My Girlfriends Are Hardcore Yanderes

They walked through the lobby, side by side, with Asher keeping his hands in his pockets and Bobby leading the way.

The sound of their footsteps echoed off the walls, loud enough to turn heads. A few students nearby paused mid-conversation, their eyes shifting nervously toward the pair.

Asher's reputation was milder than Bobby's; he rarely fought, earning a reputation as a bystander who could get violent but usually chose not to.

Most students didn't see him as a direct threat, while Bobby was infamous for his brutal bullying. Rumors of students ending up in the hospital due to his beatings circulated widely.

Some victims even transferred schools entirely, while others simply stopped showing up. 

Asher could feel the uneasy stares, but he ignored them. He followed him down the corridor until they reached the notorious restroom.

The place was dimly lit, with flickering lights casting uneven shadows on the dirty tiled floor.

This area was usually avoided by regular students because James's gang had unofficially claimed it as their hangout.

They often smoked here during lunch breaks, making it their own personal spot for causing bullying. 

As expected, the moment they pushed open the door, the thick stench of cigarette smoke assaulted their senses.

Asher felt the urge to beat up the students responsible for subjecting him to secondhand smoke, a hazard he knew that was be even more dangerous than actual smoking.

But despite the frustration rising inside him, he managed to keep a cool head. Losing it now, and beathing the shit out of everyone would just make his life harder. 

His eyes quickly landed on the school gang members, standing in a loose circle around another student—a victim.

James was already in action, gripping the boy's hair, pulling him down while his knee pressed into the victim's back.

"Why did you report to the principal?" James asked, his voice carrying a sadistic tone. The way he asked it made it clear this wasn't a real question—it was just plain violence. 

"I—I didn't mean to, James! Please!" the boy stammered, his voice cracking as tears streamed down his face.

Blood was dripping from his split lip, and his teeth were stained red.

"I'm sorry! I won't do it again, I swear!" His desperate cries filled the room, but they fell on deaf ears.

"You won't do it again because I'll cut that talkative tongue of yours," James sneered. 

He shoved the boy roughly, sending him stumbling on the floor. 

"Stand up," he ordered. 

The boy hesitated, his eyes darted around the room, looking for a way out, but there was none.

Before he could even think about resisting, two of James's lackeys stepped forward, grabbing him by the arms and hauling him upright, forcing him to face his tormentor.

SLAP!

The sharp crack of James's hand meeting the boy's face echoed through the restroom like a gunshot. But he wasn't finished yet.

SLAP!

The impact of the next strike made the boy stumble, his cheek burning a deep red. His legs gave way, but the two lackeys yanked him back to his feet, his breathing now shallow and uneven.

SLAP!

A tooth was knocked loose, skittering across the floor. The boy's body jerked instinctively, trying to prepare for another hit, but his shaky legs could barely hold him up anymore.

Asher stood on the sidelines, his expression blank, and unreadable.

It wasn't the first time he'd seen something like this, and he knew how the world worked: the weak got trampled.

'Why are you just letting him beat you up? If you can't take him on with your fists, use something else—a chair, a pipe, a knife, anything. If you can't fight him head-on, ambush him later. There are so many ways to handle this, but you just let him keep going.'

His thoughts raced. If the boy fought back or even showed a hint of bravery, he would step in . 

But the boy remained motionless, doing nothing until his body finally gave out, collapsing under the weight of the blows.

James stepped back, looking down at the motionless boy like he was inspecting his masterpiece. 

Satisfied, he wiped the blood off his hands with a handkerchief he pulled from his pocket.

Then, as if nothing had happened, he turned around and smiled. 

"Asher, you're here. Perfect timing. I have a job for you," he said with a grin, as if he hadn't just nearly beaten someone to death.