"So… you're telling me that what you did yesterday while I was away, that was scripted?"
"...Yes, ma'am."
This was the same day, but this was an hour right before this day's class, right before this day's announcement.
It all occurred inside the faculty room by T. Myrcella's office, who sat by her own office chair, staring directly at her student at the opposite side of her desk.
It is Trizha herself.
But unlike what people had seen of her, the look on her face was just the same as the face she silently hid beneath that cheerful exterior.
Her blonde hair shined through the flat colors of the room, and her large purple eyes stood out beneath the atmosphere, yet underneath all that is shame.
Her head was down, and her hand was fidgeting as if she did something wrong.
Technically, she did. And T. Myrcella knew exactly what it was.
She kept her gaze on the student before her, that student was someone whom she knew for a very long time.
And it was that same student whom she hated from the very start.
A student… who was completely out of her standards; a nurtured, pure, and kind-hearted soul who will always think twice before making a decision.
That was who Trizha Frantzes was to her—the complete opposite.
But then again, no one is perfect in this world. You may imagine for something great, and hope for it to be real, or maybe imagine something entirely different.
But it will always stay an imagination.
"From what I have observed…"
As T. Myrcella spoke out calmly, she clicked a few buttons of her keyboard, along with moving her mouse to rewatch the footage she found not too long ago.
"...I think it's safe to say; do you even understand what you just did right here?"
Trizha twitched, she is anxious. Deciding whether or not to answer that question.
After all, she didn't know what she was doing at the time. In fact, she never did. Instead of understanding the turtle inside the shell, she decided to disgust the shell itself.
"Yes…"
She said, but it came out as a mutter, and T. Myrcella almost misheard it even though it was a single sentence.
"I-i'm sorry–"
"Don't apologise to me, Trizha."
Her disappointment grew more as she cut off Trizha from apologising.
She knew why; Trizha mentioned her name and used it against that one man. But she didn't mind, yet she found it a very bold move.
"It's pointless apologizing to me — I'm pretty sure that someone else out there deserved that apology better than I do."
Her face relaxed on its own, her brows lowered as if all disappointment left her face, but it didn't mean that it did. She kept her eyes on Trizha, hoping for her to lift her head.
"And unfortunately, he's not here."
Letting out a soft sigh, she sat from her chair.
"That guy, that kid… he's absent, on his second day. Why do you think that is?"
She grabbed a few documents related to the school government, all while continuing to speak.
"His lack of presence, it's likely not because he's too scared to come here and get insulted publicly. Everyone here still knows that you claimed the video to be scripted—he can come anytime he wants. Yet, today, he didn't."
Trizha bit her lip, hesitating to answer. If anything, this was the first time she had seen T. Myrcella acts this calm and collected. It was scarier than how she usually acted around them.
But that wasn't what's making her hesitate.
"...I didn't mean to." She finally spoke out. "I didn't mean to go that far, I just wanted to get back at him. I mean, he said something that… got me upset."
"'Stop making yourself any worse than you already are' are those the same words that made you upset?"
She circled around Trizha menacingly, gazing at the back of her head as if visualising herself staring directly at her eyes, observing her movements and understanding them.
"I hope not—those words are for your self reflection, and yet you ignored them. And you chose violence."
"B-but ma'am, it's just that he–"
"Blaming the victim as the cause won't change anything, Trizha."
T. Myrcella went on a halt, and at the same time, Trizha finally looked up to her.
Her eyes seemed rough and troubled, it was clear that she was struggling with herself lately.
The teacher's eyes glanced down on one of Trizha's hands for a second and noticed a strain in her palm, recalling that one time yesterday when she saw her leaving the classroom with her broken camera at hand.
At that moment, she knew that a conflict was born, and that conflict consequenced Trizha's life the moment she decided to make it happen.
To the eyes of the many who witnessed on the skin, that conflict only lasted since yesterday, or it didn't exist.
But to Trizha, that face tells T. Myrcella that to Trizha, the conflict seemed as if it would last forever.
Hearing those words, Trizha flinched. And now, she was speechless, but her advisor wasn't done speaking.
"That look in your face, it tells everything; you want… a fix. Isn't it? But here you are, placing and handing over the shame of your mistakes on others as if they were supposed to take it just because they were involved. That's not how you fix it, you're just adding more cracks in an already broken case. Feel how shamefully pathetic that is?"
The two of them stared at each other, before Trizha decided to drop her head. Nothing came to her mind anymore, she was completely speechless.
T. Myrcella found it unrealistic of her to act that way, but she understood it knowing the guilt Trizha had to carry for hours to come.
She crossed her arms, thinking. Then, an idea came to mind, before walking back to her desk and taking out a scrap of paper then writing something on it.
"You know, I'm not a professional when it comes to fixing idiots… but no one can fix themselves if they don't accept their own mistakes and have others take the burden instead—I don't want something like that to happen to someone like you, taking that route."
Trizha glanced over to T. Myrcella, surprised. This was the first time she had seen her act so generous, especially… around someone like her.
"Take this paper." She said as she scrolled the scrap of paper and reached it to Trizha, who took it on her quietly in confusion. "I don't like you, and I never will. But I have high hopes—and that paper holds the key to that hope. You want to fix yourself? You want redemption? Use that paper. I'm sure… it will lead you to the right path, the right route."
Trizha nodded without a word, staring down on the scrolled piece of paper at the palm of her hands. And slowly and deliberately, she unscrolled the paper open, and what was written on it surprised her.
It wasn't words.
It wasn't a sentence.
It wasn't anything that could help her at all.
But what showed in that paper… were just three-digit numbers.
[187]