Scarlett Crane and I have been mortal enemies since childhood. In kindergarten, she humiliated me by pulling down my pants; I ripped the gold star off her chest. She dumped chalk dust in my backpack; I filled her ballet slippers with sand, spraining her ankle. In high school, she took my toughest classes just to outscore me. “No fun if I can’t crush you,” she smirked. So I pinned her love letter to the bulletin board, getting her a week of detention. After 15 years of rivalry, I grew tired. I fled to a southern university, avoiding her entirely. As I left, she called me a coward: “Drop dead and never come back.” Five years later, at our alma mater’s gala, she mocked my worn jacket: “Just a handyman now? Without me, you’ve let yourself go.” But I wasn’t a handyman—the gala was a fundraiser to save my life. 1 Scarlett’s arrival was a spectacle. The school grounds were swarmed by media, turning the event into a circus, all for her. She’d turned down every interview, all so she could come back here and flaunt her victory over me. "Scarlett, you've got it wrong. I'm not working here, I—" She cut me off, her voice brutal. "Ethan, when are you going to finally admit you're weaker than me? That stubborn pride of yours hasn't changed a bit!" She was no longer the girl from high school, her features sharpened by success, but the fire in her eyes was the same. She still needed to conquer me, to be better in every conceivable way. I remembered winning the state-level design award in high school. She claimed I only won because one of the judges was a distant relative. I remembered choosing a design program in the south. She said it was because I was terrified of competing with her in the north, too spineless to face a real fight. "Admit it, Ethan," she taunted, her smile dripping with arrogance. "You just can't measure up to me." I stared into the familiar, ferocious competitiveness in her eyes and felt the corner of my mouth twitch into a smirk. Yeah, I was dying. We'd been fighting for fifteen years. How could I not play the final round? I lifted my head, my gaze locking with hers, and pointed to a poster on the bulletin board for an international design competition. "Scarlett, what makes you so sure that just because I'm standing here, I've lost?" She blinked, caught off guard by my sudden defiance. Then she scoffed. "You? You think you're qualified to enter a competition of that caliber?" "On what grounds? Isn't it obvious?" she continued, spreading her arms wide, a gesture for the whole world to see. "Because I'm a rising star in the design world. And you're just some manual laborer." Our old classmates started to gather around us, their whispers like a swarm of bees. "Is that Ethan Hayes? Wow, he really fell off." "He used to be a legend back in the day. What a shame." Scarlett’s smirk widened, laced with pity. "Oh, you guys don't know the half of it. He insisted on going south for design school, swore he'd start his own brand. Five years later, he doesn't even have a proper job." In front of everyone, our teachers and our peers, she seemed determined to rip away my last shred of dignity. My knuckles turned white as I clutched the application for severe illness assistance the principal had given me. A bitter taste filled my mouth. 2 "Ethan, my boy, have you finished filling out that grant application?" Principal Thompson spotted me and walked over, his face etched with concern. A hot wave of shame washed over me. I didn't want anyone to know, especially not her. But before I could hide it, Caleb Moss, the same campus heartthrob from high school, snatched the form from my hand and started reading it aloud. "Ethan Hayes… ALS? A fundraiser?" As the words left his lips, a ripple of derisive laughter spread through the crowd. "ALS? You? You don't look sick. Can't even fake an illness properly." Caleb shot me a look of disgust, as if I were something he'd scraped off his shoe. Scarlett’s pupils contracted. She strode forward, grabbed the diagnostic papers and the application, and scanned them intently. Caleb sneered. "Seriously, Ethan, you've really hit rock bottom. Trying to scam the school for donation money?" He jingled some coins in his pocket. "If you're that desperate, get on your knees and beg. I might toss you a few quarters for old times' sake." Hearing that, the tension in Scarlett's shoulders eased. Her expression hardened into cold contempt. "Ethan," she said, her voice dripping with disgust, "you're pathetic." My heart pounded as I watched her tear the application form to shreds, piece by piece. The money I'd earned from my small design studio over the years was almost gone, drained by medical bills. If I hadn't run into Principal Thompson at the hospital last month, I would have given up completely. The only reason I could still walk and talk was because of the initial funds raised by the faculty. I’d tried to tell him it was pointless, that this disease was a bottomless pit. I told him not to bother the alumni. But he insisted, saying they had to save me, and that sliver of hope he gave me was now being ripped apart. He said I had been the pride of the school once, and they wouldn't just let me fade away. I began to shuffle toward the campus lake, my legs already stiffening, each step clumsy and comical. Suddenly, Caleb shoved me hard from behind. I stumbled, my body refusing