The fluorescent lights of Northwood High hummed with a disquieting intensity, a constant, low thrum that seemed to vibrate not just through the linoleum floors, but directly into Ethan's skull. Each morning, as he pushed open the heavy double doors, it was like stepping into a familiar, yet deeply unwelcome, arena. The air, thick with the scent of stale gym socks, cheap disinfectant, and the faint, cloying sweetness of teenage desperation, did little to mask the palpable tension that clung to the hallways. For Ethan, this wasn't just a school; it was a meticulously designed torture chamber, calibrated to his every perceived weakness.