My Girlfriends Are Hardcore Yanderes

Asher slipped back into his classroom, the door letting out a subtle squeak as he closed it.

Surprisingly, neither the teacher nor his classmates said anything.

There was an unspoken agreement not to mess with him, not because he was unreasonable, but because he was a member of the school's gang.

Even the teacher knew better than to messed with them. 

'This problematic kid again,' the teacher clicked his tongue in annoyance, though he didn't reveal it on his face.

Dealing with a student with a gangster-like reputation was not worth his small salary.

He decided to let him be, silently predicting that in the future, he'd likely end up as either a garbage collector or in jail.

Asher slumped into his seat as the class continued.

The teacher's words blurred into background noise, and he found himself lost in his own thoughts. The monotony of the lecture only fueled his boredom.

He couldn't shake off the feeling that this were all useless, convinced that this third-rate school wouldn't make a difference in his life.

Pondering the fate of those with diplomas, he recalled that most still faced unemployment because they lacked a backer. 

He didn't believe in the workings of society, which was designed for those with money or connections. Instead, he focused on a different kind of self-improvement—honing his fighting skills.

In his eyes, whether you were rich or poor, the ability to fight still depended on your own effort.

Looking around, he saw the poor boy he punched sitting in a quiet corner, nursing a bruised face. He didn't hit as hard as it seemed; he sort of pushed the kid to make it look worse. 

In a way, he did the boy a favor. If it was another person working under James, things would have been worse. He would be forced to drink from a toilet or told to steal from a convenience store.

But with him, all he had to do was run a few errands.

Asher would say some harsh things now and then, but it was more like an act to avoid being reported being too lenient. 

Class carried on, unfolding before him like a mundane script, and before he knew it, it was over.

The popular kids wanted to hit the karaoke. Sporty ones were pumped to go to their clubs.

The brainy ones split up - some going to the library, others to after-school lessons.

Even the bullies had their own plans, discussing hanging out and smoking, while the losers were organizing a trip to the internet cafe for a gaming session. 

For him, it was a direct route out of school. He didn't have real friends, and it didn't bother him. 

"Stop," a familiar voice echoed in his ears as he strolled down the hallway. It was the same girl again, Elaine.

"What now?" he asked, boredom etched across his face. 

"I don't agree with your way of doing things," Elaine mustered the courage to speak up. She couldn't help but feel that he was wasting his life.

"Okay," Asher replied and turned away. There was no need to defend himself.

"Wait..." Elaine couldn't believe the indifference in his response.

Normally, guys— even bullies—would get all flustered talking to her.

But he remained nonchalant, treating her like she was nothing more than air.

'Why does he always get under my skin?' She sighed, running her fingers over her chest, her eyes trailing on his wide back.

Each step he took felt like widening the gap between them.

"Could it be pity?" she wondered aloud.

This was a new feeling for her, and she tried to tell herself it was just concern for a classmate.

***

***

***

Outside the School

Asher walked home, following the familiar path he had taken countless times before.

Accustomed to being alone, he deliberately distanced himself from others.

It wasn't a lack of charisma; instead, it was a conscious choice to avoid forming connections.

He was the kind of guy who preferred to keep to himself and avoid bothering others.

So, the question lingered like a puzzle: why did he choose to become a bully?

For money.

The only reason he bullied that boy was because he was paid to do it. He didn't bother to understand the underlying reasons or care about the boy's circumstances.

He simply assumed that James motive behind tormenting that poor kid was merely to fulfill his own sadistic desires.

Would the boy's fate change if he didn't take the job?

Probably not.

If not him, another bully would step in, so the weak would always be picked on. He was nothing more than a replaceable hired hand, aware that he could be swapped out at any time.

As he walked along the roadside, his attention was drawn to a scene unfolding before him.

A young man was assisting an elderly woman in crossing the street, offering a helping hand with a genuine look of concern.

The act of kindness was evident and visible for everyone to see.

However, despite the heartwarming scene, Asher's deep-rooted trust issues resurfaced. He found himself questioning the motives behind such kindness, wondering if there was more to it than met the eye.

Due to the trauma he experienced as a child, he developed a mental barrier that hindered his ability to trust others.

In his mind, he believed that every act of kindness came with a hidden agenda.

He saw the world as a place where everything had a trade-off, where no person could be genuinely kind without having ulterior motives.

This mindset had become deeply ingrained within him, shaping his interactions and perceptions of others.

With a shake of his head, he turned his attention away from the scene before him.

He chose to ignore it, and continue walking. 

'Shit, I forgot that I need to buy some fruits,' he clicked his tongue in annoyance, realizing that he had already passed the marketplace.

As he retraced his steps, he noticed the elderly woman he had seen earlier.

However, this time her face was filled with sadness, and tears streamed down her cheeks. She was pleading for help.

"Help, a kid stole my wallet! I need that money to buy my medicine," she cried out.

But, as he expected, everyone around seemed to ignore her distress. They continued on with their own affairs, oblivious or indifferent to her.

As he passed by the crying elderly woman, he also felt no sympathy for her.

In his mind, what had happened to her was something he had already anticipated, reinforcing his belief that trusting others too easily always leads to betrayal.

'It's your fault for being so trusting,'