Sour raisin (джен)

January turned the city into a frozen, gray wasteland. The school corridors echoed with the harsh screech of winter boots, and students huddled against the lukewarm radiators during breaks. For Barbara, this winter became a test of psychological endurance. The "thief" rumor, perfectly engineered by Dead Chan, had spread like a virus. Barbara was completely isolated, and Dead Chan's loyal fan club took it as a green light to escalate to open bullying.It happened on a Wednesday, right after third period. Barbara was walking down the main second-floor hallway, clutching a heavy history textbook to her chest. Dead Chan rounded the corner, walking backward, surrounded by her usual entourage of five girls and a couple of senior athletes. They were laughing loudly at some inside joke.As she spotted Barbara, Dead Chan’s pace slowed by a fraction. A cold, calculated expression flashed across her doll-like face. Just as Barbara tried to brush past, Dead Chan violently kicked her leg out, her massive white platform boot acting like a solid wall.Barbara had zero time to react. She tripped spectacularly, crashing hard onto the brutal ceramic tile floor. Her textbook rocketed out of her hands, sliding across the corridor. The impact jarred her knees and palms with a wave of blinding pain, and as her jacket rode up, it exposed a dark bruise on her hip—courtesy of her father’s rage the night before.Instantly, the hallway exploded into a chorus of mocking laughter."Look at that, the grunge trash took out itself!" one of the senior guys roared, pointing at her. "Hey, klepto, watch where you're dragging your broken Vans!" a girl chimed in, intentionally stepping right onto Barbara’s dropped textbook, smearing dirty, melting slush across the cover.Dead Chan stood at the center of the circle. She didn't laugh out loud; she merely covered her mouth with a pink-mittened hand, giggling softly, looking down at Barbara like she was an unappealing bug that needed to be swept away."Guys, come on, don't be so mean," Dead Chan said in a sugary, fake-sympathetic tone, though her eyes were dancing with malice. "Babs is just... naturally clumsy. Give her a break, guys, she has a very... unique home life. We should be charitable to the less fortunate."The crowd erupted into another wave of laughter. Sticking her teeth together until her jaw ached, Barbara scrambled to pick up her papers. Her bangs fell completely forward, hiding her furious, tear-stained green eyes. Not a single person in that crowded hallway stepped forward to help her up. They just stood there, feeding off the silent approval of their school idol.But Dead Chan wasn't finished. She had quietly signaled her pack to hunt.When Barbara walked out of the school gates after the final bell, she immediately spotted three of Dead Chan’s hardcore fans. The moment she started walking home, they fell into step behind her, maintaining a steady ten-meter distance. It was blatant, aggressive stalking.They followed her through the snowy streets, loudly discussing her clothes, her alcoholic father, and how "filthy thieves shouldn't be allowed in a decent district." Whenever Barbara whipped around to face them, they would freeze, make hideous faces, point at her, and cackle. One of the guys scooped up a chunk of dirty ice and hurled it at her, striking her hard between the shoulder blades. They pursued her all the way to her apartment building. Barbara practically threw herself through the heavy iron door, slamming it shut and pressing her back against it, her breath coming in ragged, terrified gasps. From the street, their muffled jeers echoed through the glass: "Hey, Babs! Give our love to your drunk dad! Hide his bottles good, or you're getting another black eye!"That evening, the atmosphere in Barbara’s small bedroom was thick with tension. Lila and Mizuki sat on her bed, faces grim. Lila was carefully dabbing antiseptic onto Barbara’s scraped, raw palms."I’m going to end them," Lila hissed, her hands visibly trembling with repressed fury. "Babs, why didn't you call me the second they started following you? Mizuki and I would have met you with a baseball bat. Those spineless little clones are nothing without their pastel leader.""They were waiting for me," Barbara whispered, staring at her bandaged hands. "They know where I live. They knew about my dad... Dead Chan told them every single thing I mentioned back when she used to drag me into her groups. She took my life and turned it into an entertainment script for her fans."Mizuki, who had been sitting at the desk, suddenly slammed her laptop shut. Her face was pale, and behind her glasses, her eyes were burning with a rare, cold, mathematical rage."Stalking, public humiliation, destruction of property," Mizuki said, her words dropping like heavy weights. "Dead Chan has officially crossed into criminal territory. She thinks her fan club is a shield. But her actual shield is her pristine online reputation. I’ve already logged the social media handles of everyone who followed you today. Lila, we need access to their group chats. That’s where they coordinate.""Consider me already logged in, babe," Lila laughed bitterly, her voice dripping with pure arrogance. "I’ve spent the last month pretending their basic outfits are 'artistic.' It takes zero effort to make those idiots talk. They only love her because she pays for their lifestyle anyway."Barbara raised her head. Her eyes fell on her sketchbook. On the open page, a tiny, vibrant anime character in moe artstyle was holding a glowing lantern, smiling bravely. That beautiful, clean world felt millions of miles away right now. But for the sake of that world, and her right to just exist, Barbara knew she had to fight back."Find it," Barbara said, her voice dropping into a terrifyingly steady register. "Find whatever you can. I am done playing the victim."