to catch itself, and pitched forward into the muddy grass. I writhed on the ground, trying to get up, but my body wouldn't obey. I was just a mess of mud and humiliation. Scarlett’s fingers twitched, but her face remained a mask of indifference. "Don't think you can scam the school just by putting on a show, Ethan." "You're a disgrace," she spat, her voice laced with venom. "You don't deserve an ounce of pity." She then announced to the stunned crowd, "You want money? Fine. My studio, Crane Designs, will donate ten million dollars to our alma mater!" A wave of gasps and applause erupted from the onlookers. Caleb immediately sidled up to her, puffing out his chest, his eyes full of adoration. Scarlett ignored him, her gaze fixed on me. "But this donation," she declared, her voice ringing with finality, "is specifically for underprivileged students, to upgrade the cafeteria and dorms." She ground her heel into my jacket, her face a mask of contempt. "You, Ethan, won't get a single cent." "No, Scarlett, please, you have to listen," Principal Thompson pleaded, trying to explain. But she was already walking away, surrounded by a crowd of admirers. 3 "Ethan, my boy, I'll figure something else out," Principal Thompson said, his voice choked with urgency. "Your health… maybe you should pull out of the design finals next week…" Everyone knew. Designing a new academic building for our school had been a shared dream for Scarlett and me. Our old building was a wreck, with peeling paint we’d cover with old newspapers and homework assignments. The windows rattled in their frames with every gust of wind. Back then, we’d both sworn that the day we became architects, we would design a new building for our school—one that was beautiful, functional, and built to last. We'd stay up late after study hall, secretly competing, sketching out one naive blueprint after another, dreaming of the day they'd become real. I brushed the dirt from my jacket and forced a weak smile. "I only have a month left. Scarlett did the right thing. Those kids need the money more than a dying man." "Thank her for me," I added. Principal Thompson’s lips trembled, and he let out a long, heavy sigh. I dragged my stiffening limbs off the school grounds, the harsh afternoon sun making me dizzy. By the time I reached the bus stop, the world tilted and went black. I hadn't eaten all day. My blood sugar plummeted, and my legs gave out from under me. I collapsed. "Ahh! That man is dead!" a little girl shrieked. My forehead had smashed against the curb, and blood was now streaming down my face. She was so startled she dropped her can of soda, which fizzed and spilled all over the pavement. I desperately needed sugar. My body shaking, I propped myself up on my hands and began to crawl, licking the sticky, sweet liquid off the dirty concrete. At that moment, only one thought consumed me: I couldn't die before the finals. "Heh. Ethan, look at the state of you. Licking soda off the ground?" A sleek Maybach had pulled up to the curb. Through the tinted window, I could see Scarlett’s silhouette. "And you thought you could compete with me?" Her voice was smug, but her eyes held a flicker of something complex, something I couldn't decipher. All I could do was focus on the soda, trying to bring my body back from the brink. "First, you try to scam the school, and now you're begging on the street? To think I ever considered you my rival." Scarlett’s face was a mixture of disappointment and rage. She tossed a wad of cash out the window, the bills fluttering down onto the pavement. "Take the money and get lost. Don't embarrass the school any further!" My hands moved numbly, gathering the bills. With this, I could buy more paper, more time to perfect my design. But my actions only fueled her fury. "Ethan, have you no shame?" she roared. "Do you really want to be a dog?" "If you're so determined to be a dog, then be my dog!" She started to open her door to grab me, but Caleb stopped her. "Scarlett, maybe Ethan is just going through something. I'll talk to him," he said smoothly. "Don't you need to study Aether's past works? I heard he's participating in this competition. You go study the master's designs. I'll take care of Ethan." At the mention of the name Aether, Scarlett’s expression softened into one of pure reverence. "To see Aether's work in person… I could die happy." She shot me one last cold glare. "This pathetic waste of space isn't worth my time." "You should get on your knees and thank Caleb, Ethan." As the car pulled away, Caleb’s face twisted into a cruel mask. He crouched down, grabbing my chin, his eyes filled with menace. "If you hadn't posted Scarlett's letter on that bulletin board and gotten her in trouble, we would've been together years ago." I laughed, a dry, rasping sound. Scarlett had trailed after him like a lost puppy for an entire year, and he'd never given her a second glance. "Who was it that said a desperate girl's love isn't worth a damn?" I taunted. "Who was it that smashed the gifts she gave you in front of the entire school, humiliating her?" "Now that she's successful, you're blaming me? You're disgusting." "Shut your mouth, you son of a bitch," he snarled, his anger finally boiling over. He stomped his leather shoe down hard on the back of my hand. A sickening crack echoed in the silence, followed by a wave of blinding pain. He leaned in, his smile chilling. "You like soda so much?" "Don't worry, old friend. I'll make sure you get your fill." A knot of dread tightened in my stomach. I tried to fight back, but my muscles were frozen, unresponsive. Caleb had his friends pin me down as they brought over an entire case of soda. "Pour it all down his throat. My treat." The cold, fizzy liquid flooded my mouth and nose, burning its way down my throat. My stomach felt like it was being shredded by a thousand needles. I choked and coughed violently, spitting up mouthfuls of blood. I tried to stand, to push myself up, but my arms and legs were no longer my own. Again and again, I struggled, only to collapse back onto the pavement. Finally, I couldn't hold on any longer. The world dissolved into darkness. 