy froze in place. His jaw locked. His notebook nearly crumpled in his hand.
They were close. Too close.
That night, he scribbled furiously. The word “TRAITOR” etched over and over across Rman’s page. Happy remembered when Rman invited him to his birthday lunch. When they shared fries. When Rman said he’d always be on his side. “Bulls***,” Happy spat out loud. “Lying f***.”
Rman had to go.
But unlike the others, Rman wouldn’t fall for tricks. He was aware. Sharp. He boxed every afternoon. Ran every morning. Knew how to block, how to counter, how to sense someone creeping behind him. Happy would have to be smarter. Brutal. Surgical.
He followed Rman for a full week. Learned that Rman jogged the school track alone every Friday evening. 5 laps. No music. Just silence. His way of meditating.
Perfect.
Happy visited the track that Thursday. Dug a shallow trench just inside the inner bend near the third curve. He placed sharp, rusted nails inside. Covered them with loose rubber chips. No one would see them. One misstep and Rman would be hobbling in pain.
Then came Friday.
Happy showed up earlier than usual. He wore black. Sat under the bleachers. Waited. Watched the sun fall. Rman arrived, as predicted. Hoodie up. Stretching calmly. Then he ran.
One lap.
Two.
Three.
On the fourth, he hit the trap. His foot collapsed under him with a crunch, and he screamed—loud, raw. Dropped hard, rolling into the grass. Happy sprinted out from behind the bleachers, pocket knife already in his hand.
But Rman wasn’t down long.
Even injured, he swung a fist fast enough to knock Happy’s knife flying. “You crazy f***!” he shouted, gripping his foot. “What the hell is wrong with you?!”
Happy lunged again, this time empty-handed, tackling Rman to the ground.
They wrestled. Rman’s strength was monstrous. Even with a bleeding foot, he shoved Happy back. “I trusted you!” he yelled. “You psycho b****!”
Happy slammed his forehead into Rman’s chin. Blood and spit flew. Rman punched back—hard. Happy’s nose cracked. He saw stars. But he held on. Grabbed the pocket knife and drove it into Rman’s side.
Rman gasped. Eyes wide.
Happy whispered, “I had to.”
Rman grabbed Happy’s wrists, gritting his teeth. “Skywalker’s gonna kill you,” he growled. Then he spat blood into Happy’s face.
Happy didn’t flinch. He twisted the knife.
Rman’s grip loosened.
When it was done, Happy collapsed next to him on the grass. Breathing hard. The stadium lights flickered on.
His last rival was dead.
He limped home that night, shirt soaked, hand shaking. He didn't write in the diary. Didn’t smile. Didn’t even feel the usual thrill. He just stared at the ceiling until the sun came up.
School was quieter than ever.
Eight dead.
Eight friends gone.
Skywalker walked the halls like a ghost. People avoided him. No one dared speak his name too loudly. He didn’t cry. Didn’t yell. Just looked tired.
And Happy… Happy felt free.
Finally.
Skywalker sat alone on the hilltop during lunch now. No one joined him. Except Happy. Quietly. Carefully. Pretending to bump into him one day. Skywalker gave him a nod. Said nothing. Just pointed at the sky. “Looks like it’s gonna rain,” he said.
Happy smiled. “Yeah.”
And that was the beginning.
They grew close again. Talked more. Laughed a little. Skywalker even shared his lunch one day.
Happy almost felt normal.
Until the nightmares started. Not about the deaths. Not about the blood. About the rejection. That dream again. The hill. The confession. The punch. The fall. The truth. He'd wake up sweating, heart pounding. Wondering if it was going to happen for real. Wondering if Skywalker could ever love him—or if he even should.
And yet, Happy couldn’t stop himself. He wrote a note. Slipped it into Skywalker’s locker. A folded paper with shaky handwriting.
> “Meet me under the big tree on the hill. Just you. I need to say something.”
The next afternoon, Skywalker came.
Happy was waiting.
He stood when Skywalker approached, heart pounding like a war drum.
They stood under the amber sky, silence stretching between them.
“I know you’re gonna reject me,” Happy said quietly, not meeting his eyes. “So just do it. Get it over with.”
Skywalker didn’t respond right away.
Then he smiled faintly. “I’ve always known you liked me, Happy.”
Happy blinked. “Then why… why didn’t you say anything?”
“You wouldn’t understand, my guy,” Skywalker said, shaking his head. “I thought maybe if I ignored it, it’d go away. But you’re like… always there. Staring. Smiling.”
Happy let out a small, broken laugh. “I can’t help it.”
“I know.”
They stood in silence again.
Then Skywalker chuckled. “You didn’t kill all my friends, right? Like, imagine if you actually did that s***.”
Happy’s blood turned to ice.
He smiled. But inside, something cracked.
Skywalker’s eyes narrowed—just a little.
He didn’t say anything more.
But something changed in his stare.
Something sharp.
And Happy knew.
The truth was no longer hidden.
Skywalker was starting to figure it out.
The next day at school felt off. Not just in the usual hollow way after a death, but heavier—like the walls themselves were holding their breath. Skywalker didn’t sit in his usual spot. He barely spoke to anyone. And he didn’t say a word to Happy. Not even a glance. Just walked past him in the corridor like a shadow in a dream. Happy felt his stomach twist. Skywalker knew. Not completely, maybe. But enough to suspect. Enough to question. Enough to pull away.
