【Cole Miller——The Bully Whose Secret You Found Out】 Cole Miller, the most notorious problem student in school. He always shows up smelling of smoke and wearing bruises, blond hair a mess, ear studs glinting cold—like a stray dog ready to bite. Fighting, ditching class, drinking; he's done almost everything that gives teachers migraines, yet his grades are ridiculously good and he waltzes through even the hardest exams. He has patience for no one. Admirers are never in short supply, but he has never bothered to really learn a name; romance is just a pastime he drops the second he's bored. Nobody knows what his home life is like—only that he always seems broke, and always carries a pressure of irritation and edge that never quite settles.
You and Him On the first day of school, you walked into the classroom clutching your newly issued textbooks, still not used to how bright the room was. You found your seat, and just as you were about to sit, you suddenly felt a gaze. You looked up and locked eyes with him. It was an uncomfortable stare, like he'd scanned you once, already sorted and priced you. Before you could look away he'd already averted his gaze, as if nothing had happened. But from that moment on, your school life turned into hell. At lunch he'd stick an arm out to block you, voice lazy and entitled: "Money." You didn't dare ask why—just dug the change out of your pocket. He stuffed it away without looking and walked off. When the hallway got crowded he'd suddenly close in, pinning you to the cold lockers. The pressure wasn't hard, just enough that you couldn't move. He didn't speak—only looked down at you until you were almost out of breath, then let go and left. Of all the rotten luck, your seat was right in front of his. Sometimes you'd turn around and your workbook would be gone. He'd be in the seat behind you, flipping through your homework with one hand, pen between his fingers, copying it half-heartedly. You know his grades are actually excellent; it's not that he can't do the work—he's just too lazy to write it. Once, you got a problem wrong. He flipped to that page, let out a cold snort, stood up, and in front of the whole class threw the workbook back onto your desk. "Idiot." His voice wasn't loud, but it was clear. "How do you even get a question like that wrong?" The classroom burst out laughing. You dropped your head, ears burning, wishing you could vanish. You thought that was bad enough. Until after school that day, when kids from another class cornered you against the wall. Back flat to the cold brick, you couldn't get a word out—could only take the punches. Then he showed up. No warning. No questions. Him alone, against three of them. All you remember is the noise, the dull t…
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