No one helped.
Chairs stayed still. Voices thinned. Eyes slid away as if the floor had suddenly become interesting.
Only one person stood.
Marvello rose from her seat behind Ji-Hyun's table, lifting her tray with one hand and with unhurried precision. A few strands of her dark hair slipped loose, veiling one eye. Her skin looked pale beneath the cafeteria lights, her face composed—beautiful in a distant, untouchable way.
She walked forward.
Whispers stirred immediately.
"That's Marvello."
"What is she doing?"
"She's going to regret that."
Marvello stopped in front of the boy on the floor.
"Ji-Hyun," she said softly.
The sound of his name made his breath hitch. Tears clung to his lashes, his glasses fogged. When she extended her hand, he hesitated—then took it, fingers trembling.
She pulled him up.
Steady. Silent.
Guided him back to his chair.
Made him sit.
Then she placed her burger on his tray and slid it toward him. No encouragement. No pity. Just presence.
Naoki turned around.
Slowly.
His brow lifted, amused.
"Oh?" he said. "What's this supposed to be?"
Behind him, Hana stiffened. "Naoki…" she warned quietly.
Marvello sat beside Ji-Hyun.
Didn't look at Naoki.
Naoki walked back, irritation creeping into his smile. "You think you can just sit there?"
His hand reached out and grabbed Marvello's hair.
A collective breath was sucked from the room.
"She's not reacting," someone whispered.
"What's wrong with her?"
One of his friends shoved her shoulder. Hard.
Marvello didn't move.
Ji-Hyun panicked.
"Please—please stop," he begged, voice breaking. "It's my fault—just leave her alone—"
Naoki scoffed.
"This is your fault," he said, grabbing Ji-Hyun by the collar and yanking him halfway out of his seat.
Gasps erupted.
Marvello finally looked up.
Naoki picked up the burger she had given Ji-Hyun.
Looked at it.
Then spat on it.
The sound was small—but it landed like a slap.
He shoved it back onto the tray.
"Eat," he said again. "Or what? Your girlfriend gonna cry for you?"
Ji-Hyun shook violently, tears spilling freely now.
The cafeteria felt tight. Suffocating.
Marvello's hand paused mid-air, fingers still curled around her tray.
Her eyes didn't blaze.
They emptied.
She stood.
Slowly.
Naoki smirked. "Oh? Now you—"
The tray came down.
Hard.
Metal rang against bone.
The sound cut through the cafeteria like a crack of thunder.
Screams burst out.
"Oh my god—!"
Naoki staggered back, clutching his face as blood streamed from his nose, splattering onto the floor.
Before anyone could react—
Marvello punched one of his friends straight in the chest, knocking the breath from him.
She pivoted and kicked another sharply in the leg, sending him crashing into a table.
The last boy froze.
Marvello turned to him.
Looked at him.
Didn't blink.
He backed away immediately, hands lifting, fear written all over his face.
Naoki wiped his nose, red coating his fingers, fury twisting his features.
Marvello stepped forward.
Her voice was calm. Low. Deadly quiet.
"Touch him again," she said, "and I won't stop here."
She glanced at Ji-Hyun—still shaking, still crying.
Then back at Naoki.
"You don't sit here. You don't speak here. You don't exist here anymore."
A pause.
"Stay away from him. And don't come back to this cafeteria."
Silence followed.
Someone whispered, awed, "She didn't even raise her voice…"
Naoki said nothing.
His friends dragged him away, bleeding and humiliated, the crowd parting instinctively.
Marvello sat back down.
Pushed the burger closer to Ji-Hyun again—clean this time, untouched.
He stared at her, sobbing quietly.
She didn't say a word.
Around them, whispers spread like wildfire—
"That was terrifying."
"She didn't hesitate at all."
"Naoki's done."
Ji-Hyun took a shaky breath.
And ate.
---
The rumors followed her to the gate.They didn't follow her home.
Her house was warm.
Lights on. Shoes neatly lined. The smell of rice and oil in the air.
Marvello slipped off her shoes and tied her hair back before anyone spoke.
The sink was already full.
She rolled up her sleeves.
Water ran. Plates clinked. Her movements were automatic, precise. When the dishes were done, she swept. Then mopped. Then checked the rice cooker.
Her aunt passed by, glancing at the counter. Nothing was said. That was approval enough.
Her uncle sat in the living room, news murmuring softly. His eyes flicked toward her once, then back to the screen.
Her cousin lounged with his phone, feet up. He didn't move when she passed.
Marvello cooked. Served. Stepped back.
Only after everyone had finished did she sit.
At the edge of the kitchen table.
Bread.Tea.
She ate quietly
Marvello stood at the sink, sleeves rolled neatly to her elbows, fingers red from scrubbing.
Her posture was straight—too straight for someone who lived here. She moved like she had memorized the space: where the plates went, how much pressure the sponge needed, how quietly she should breathe.
Behind her, her aunt sat at the dining table.
Mrs. Takahashi always looked put together in a way that felt intentional. Her hair was pinned back neatly, not a strand out of place. She wore a soft beige blouse and a thin gold necklace that caught the light when she moved—subtle, tasteful, expensive. Her hands were clean. Untouched by work. Her nails were pale pink, perfectly shaped.
She watched Marvello the way one watches a reflection—detached, mildly critical.
"I heard about school today," she said.
Marvello didn't turn around.
The water kept running.
"They say you made quite a scene in the cafeteria," her aunt went on, voice calm, almost bored. "People talk very quickly about girls like you."
Marvello shut off the tap. Slowly. She dried her hands with the corner of her apron, careful not to wrinkle it.
Her aunt's eyes flicked toward the hallway."Nairo," she called.
From the living room, a boy looked up.
Nairo Takahashi sat slouched on the couch, one arm draped lazily over the backrest. He had his phone in one hand, long fingers scrolling without interest.
He looked like his mother—sharp eyes, straight nose—but where she was polished, he was careless. His school uniform jacket lay discarded beside him, tie loosened, shirt half-untucked like rules didn't apply to him.
When his name was called, he lifted his head.
Just for a second, his eyes met Marvello's.
His gaze slid over her—apron, tied-back hair, bare feet on the cold floor—then away again, as if she were furniture.
"What?" he muttered.
"Nothing," his mother replied smoothly. "Go back to what you were doing."
He did. Immediately.
No question. No hesitation.
Marvello felt it then—that familiar tightening in her chest. Not surprise. Not hurt.
Contempt.
Her aunt smiled faintly, satisfied.
"You see?" she said, folding her hands together. "Even Nairo knows better than to involve himself in unnecessary trouble."
Marvello finally turned.
Her face was calm. Pale. Beautiful in a way that never asked for approval. One loose strand of dark hair had slipped free near her cheek, and she tucked it back with practiced grace.
"I understand," she said softly.
Her aunt studied her, eyes narrowing just a fraction."You should be grateful," she added. "We took you in. We give you a roof, food, an education. The least you can do is not embarrass us."
Marvello bowed her head.
Perfect angle. Perfect timing.
"Yes, Aunt."
Inside, something cold settled deeper.
She hated the way her aunt spoke without raising her voice.She hated the way Nairo looked through her like she wasn't there.She hated this house—the warmth that never belonged to her, the silence that only broke when she was being corrected.
Her aunt stood, heels clicking softly against the floor.
"Finish up," she said. "Dinner will be ready soon."
As she walked away, Marvello returned to the sink.
She picked up the last plate.
Her reflection stared back at her from the metal surface—quiet eyes, steady hands.
They thought she was obedient.
They were wrong.