The Pauper Who Ruled the Campus

Chapter 13

The school campus buzzed with life as students hurried in every direction. Groups lounged under the trees, scrolling through their phones, laughing at videos, or gossiping about the latest drama. But inside the quiet classroom, Marcus sat alone at the back, his head buried in his notebook. He was trying desperately to make sense of the complex formulas Professor Frost had thrown at them before the break. The man was ruthless. Everyone knew it. Professor Frost was not just strict; he was wicked. One wrong answer, one late submission, and you could find yourself on the verge of expulsion. Most students feared him like death itself. A few who had dared challenge him had already packed their bags and left the university for good.

Marcus flipped page after page, his brow furrowed in concentration. He could not afford to fail this course. Not again. Professor Frost already disliked him for reasons Marcus could never quite understand. Maybe it was the way he asked questions in class, or perhaps it was simply because Marcus existed. Whatever the reason, Marcus knew one thing for certain: falling into the professor's trap would end his education. So he forced himself to focus, even as the noise from outside the classroom seeped in like an unwelcome guest.

The break was almost over. Laughter and chatter grew louder as students began returning to their seats. Marcus rubbed his temples, willing the words on the page to stay still. Then his phone vibrated on the desk. He glanced at the screen and his heart sank. It was Julian.

He answered quickly, hoping to keep his voice low.

Before he could even say hello, Julian's sharp voice sliced through the line. "Marcus, are you seriously expecting me to remind you every single time? When exactly are you going to clean the hostel?"

Marcus opened his mouth to apologize. "I'm sorry, Julian, I was just—"

"Do not waste my time with excuses," she snapped, cutting him off. "You have exactly five minutes to get yourself to the hostel and start cleaning. If you are not there, I will find another poor student like you who actually knows how to follow orders. Do you understand me?"

The line went dead.

Marcus stared at the blank screen, his stomach twisting. He had two choices: miss Professor Frost's class and risk everything he had worked for, or lose the only job that kept him alive in this expensive university. The hostel cleaning job paid little, but it was the only thing standing between him and starvation. With barely any time left before the lecture resumed, he grabbed his books, shoved them into his bag, and bolted out of the classroom.

He ran across the campus, his worn-out sneakers slapping against the pavement. The hostel was not far, but every second counted. When he finally reached the building, he was already out of breath. Twenty rooms—ten upstairs, ten downstairs. He started from the top floor, sweeping, mopping, wiping down surfaces as fast as he could. By the time he reached the downstairs corridor, his arms ached and sweat soaked through his shirt. He pushed on anyway. He had no choice.

The last room on the list belonged to Jackson.

Jackson was everything Marcus was not. Second-generation rich, heir to a family fortune worth 10 billion dollars. His father was one of the university's biggest donors, which meant Jackson could do whatever he wanted and never face consequences. Rules did not apply to him. People did not apply to him. He simply existed above everyone else.

As Marcus approached the door with his bucket of soapy water, the door swung open. Jackson stepped out, flanked by three of his friends. All of them dressed in designer clothes that probably cost more than Marcus's entire wardrobe. Marcus tried to step aside, but the corridor was narrow. In his haste, the bucket tilted. Dirty water splashed across Jackson's expensive white sneakers.

For a second, the world stopped.

Jackson looked down at his soaked shoes. His face twisted with rage. "You useless piece of trash," he growled. "Do you have any idea how much these cost?"

One of Jackson's friends, a tall guy with a sneer permanently fixed on his face, grabbed Marcus by the collar. "On your knees, dog. Clean it. Use your tongue."

Marcus froze. His heart pounded so hard he could hear it in his ears. He looked at the shoe, then at the circle of rich boys closing in around him. They were already pulling out their phones, ready to record.

"I... I'm sorry," Marcus stammered. "It was an accident—"

"Accident?" Jackson laughed, cold and cruel. "You think sorry fixes this? Get down and lick it clean, or we will make sure the whole campus sees what happens when poor rats like you forget their place."

Marcus's legs trembled. He dropped to his knees. The cold tile bit into his skin. Slowly, he pulled off his shirt, using it like a rag to wipe the shoe. The fabric soaked up the dirty water, turning gray. Jackson and his friends burst into laughter, pointing and jeering.

"Not good enough," another friend said. "Tongue. Now."

Two of them stepped forward, hands reaching to force Marcus's head down. Phones were already recording, lights flashing. The live stream was on. Thousands would watch this humiliation.

Then, Jackson's phone rang.

He glanced at the screen and answered immediately. "Yeah, Dad? Hold on." He stepped away, turning his back.

For a moment, the others were distracted, watching Jackson. Marcus saw his chance. He shoved hard against the two boys holding him, breaking free. He scrambled to his feet and ran.

"Hey! Get back here!" one of them shouted.

Marcus did not look back. He sprinted out of the hostel, down the corridor, through the main door, and across the open lawn. Shouts echoed behind him. Footsteps pounded the ground. Jackson and his friends were chasing.

Marcus ran faster than he ever had in his life. His lungs burned. His legs screamed. He darted between buildings, cutting through narrow paths until he reached the sports area near the main campus. He ducked behind the bleachers, pressing himself against the metal frame. He held his breath, listening.

The footsteps faded. Voices grew distant. After several long minutes, silence returned.

Marcus slid down to the ground, chest heaving. Pain shot through his right leg—he must have twisted it forcing himself into the tight hiding spot. He stretched it carefully, wincing.

His phone buzzed in his pocket.

He pulled it out. A text from Thalia Shade.

His girlfriend. One of the most beautiful girls on campus. Long dark hair, perfect smile, always surrounded by admirers. Yet she had chosen him—or so he told himself.

The message read: Babe, I'm craving a milkshake. Extra vanilla cream. Get it for me now, okay? Love you.

Marcus stared at the words. His heart softened despite everything. He loved Thalia. Loved her more than anything. She was the one bright spot in his miserable life.

He opened his banking app to check his balance. The number stared back at him: 500 dollars. That was all he had left. Money he had been saving for months to buy the textbooks he desperately needed for next semester.

But Thalia wanted a milkshake.

Marcus closed the app. He stood up, ignoring the pain in his leg. He would buy it for her. He always did.

He limped toward the cafeteria, the sun beating down on his bare back since he had left his shirt behind in the hostel. Students stared as he passed. Some whispered. Others laughed quietly. He kept his head down and kept walking.

As he approached the campus main gate, his mind raced. He still had to face Julian. She would be furious when she found out he had not finished the cleaning. What would he say? How could he explain? Maybe he could beg for forgiveness. Maybe she would give him another chance.

He was still rehearsing apologies in his head when his phone vibrated again. Not a text this time. A strange notification popped up on the screen. Something he had never seen before.

His steps slowed. His thoughts about Julian vanished instantly.

Marcus stared at the glowing message, eyes wide.

His entire world was about to change.