"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]
It was a week ago when it happened—when Trizha herself had received the special piece of paper from her adviser, T. Myrcella.
It was a very, very specific number.
A year ago, a much younger Trizha had searched up 'Angelic Numbers' on the internet based on the request given to her by a fan during her vlogging session.
And the number 187, in Angelic Numbers, meant that 'One's uniqueness will set them to the right path for progress'.
The right path for progress… seems like T. Myrcella gave the right, specifically odd number to her student despite disliking her in every way.
A perfect sign to help Trizha fix herself.
However, it wasn't the kind of 'fixing' Trizha needed.
"Ma'am Myrcella, you… you idiot!"
Trizha suddenly screamed in her thoughts, taken aback after her eyes allowed her to witness a man standing at the door frame before her; Nomoro Ketatsuki, the public-claimed Demon of Nine Years Ago.
She clutched the same scrap of paper she was holding the whole time, gripping it hard as she recalls that one time when T. Myrcella handed her that paper.
And she realized that Nomoro is the one person who will, apparently, fix her.
"This is it? Your plan?" She thought to herself, paranoid. "You're telling me that the person who will fix me… is the person that I personally broke?!?!"
Just hours ago, she had already made a decision; avoid Nomoro at all cost.
Why? It's simple; For his sake.
Her guilt, her shame, her mistake, it all led to the beginning of this very conflict.
Sure, an apology MIGHT fix the conflict, but the possibility of a refused request and also the possibility of violence scares her.
But this is for him.
Her isolation is just for this one man.
"Yeah… I'm your roommate. But don't worry… I won't tell anyone what I just saw."
Nomoro spoke softly, taking a single step away from the bedroom door and toward his neglected travel bag, which sat innocently by the suite's entryway.
But in Trizha's mind, paralyzed by guilt, that step was not toward the bag; it was a terrifying advance toward her.
The sound of the door closing and the finality of their shared, isolated space seemed to crush the air out of her lungs.
She watched him move, and a deep, agonizing wave of shame washed over her.
Every past moment of casual cruelty she had inflicted upon him flashed through her memory—the dismissive looks, the cold words, the way she had actively made his life miserable ever since he came to her life.
Her heart pounded a frantic rhythm against her ribs.
She was suddenly consumed by the belief that he wasn't just walking; he was closing the distance, and he was there for retribution.
A single, devastating memory rose above the rest, chilling her to the bone.
[...resign yourself from this school, and get out of here, Demon.]
The sound of that phrase, her phrase, echoed louder than the blood rushing in her ears.
"No… NO!!" It was an instinctive, explosive reaction.
She suddenly scrambled, grabbing anything within reach—a remote control, a hard-backed guidebook the hotel had left on the coffee table, a ceramic coaster—and started hurling them wildly at Nomoro.
Nomoro staggered back, shocked.
The guidebook caught him squarely on the side of the head with a muffled thwack, quickly followed by the sting of a flying coaster.
He instinctively raised his arms, crossing them over his face and head in defense.
"Trizha– Wha– what are you doing?!" He shouted. "Calm down! I'm not going to hurt you!"
"Stay away, stay away, stay away!"
Her voice was raw, laced with genuine terror, not anger.
She stumbled backward across the plush carpet, her eyes wide and rapidly filling with unshed tears.
She frantically sought out more items to use as projectiles, recklessly deciding that a desperate barrage of objects was the only way to create distance and ensure her own safety from the imagined threat.
Nomoro, however, did not retreat.
Though he had to duck and block the remaining missiles, he continued to advance slowly, stepping over the discarded items on the floor.
He was utterly confused by her violent panic, but seeing the abject fear in her eyes, he knew he couldn't leave her to spiral.
Whether her actions were pure malice or a terrified reaction, he felt compelled to understand.
After a short, tense pursuit, Nomoro managed to close the final gap. He swiftly reached out and gripped both of her wrists using both of his hands, finally stopping her frantic, reckless rampage.
The small ceramic vase she had been about to throw clattered harmlessly to the floor. Trizha fought against his hold, her chest heaving.
"You— LET ME GO!!"
Nomoro held fast, his voice firm but quiet, forcing her to look at him. "No! Not until you tell me why you were throwing and hurling things at me! What did you think I was going to do?"
His grip on her wrists was not designed to inflict pain; it was simply a firm, steady anchor designed to restrain and prevent further self-destructive action.
Trizha's resistance crumbled under the intensity of her guilt. She stared past his shoulder, her lower lip trembling uncontrollably.
"No…! I… I don't deserve it..."
Nomoro softened his grip, perplexed by the strange, self-punishing declaration.
"What…? Deserve what, Trizha?"
This moment of confusion was all the opening Trizha needed.
Drawing on a surprising burst of desperate strength, she drove her knee up, connecting sharply with Nomoro's stomach.
He immediately let out a pained grunt, doubling over and releasing his hands from her wrists.
The breath rushed out of him in a wheezing gasp.
As Nomoro squirmed in pain, Trizha sprinted past him, flung open the nearest door—which led to the master bedroom—and slammed it shut behind her.
The sound of the deadbolt locking was a loud, metallic click.
She sighed a shaky breath of relief and immediately slid her back down the smooth, cool wood of the door, collapsing onto the floor with her knees drawn up.
Meanwhile, Nomoro slowly managed to straighten up instantly, his hand pressed over his abdomen as he struggled to regain his breath.
He approached the bedroom door, staring at the polished surface for a long moment. He remained silent, processing the chaotic, deeply troubled scene that had just unfolded.
Finally, he lifted his hand and knocked gently. "Trizha…? Are you really okay?"
Trizha, muffled by the wood and her fetal position, replied in a small, defeated voice.
"No… no one's here…"
Nomoro's voice was soft, genuinely apologetic, trying to reason with her through the barrier.
"Trizha… I'm sorry if I actually did hurt you earlier or if I scared you by approaching—"
Trizha's composure instantly broke. Her voice cracked as she shouted, cutting him off.
"Just go away!"
Nomoro flinched at the raw sound of her distress. He let out a long, quiet sigh of defeat, knowing that pressing her now would only make things worse.
He turned away from the door, his voice barely a whisper, filled with a gentle pity.
"I see, I get it. Just… recover in there for a while… I'm sorry."
He walked off, leaving her in the lonely sanctuary of the bedroom.
At the same time, Trizha was curled into a tight ball, her arms wrapped around her legs as she buried her face into her thighs. She was sobbing softly, the suppressed guilt of years finally erupting.
"Oh my God…!" She shouted to herself, gasping loudly. "Frick, I'm such an idiot…"
She knew she was overreacting. But to her, it was too much.
Since that day when she broke Nomoro, her connection with him rose up indirectly.
With that reputation of his, he always stood capable and enduring.
And she became one of the many who just had to break that shield that made him tough on the inside.
It was too much, since he suffered right before he met her. She understood that much.
But no matter what, she will never, ever, stand up to that.
At least, what she thought.
"...I don't deserve your forgiveness yet…""...I don't deserve your forgiveness yet…"