The Duke's youngest son is so Unbearable

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At PT, the teacher was off doing something I neither knew nor cared about. My focus? The cheerleading group.

I wasn't being creepy; I was just… observing. But, of course, fate decided to make things interesting. One of them caught me looking.

"Damn. Busted."

She scrunched her face like she'd just stepped in something gross, whispered to her group, and suddenly, all of them were glaring at me like I'd just ruined their lives.

The lead cheerleader—a queen bee in her natural habitat—spoke first. Her voice dripped with disdain. "Stop staring at us, you creepy loser. It's disgusting."

Now, if I were a newbie, I might've turned away or left, but that's a rookie mistake. In these situations, you've got to stay calm. Show weakness, and you're done. But also, you can't be too aggressive, or you'll get labeled as an "assaulter" or some other nonsense.

I stared at her, deadpan. "If it's bothering you, maybe you should leave. I wasn't even looking at you like that, anyway."

Her face twisted in fury. She looked like a malfunctioning robot trying to compute how anyone could talk back to her. Before she could spit out a retort, another girl from their tribe stepped up, smirking smugly.

"What way were you looking at us then?" she asked, like she'd just won some kind of battle of wits.

I smirked back. "Oh, you took the bait."

Keeping a straight face, I said, "Well, I was actually thinking about the future."

She rolled her eyes. "The future? Please."

I nodded, still completely serious. "Yeah. Statistically speaking—don't fight the stats—two of you are probably getting pregnant before graduation. Not naming names, but you know who you are.

"And let's be real—most of you treat studying like it's a punishment. So good grades? Not happening. No grades, no college, and good luck convincing Instagram sponsorships to pay the bills.

"Fast forward 10, maybe 30 years—you'll roll into the class reunion thinking, 'I peaked in high school,' which, let's be honest, is tragic. By then, shapely will mean something entirely different, and you'll be swapping stories about the glory days while chasing kids around.

"On the plus side, at least you'll have those prom pictures to remind you of the days before gravity did its thing. So, cheers to the future!"

The group stared at me, blinking like I'd just spoken another language. Dazed and confused, they were clearly struggling to process the verbal grenade I'd just dropped.

Perfect time to leave.

As I turned to make my escape, I noticed a girl wearing black glasses watching me with a curious expression. Her face didn't hold the disgust or shock the others had. Instead, she looked… intrigued.

I ignored her and kept walking, but she started following me.

"Oh, great. A stalker. That's just what I need."

I stopped and turned around. She didn't flinch, didn't lower her gaze—just stared straight at me.

"Okay, look," I said. "I know I think I'm handsome, but most people disagree. So why are you following me?"

She tilted her head, unfazed. "I'm curious."

"Curious about what?"

"Why you always make people angry, and why it seems like you don't care when they insult you or call you names."

I smirked. "Simple. I don't care what people think. Why would I let their opinions affect me?" I paused, narrowing my eyes. "But why do you care so much?"

She studied me for a moment, then said, "I have a theory. I think you've evolved. Like, when people get mad at you or glare at you, you actually enjoy it. You like seeing them react."

I blinked, caught off guard. "Damn, she's good. How does she know?"

Before I could respond, a loud commotion erupted from the field. People were shouting, and then—

Bang!

The sound of a gunshot froze the entire field. I turned, heart racing, and saw Billy—the senior who got suspended—holding a gun. His hand shook as he pointed it toward the crowd, his face twisted in anger.

I glanced back, but the girl in glasses was nowhere to be found.

"Well, guess she escaped," I muttered.

"What the hell is Billy doing?!" I thought as I instinctively moved toward cover. "Never thought those drills about what to do in case of a school shooting would actually be useful now."

Billy shouted something about the coach "ruining his life," his voice cracking under the weight of his rage. Everyone else scrambled out of his way, running for safety.

I was about to make my way to cover when I saw Billy pointing his gun at a running girl. It was the girl with the glasses.

Without thinking, I called out, "Billy!" My voice was sharp and loud enough to cut through the chaos.

He turned toward me, startled, his hands trembling even more. The gun was now pointed at me.

"Looking at that gun muzzle, I thought to myself, 'I'm a goddamn idiot.'"

Billy stared at me, confused. He barked, "Who the hell are you?"

Before I could answer, he continued, "Doesn't matter." He got ready to pull the trigger.

"I need to do something," I thought.

"Wait, wait, wait! Let me tell you something! Let me tell you something!" I blurted out.

Billy paused, glaring. "What is it?"

"Umm…" I hesitated. "I didn't have anything to say. Nothing came to mind. Well, not really—but the things that did come to mind would probably get me shot."

At that moment, my eyes met with the girl's. She had stopped running and was now standing still, watching me.

"Seriously? A gun? Are you an idiot or just going for the full 'moron of the year' package?" I said, taking a cautious step forward.

"Shut up!" he yelled, waving the gun wildly. "You don't understand!"

"Oh, I understand just fine," I said, my voice dripping with sarcasm. "You're throwing your entire life away because the coach didn't put you on the team or whatever petty reason you've cooked up. Newsflash, genius: you think this'll make you feel better? You'll be in a jail cell by dinner."

Billy's face twisted, torn between anger and uncertainty. "He ruined everything!"

"And this is your solution? Shooting him? Wow, brilliant. Truly, a masterpiece of stupidity," I said, inching closer.

Billy's hands shook so badly the gun looked like it might fall out of his grip.

"Billy, listen to me," I said, my tone calm now. "Put the gun down. You don't want to do this."

For a moment, it looked like he might actually listen. But then, he twitched, his finger grazing the trigger.

The next thing I knew, the gun went off again.

Without thinking, I lunged forward, grabbing the girl in the glasses and shoving her out of the way.

Pain exploded in my chest.

I stumbled, my knees buckling as I hit the ground. My vision blurred, and I could hear people screaming, but it all felt distant, like I was underwater.

"Well… this is dumb," I muttered, coughing as blood filled my mouth. "Killed by Billy, of all people. Couldn't even be something cool like a bear attack."

My last thought before everything went black?

"God, I hope Billy trips over his shoelaces at my funeral."

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And then I woke up… in this place. A cave.

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