The courtyard of Lycée Désiré pulsed with the raw, chaotic energy of a hundred teenagers unleashed at lunch hour. The air was thick with the scent of cheap body spray and cheaper cafeteria fries, but beneath it all lingered something darker, something primal. Whispers of the infamous “Hunger Rule” slithered through the crowd like a venomous rumor, the strange edict that governed this resource-starved high school. Girls eyed boys with a predatory glint, sizing them up like they were walking menus at a dive bar buffet. The tension was a live wire, sparking with every sidelong glance and hushed giggle.
Sanabel strode through the throng like a queen surveying her kingdom, her sharp heels clicking against the cracked pavement with deliberate menace. A senior with a reputation as jagged as broken glass, she was the undisputed apex predator of Lycée Désiré. Her piercing hazel eyes scanned the crowd, cutting through the noise with surgical precision. Her glossy black hair swung with each step, and the whispers of her past “meals” trailed behind her like a shadow too dark to shake. She wasn’t just a player in this twisted game—she was the game.
Near the crumbling fountain at the courtyard’s center, YourI fumbled with a stack of textbooks, his lanky frame hunched over as if he could disappear into the cracked stone. A junior with the social grace of a startled deer, he muttered to himself about derivatives and quadratic equations, oblivious to the hungry stares slicing through the crowd toward him. His messy brown hair flopped over his forehead, and his too-big hoodie only made him look smaller, more vulnerable. A perfect target.
Sanabel’s gaze locked onto him, and a smirk curled her full, crimson lips. She leaned toward her posse—a trio of girls who followed her like hyenas trailing a lioness—and muttered, “Look at that one. Just bite-sized enough for my tastes. I bet he’d crunch like a cracker.”
Her friends snickered, one of them, Lila, fanning herself dramatically. “Sanabel, you’re ruthless. He doesn’t even know he’s on the menu.”
“Oh, he will soon,” Sanabel purred, her voice low and dangerous. She adjusted the strap of her leather jacket and sauntered toward YourI, her hips swaying with the confidence of a predator who knew the hunt was already won. The crowd parted for her instinctively, sensing the storm about to break.
YourI didn’t notice her until she was right in front of him, her shadow falling over his books like a guillotine blade. He jolted, nearly dropping his algebra text, and looked up into a pair of eyes that seemed to dissect him on the spot. Sanabel towered over him, all sharp angles and unrelenting presence, and his already shaky confidence shriveled like a raisin in the sun.
“Well, well, what do we have here?” Sanabel drawled, her voice smooth as honey but laced with arsenic. She crossed her arms, tilting her head as if appraising a piece of meat at the butcher’s. “A walking snack with no seasoning. How tragic.”
YourI blinked, his cheeks flushing a splotchy red. “Uh, I—I’m just… studying. Math test. Big one. Tomorrow.” His words stumbled out like they were tripping over each other, and he clutched his books tighter, as if they could shield him from the heat of her gaze.
Sanabel laughed, a sharp, cutting sound that drew the attention of every student within earshot. She stepped closer, her manicured finger jabbing lightly at his chest. “Studying? Oh, sweetheart, the only thing you’re learning today is how to be my appetizer. You’re practically begging for a bite.”
YourI swallowed hard, his Adam’s apple bobbing like a buoy in a storm. He attempted a grin, the kind of awkward humor that only dug his grave deeper. “Heh, well, I’m probably too tough to chew. Like… like overcooked steak. You wouldn’t want that, right?”
Her eyes narrowed, and she cut him off with a smile so sweet it could rot teeth. “Oh, darling, I like my meat rare. And guess what?” She leaned in, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper that still carried to her audience. “You’re my pick for the day.”
The crowd around them swelled, students pressing in with morbid curiosity. Whispers and snickers rippled through the air, some boys exhaling in relief that they weren’t the day’s special, others watching with a mix of awe and dread. Sanabel soaked it in, her smirk widening as she dragged out the moment, reveling in the power she wielded like a scepter.
YourI’s voice cracked as he tried to protest, his hands flailing in a futile gesture. “W-wait, hold on! The rule—there’s a rule! I only have to accept one ‘order’ per semester. I haven’t been picked yet, but I can say no if—”
Sanabel’s laughter rang out again, loud and unapologetic, cutting through his stammering like a blade. “Oh, honey, don’t even try that with me. You haven’t been chosen yet this term, which means you’re fresh meat as far as I’m concerned. And I’m *starving*.”
She snapped her fingers with a theatrical flair, and Lila stepped forward, handing her a small, gleaming device that looked like a cross between a remote and a ray gun. The shrinker. A tool as infamous as the Hunger Rule itself, designed to make boys bite-sized—literally. It caught the midday sun, casting a sinister glint across the courtyard, and a collective shiver ran through the onlookers.
YourI’s eyes widened to the size of dinner plates, his palms visibly sweating as he took a step back, only to trip over his own gangly feet. He landed on his backside with a grunt, his books scattering across the pavement. “Wait, wait, wait! Can’t we talk about this? I’m not even that tasty, I swear!”
Sanabel advanced, twirling the shrinker in her hand like a child’s toy, her grin pure malice. “Run all you want, little snack. But you can’t escape dinner when I’ve got my fork ready.” Her tone was playful, but the edge beneath it was sharp enough to cut glass.
The tension in the courtyard peaked as she activated the shrinker with a dramatic flourish, the device humming to life with an electric buzz that sent a ripple of anticipation through the crowd. YourI froze, his breath hitching, caught in the crosshairs of her predatory smile. She leaned down, so close that her breath was hot against his flushed face, her crimson lips curling into a wicked promise.
“I like to play with my food before the final bite,” she whispered, her words dripping with dark intent. “So don’t worry, sweetheart. We’re gonna have some fun first.”
YourI’s world spun as the shrinker’s beam locked onto him, a cold, tingling sensation creeping over his skin. His last coherent thought, as the courtyard blurred and the laughter of the crowd faded into a distant roar, was that he really should’ve studied harder for that math test. Maybe then he wouldn’t be on the verge of becoming someone’s lunch.
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