4 The doctor's face was a portrait of sorrow. "Mr. Hayes, your condition has deteriorated rapidly. Today's… incident has caused significant trauma." When I woke up, I was in a hospital bed. "I'm afraid… you have less than a week." "If you have any last wishes, now is the time." He couldn't bear to look at me any longer. He turned and left in silence. Wishes? An image of the crumbling school building flashed in my mind, followed by the coldness in Scarlett's eyes as she walked away. My resolve hardened. At the very end of my life, I was going to win. One last time. I painstakingly uncurled my fingers. Tucked in my palm were the few bills she had thrown at me, now stained with my own blood. I didn't want to die indebted to her, but it was all I had. I asked a nurse to buy me drawing supplies, and I continued to work. The horror of ALS is how it devours you, piece by piece. I could no longer walk, so I drew from a wheelchair. Soon, my right hand went numb. So I used my elbow, my teeth, whatever it took to keep the pencil moving. The day before the finals, as I painstakingly signed the name "Aether" in the corner of the final drawing, a wave of relief washed over me, and I smiled. I looked at my completed design, and I laughed and cried all at once. This was the last piece of me I could leave in this world. I prayed it would continue to provide shelter for the children long after I was gone. Determined to attend the finals the next day, I gritted my teeth and went to handle my discharge paperwork. That's when I saw her. Scarlett was at the hospital, helping Caleb with a follow-up appointment. "Don't blame Ethan," Caleb was saying, putting on a pitiful display. "He was just in a bad mood. He had every right to hit me." He pointed to his slightly sprained ankle. "He almost crippled me, but Scarlett, please don't confront him for my sake. We're all old friends. I don't want to see you two fight." Scarlett’s face was a thundercloud. I scoffed. He'd twisted his ankle when he lost his balance stomping on my hand. But I didn't have the time or the energy to waste on him. I was running out of both. I turned to leave, but her voice, sharp as a whip, cracked through the air. "Ethan! Get over here. Now." I ignored her and kept moving, but she grabbed my wheelchair, forcing it to a halt. "Ethan, I am so disappointed in you," she said, her voice dangerously low. "Caleb was trying to help you, and you attacked him? Do you have a conscience? Did your parents raise a monster?" "Apologize to him! Right now! Or I swear I will call the police and have you thrown in jail." Looking at that familiar yet alien face, I couldn't help but laugh. The victim, forced to apologize to his abuser? "In your dreams," I spat, and tried to wheel myself past her. But Caleb snatched the portfolio containing my design from my lap. "Ethan, I don't blame you for hurting me, but what are you doing at the hospital? Couldn't scam the school, so now you're stealing things?" Panic seized me. "Give it back!" I reached for it, and Caleb dramatically fell to the ground. "Ethan, stealing is wrong! You can beat me to death today, but I won't let you go down the wrong path!" Whispers erupted around us. The hallway filled with pointing fingers and ugly words. "That's mine! Give it back!" I lunged forward, trying to grab it, but a firm hand shoved me back into my chair. It was Scarlett. She was flipping through my sketches, her expression growing darker with every page. When she finally looked up at me, her eyes were filled with pure disgust. "Ethan, I was so wrong about you." "Scarlett, listen to me, that's really—" "Enough!" she roared, flinging the stack of drawings at my chest. "Do you have any idea whose work you've stolen? Do you know what Aether means to me?" "He is a god in my eyes, and I will not let you defile his work with your filthy hands," she seethed, pointing a trembling finger at me. "I was trying to give you a chance, a way to redeem yourself! I convinced Caleb not to press charges for what you did to him! But you're just... rotten." "Since you have no shame, I'll expose you for the fraud you are!" She grabbed my bandaged hand and began to tear viciously at the gauze. "You love to act, don't you? You love playing the victim to get money! Well, act now! Keep acting!" A white-hot pain shot up my arm, and the world began to fade to black. I slumped to the floor, my body giving out. But in the next instant, Scarlett froze. Beneath the bandages on my hand was a bloody, gaping wound.
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