Episode 1(the new beginning)

The tall, iron gates of Westbrook High opened slowly, groaning under their own weight, as Peter stepped inside the campus for the very first time. His slim fingers clutched the strap of his satchel tightly, the weight of unfamiliarity pressing down on his narrow shoulders. The school was bigger than his old one—clean, modern, and echoing with the kind of energy he hadn’t felt in a long time.

Peter's eyes flicked around cautiously, taking everything in—the buzz of students in uniforms, the sound of laughter, the faint rustle of leaves stirred by the early morning breeze. His pale brown curls shifted slightly in the wind, and he brushed them aside from his glasses. The familiar weight of his grief lingered silently beside him, like an invisible shadow. It had only been three months since his mother’s death. The pain hadn't dulled. If anything, it had settled deeper, quiet and constant.

His transfer had been sudden, prompted by a scholarship meant to support students with “extraordinary academic potential and difficult circumstances.” He didn’t like how they said that in the letter. Difficult circumstances. As if losing your whole world could be reduced to a neat little phrase.

He moved slowly toward the main building, clutching the folded paper in his hand that had his timetable and class assignment.

As he crossed the open yard near the gym, he heard the sharp, rhythmic bounce of a basketball echoing across the court. He paused.

There, under the golden light of morning, was a boy in a sleeveless jersey—moving like a storm of grace and control. His lean, muscular frame shifted smoothly across the court. Each dribble was sharp, each step purposeful. The ball flew from his hand, arced through the air, and swished cleanly through the hoop without touching the rim. Again. And again. Effortless.

Peter stood frozen, lips slightly parted. That boy was magnetic.

He had dark brown hair that looked wind-tousled, even though he was clearly sweating. His strong arms flexed as he reached for the ball again, and the sun hit his jawline just right—it was so sharply defined it almost looked like it was carved from marble. When he turned briefly, Peter caught sight of those eyes—cool steel blue, focused, determined.

That had to be Victor—Peter had heard the name mentioned in the hallway. Star athlete. The school’s pride.

Peter looked down at his own slender frame, then at the basketball court again. He felt a dull ache in his chest, not just from grief, but from the quiet, constant frustration of having a body too fragile for the things he wished he could do. His doctors had always advised against heavy physical activity. He wasn’t sick, exactly—but his health had always been delicate. A heart murmur. Low stamina. Nothing fatal, but enough to hold him back.

With a silent sigh, Peter turned away and headed toward his classroom.

The corridors were quieter now, the noise of the bell drawing most students inside. He found his class—Grade 11B—and slowly pushed open the door.

The classroom buzzed with chatter, desks scattered in that typical controlled chaos of teenagers settling in. No one noticed him enter. He preferred it that way.

His eyes scanned the room quickly. He ignored the loud group near the back, the center desks full of casual conversation, and instead moved straight to the corner seat by the window. The desk was neat, the view outside framed by sunlight and green leaves. Perfect.

He slipped into the seat and placed his satchel on the ground. With the faintest creak, the chair settled beneath his small frame. He turned to the window and stared quietly.

The world outside was vivid. The trees swayed gently, and the wind carried the scent of spring. A few birds perched on the fence nearby, chirping quietly. The sky was a bright blue, like watercolor spilled across a blank page.

It felt... peaceful. Something he hadn’t felt in a long time.

Peter leaned his elbow on the desk and rested his chin on his hand, eyes distant but alert. He wasn't here to make friends. He wasn’t here to belong. He was here to survive the year, to study, and to make his mother proud—wherever she was now.

But he couldn’t stop thinking about the boy on the court. Victor. Something about him lingered in Peter’s mind—not just the way he moved, but the quiet intensity in his eyes.

Peter didn’t know it yet, but that single glance would change everything.

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