His curt but utterly untroubled remark put me at ease.I fetched a chair, and we sat side by side to watch the film. Jerome was out there, but no sound came from his room. At six o’clock sharp, he returned as usual. Simon and I finished the movie and had dinner in the dining hall. Hugh didn’t come back until nearly midnight, and George only returned Monday evening, so at last our room was full again. I felt a little more comforted.After that incident I kept an eye on Jerome, but found nothing else remarkable. Nobody else seemed to realize he was a madman—except for one curious detail. Everyone treated Jerome normally, yet simultaneously kept him at arm’s length.In retrospect that made sense. Hugh treated him just like everyone else, but even talkative George only ever nodded along politely with Jerome’s chatter, and Simon—never one for conversation—simply listened quietly. Even the teachers seemed awkward around Jerome.George eventually let slip the truth.I was genuinely stunned. After a life with my father in the brickworks, then imprisonment in an actress’s mansion, now I attended school with actual royalty? Of course I was curious. Why had a royal sent himself to this isolated school? Was he, too, some secret offspring like me? George didn’t know that. I didn’t press further.Instead I asked, He shrugged. I peered at George’s face. He looked sincere. I nodded in understanding.Then George asked, Ding. It was four o’clock. I turned to the door—the one Hugh had left ajar—and thought: that’s how Jerome keeps walking in. I fixed Jerome with a cold stare and answered, <>Before Jerome could step in, I rose and left the room. Through the closing door I heard Jerome greeting George.Jerome rode every day, even in the rain with a waterproof. I often watched him from the library window. I knew nothing of riding, but his skill looked impressive. He rarely used the crop in actual practice—but that ever-present riding crop irritated me immensely.Jerome was the strangest person I’d ever met. Until then, Julia had seemed the most abnormal—but at least she hadn’t cracked a whip on me. And now Jerome’s excuse—“Don’t rise without permission”—was absurd. Royal arrogance, perhaps? In any case, he was completely deranged.Fortunately, he hadn’t touched me since. We’d crossed paths in the halls but exchanged no words. I despised him; he wore that same unsettling smile.Sometimes I thought of shattering his shoulder with the pipe, but I’d hesitated. If another chance came, I’d never let it slip.That chance arrived sooner than I’d thought—on Friday of that week.By the third week of May, the weather had turned near-summery. Students shed their jackets, wearing shirt and tie only. Mornings and evenings were still cool, but perfect in the afternoon. I rolled my sleeves and loosened my tie for class.With the warmth, sports-averse students took to the fields. After lunch with my history classmates, someone proposed a football game. Everyone agreed. We set two fifteen-minute halves and even chose a referee, then split into teams.The unexpected opponent: Jerome. He watched us find a referee, then inserted himself at the last moment. I was on the red team; Jerome joined the blue. I felt only annoyance—never imagining revenge lay ahead.When the referee’s whistle blew, the ball bounced onto the grass. We chased it shirt collars flapping, shoes slipping on the turf.I played right midfield, running constantly. Few chances to shoot, but most attacks came down my flank. Jerome, as center back, hardly crossed my path—until a corner kick. Then we stood face to face.Jerome spoke behind me, I snapped.The ball arced overhead and neither side scored. Jerome offered a sympathetic wink, which I ignored.Then the perfect opportunity came. I had the ball at my feet at midrange. Only the goalkeeper and Jerome blocked the goal. Jerome and I locked eyes for a moment.I smiled nastily, then feigned a shot at goal—and instead kicked the ball as hard as I could at Jerome’s head. Caught off guard, he staggered back, collapsing to the ground. Everyone gasped and rushed to him. Inside, I felt like celebrating a goal, but stayed calm and approached him as if concerned.Jerome’s nostril bled. The sight was glorious—my bruises forgotten. But I masked my satisfaction and offered a hand instead.Yet everything unfolded differently. Jerome laughed—even with blood dripping from his nose, he laughed brightly.He wasn’t a fool; he wouldn’t sulk. Still, I’d expected a grimace. Instead he smiled, took my hand, and rose—only to sway unsteadily. Reflexively I steadied him. He leaned on my shoulder gratefully.He smiled and thanked me even without my reply. I had no choice but to support him off the pitch. His arm draped over my shoulder, he walked slowly beside me.Once we’d left the other students behind, he whispered softly in my ear, Those were my words last weekend—threatening to smash his head. I said nothing, just led him back into the cool old monastery hall.The corridors were empty; everyone was on the grounds. We walked the short distance to the infirmary in silence. It was empty—the nurse away. I sat Jerome on the nearest bed and turned away.A mistake.As I turned, Jerome yanked the curtain rod beside the bed and struck my shoulder mercilessly. It hurt less than the crop, but the force threw me to the floor. Worse, before I could rise he kicked me in the stomach with his boot—hard enough to feel like my insides would burst. I gasped, my lunch nearly coming up as I clutched my abdomen, curling into a ball on the cold stone floor. The rod clattered behind me, and I forced myself to catch my breath, pressing my forehead against the floor. When I looked up, Jerome’s polished boot was gone.I heard him rifling through a drawer. I felt sick but crawled toward the door. If I opened it and called out, someone would hear—I was close to the main entrance—That voice, imperious, roared behind me as he kicked my ribs. Fuck! Pain shot through my side like a blade. I couldn’t scream, just writhed as Jerome strode forward and sat astride my waist. Tears blurred my vision.He grabbed my wrists, and I felt the soft touch of cloth as he bound them tightly. I tried to resist, but pain sapped my strength. Blinking through tears, I saw my wrists wrapped in a pressure bandage.In a gentler tone he asked, My shoulder, ribs, and side throbbed, but I spat at his face with all my might. No surprise there: he only smiled more, enjoying my rage as my face twisted with pain and contempt.We stared at each other. I glared; he grinned, even chuckling. He studied my wounded expression with obvious delight.I never underestimated Jerome—he was the craziest person I’d met, and I never forgot it. Yet he was stronger, savvier, and cruelly clever. He didn’t fall for provocations and stayed composed in any situation. Even as my spit dribbled down his nose and cheek, he didn’t wipe it away.Unexpectedly, Jerome rose easily and stepped back a few paces, saying,I scoffed, struggling to free my bandage. Jerome answered with refreshing clarity. I ground out. But Jerome wouldn’t be cowed.<“We”? You’re delusional.>He said nothing more. Smiling kindly, he washed his face at the infirmary sink, wiping away blood and spit. Nodding a brief farewell, he left. Ten minutes of agonized tugging freed my wrists—the cloth had cut deep grooves into my skin.Rubbing my sore hands, I stumbled out of the infirmary. Unlike last weekend, Jerome and I had fought back and forth. Next time it won’t be so easy. Now I knew exactly how strong, ruthless, and cunning he was. He would have to watch his back.But apart from him, my wounds were severe. Saturday morning, as soon as Simon left for his jog, I stripped and examined myself in the full-length mirror. Years of confinement had left pale, mottled bruises all over. A deep purple bruise from the rod marked my shoulder, and my ribs and side bore more. The whip welts on my back and thigh had yellowed at the edges—ugly reminders.Staring at my battered reflection, the door suddenly swung open. Simon stood there.His calm face registered shock as he saw my injuries. I felt awkward—only in my underwear—so I grabbed the gown folded on the bed and tied it around my waist. Simon waited without speaking until I secured the belt. Finally facing me, he said in his usual blunt tone,I folded my arms and looked at Simon. After nearly two months sharing a room, I knew he was trustworthy—but I still hesitated to confide about Jerome. Simon said, standing stiffly by the door.

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