My time in the juvenile center had been difficult at first, but I adapted quickly.
As days turned into weeks, I was surprised to learn that I would be paid weekly—just for completing chores or being a good student. It was a strange concept to me, earning something simply by existing and following rules. But I took it as it was.
While I was there, I started my first year of secondary school.
Life at the center had its moments. We watched movies, went to restaurants on occasion, played games on weekends—both video games and board games. We were encouraged to focus on our studies, but we also had a level of autonomy. With time, I even gained the freedom to walk outside on my own.
Despite being surrounded by others, I only made three real friends during my time there—all of them from my school. Two boys and a girl. They had already been a group before I arrived, and I somehow became part of it. But their faces, their voices, most of it has faded from my memory.
I remember the girl's name—Yesenia. One of the boys was smaller than the other, but his name escapes me. The other was bigger in both height and weight. He barely acknowledged his real name, preferring instead to be called by the name tag he always wore: "Goku."
The year itself had been good in many ways. But if I had made one mistake, it was being too innocent.
Yesenia had secretly been in love with me. We spent a lot of time together—drawing, talking, laughing. And I never saw the signs. I had been too lost in the joy of having a real friend to recognize the feelings she had for me.
We often drew together, usually about Minecraft, sketching out minigames or coming up with new ideas in our notebooks. She would even show me drawings she had made of me—always comparing me to Springtrap. She told me I was him, that I was like him.
At the time, I had no idea what she meant. I didn't know Minecraft. I didn't know Five Nights at Freddy's. They were just words to me. But in the end, that connection—what she saw in me—ran deeper than I ever could have imagined. Deeper than I understood. Until it was too late.
As the months passed and summer arrived, a few kids were transferred to other centers. One girl left, but another boy—him—stayed behind.
And everything changed.
He turned my days into hell, tormenting me in every way he could. The constant annoyance, the deliberate cruelty—it was endless. But even that paled in comparison to what he did one particular day.
The day we went to a private pool.
At first, everything was normal. Some kids played in the water, others relaxed. It was peaceful.
And then, without warning, he grabbed me.
He started drowning me.
I don't know how long it lasted. Every second stretched into eternity, each one worse than the last. Panic turned into suffocation. My limbs thrashed, but his grip was unrelenting.
And then—
I drowned.
The pain was gone in an instant. Everything fell silent.
But I was still there.
Something burned inside me—a fire deep in my chest, spreading, consuming, roaring to life in a way I had never felt before. It wasn't pain. It was something else. Something more. It grew stronger by the second, refusing to fade.
And then—
I moved.
I forced his arm away, pushed myself upward, and swam. My eyes were open, unblinking, cutting through the water as I surged toward the surface.
I survived.
But he?
He faced no punishment. No consequences.
As far as I know, he got away with everything.