Happy tried to ignore it, to pretend everything was still under control. But Skywalker’s silence screamed louder than anything else. He watched from across the lunchroom as Skywalker scrolled through his phone, eyes narrowed. Once, Skywalker looked up and their eyes met. Happy smiled—just a little. Skywalker didn’t smile back. He stood up and walked out.
That night, Happy stayed up past midnight, flipping through his diary. Each name crossed out in thick ink. Each death planned and executed. Eight names. Eight rivals. All for Skywalker. All so Happy could be closer to him, could be the only one left by his side. But now that he had what he wanted, it felt… wrong. Off. Tainted. Skywalker’s presence wasn’t warmer. It was colder. Distant. Suspicious.
Then his phone buzzed.
A message from Skywalker.
> “Need your help. Urgent. Come to this address. Come alone.”
A location followed. A cabin just outside town. Far, silent, and strange. Happy’s heart pounded. He didn’t hesitate. He got dressed in all black, slipped the pocket knife into his jacket, and left the house without a sound.
The wind howled as he reached the cabin. It looked abandoned, but the front light flickered on as he approached. Happy knocked once. No answer. Then the door creaked open on its own. He stepped inside.
Darkness.
Then click—the lights snapped on.
And there he was.
Skywalker sat at a wooden table in the middle of the room, alone. Calm. His arms crossed. His eyes sharper than knives.
Between them was a single chair.
“Sit,” Skywalker said flatly.
Happy obeyed without a word.
Skywalker stared at him for a long time before speaking again. “You know, I’ve been thinking about a lot of s*** lately.”
Happy stayed quiet.
“First Ti,” Skywalker continued. “Poisoned quesadilla. Then Beasty. Crushed. Melo drowned. Lere, hit by a car in the one alley he always walked. Bradley, vanished. Laila, fell from the roof. And Rman…” Skywalker’s fists clenched. “He was f***ing murdered.”
Happy’s breathing grew shallow.
“I put it together,” Skywalker said. “The patterns. The timing. And you—always there. Always quiet. Always smiling like nothing happened.”
Happy tried to stay calm. “Sky—”
Skywalker stood, walked slowly behind Happy, leaned close, and whispered into his ear: “Don’t f***ing act stupid. I know it was you.”
Happy’s breath caught.
The next moment, a punch exploded against his face. He flew from the chair, crashing onto the floor. Blood filled his mouth. He coughed, dazed, as Skywalker stood over him, eyes filled with fire.
“You killed my fing friends,” he shouted, kicking Happy in the ribs. “They weren’t perfect, but they were mine. And you took them away for what? So you could get close to me? You psycho b*!”
Happy staggered up, holding his side. “I did it for you!” he yelled back. “They were in the way! You never saw me. You only ever smiled at them. I— I loved you.”
“Bullsh**!” Skywalker screamed, grabbing Happy by the collar and slamming him against the wall. “You don’t kill people you love.”
Happy’s hand reached inside his coat. The pocket knife. His last resort.
Skywalker saw the movement and punched him again, this time square in the stomach. Happy crumbled, gasping for air.
Skywalker backed up, breathing hard. “I should kill you. Right now.”
Happy forced himself to his feet. “Then do it.”
Skywalker charged again, grabbed Happy by the throat, lifting him slightly off the ground. His grip was iron.
And in that moment, Happy remembered something Skywalker once said in a joke—something he never thought would matter.
> “If you ever wanna kill me, slit my arm all the way down. That’s the only thing that’ll stop me.”
Desperate, gasping, Happy pulled the knife from his sleeve and slashed down Skywalker’s arm—deep.
Skywalker screamed in pain, letting go, stumbling back. Blood gushed from the gash, soaking his shirt. But even then, he didn’t fall.
He roared in rage, switching to kicks and punches, one after the other. Happy dodged some, caught others, each blow dizzying him more. The room spun. Blood everywhere.
Then Skywalker tackled him again, slamming him into the wooden wall, pinning him.
“You’re f***ing done,” he growled.
Happy looked up at him, face covered in blood, and smiled.
Skywalker hesitated.
That split second was all Happy needed. He pulled the knife again and lunged—straight toward Skywalker’s chest.
But Skywalker twisted his body just in time, grabbed Happy’s wrist, redirected the stab, and then with one clean motion—drove the knife into Happy’s chest instead.
The room went still.
Happy’s eyes widened. His breath caught.
He looked down at the blade buried in his chest, then back up at Skywalker.
A crooked grin formed on his lips. “Heh. Look at that. I get to die… in the hands of my crush.”
Skywalker stared at him, blood running down his face and arm, tears mixing into the mess.
“You might’ve been a good friend,” he said quietly, “but now… you’re f***ed.”
He shoved Happy to the ground.
Happy fell hard, gasping, twitching. With the last of his strength, he raised his middle finger—right at Skywalker.
Then he was still.
Silent.
Dead.
Skywalker stood over him for a long time.
Then he turned.
And walked away.
Out the cabin.
Into the night.
And he was never seen again.
