The house was silent when they returned.
Too silent.
Marvello stepped inside without removing her shoes. The light in the hallway flickered once, then steadied. She didn't bother touching the bruise beneath her eye; it throbbed in slow, dull pulses, like it was keeping time.
The door shut behind her.
Her aunt didn't raise her voice.
That was how Marvello knew this would be worse.
"Sit."
Marvello remained standing.
Her aunt turned slowly, arms folded, eyes sharp with a hatred that had been polished over years—not sudden, not emotional. Practiced.
"You embarrassed us," her aunt said. "Again."
"I stopped someone from hurting a boy," Marvello replied.
Her aunt scoffed. "You caused it. You always do. Wherever you go, things break."
Marvello leaned against the wall instead, posture loose, unreadable. The torn collar of her uniform hung slightly off her shoulder. The bruise on her face had darkened.
Her aunt noticed it.
Ignored it.
"Do you know how it looked?" her aunt continued. "Teachers calling. Parents staring. Police asking questions. Your uncle had to explain why you were involved."
Marvello tilted her head. "Did he explain why Naoki put his hands on me?"
Her aunt's eyes hardened. "Don't exaggerate."
That landed harder than a slap.
Marvello went quiet.
The silence stretched. Her aunt mistook it for guilt.
"You were never meant to stay here long," her aunt said coldly. "Ever since you came back into this family, you've been nothing but a stain."
Marvello pushed off the wall.
Slowly.
"I didn't push him to kill him," she said. "I pushed him to stop."
Her aunt laughed—soft, sharp. "Listen to yourself. You always sound like you're justifying something."
She stepped closer now, invading space.
"You scare people," her aunt whispered. "Not because you're strong. Because you don't look sorry afterward."
Marvello finally met her eyes.
"I'm not sorry," she said calmly. "I'm angry."
Her aunt's lips curled. "Anger suits you. Violence too. Just like your—"
"Finish that sentence," Marvello said.
Her tone didn't rise.
It dropped.
Her aunt stopped.
For a brief moment, something like caution flickered across her face.
"You think you're untouchable," her aunt said instead. "But you're not. You live under my roof. My rules."
Marvello nodded once. "Then make a rule."
Her aunt frowned. "What?"
"Tell me what I'm not allowed to do," Marvello said. "Protect people? Defend myself? Or exist?"
Her aunt raised her hand.
Not to strike.
To point.
"You will stay invisible," she said. "No more incidents. No more attention. No more of this—" she gestured vaguely at Marvello's face, her posture, her presence "—act."
Marvello smiled.
Not fake.
Not gentle.
"Then you chose the wrong girl to raise," she said.
Her aunt's voice sharpened. "Go to your room."
Marvello turned without another word.
Halfway down the hall, her aunt called after her.
"If you ever put this family at risk again—"
Marvello stopped.
She didn't turn around.
"You already decided I'm the risk," she said quietly. "So don't pretend this is about protection."
She walked into her room and closed the door.
Gently.
Inside, she sat on the edge of the bed, shoulders finally sagging. The mask slipped—not into tears, not into fear—but into something colder.
Resolve.
Her phone buzzed.
A message from Ji-Hyun.
Are you home?I'm sorry. Please don't get hurt because of me.
Marvello stared at the screen for a long moment.
Then she typed:
I don't get hurt because of people like you.I get hurt because I stop monsters.
She set the phone down.
Outside her room, the house remained quiet.
---
Marvello rose from her bed slowly, bare feet touching the cold floor.
She was dressed in a simple pajama set—soft, worn fabric clinging loosely to her frame. The sleeves hung past her wrists, one shoulder slipping slightly where the seam had stretched over time. She looked fragile like this. Almost harmless.
Almost.
She sighed and stepped toward the mirror across the room.
Her reflection stared back at her: one eye still faintly darkened, lips pale, hair falling untamed around her face. She smirked—not playful, not cruel. Calculated. As if she and her reflection shared a private joke no one else could hear.
With careful steps, she gripped the edge of the tall mirror and slid it aside.
Behind it was the board.
Pictures. Frames. Order.
At the very top: Aunt Mary.Blonde hair. A perfect smile. The kind that never reached the eyes.
Below her: Uncle Takahashi.Neutral expression. Clean. Distant. A man who watched and never intervened.
Beneath them: Nairo Takahashi.His picture was different. Crooked. A mischievous smile frozen in place—too sharp for a child, too proud for someone who had never earned it.
Marvello's fingers tightened at her sides.
Memories surfaced without warning.
A small girl on her knees, scrubbing at a dark stain on the floor.A sharp shove.A foot connecting with ribs too fragile to defend themselves.Shattered glass.Blood that wasn't hers—but she cleaned it anyway.
That little girl had been twelve.
And that little girl had been her.
Her gaze dropped.
Beneath Nairo's photo, almost hidden, lay another frame—tilted, protected, untouched.
Her real family.
Her mother's warm eyes.Her father's easy, cheerful grin.Her sister—small, innocent, smiling like the world had never hurt her.
Marvello's expression softened.
For a moment, the mask slipped.
Her eyes burned. Tears threatened—but didn't fall. They were old tears. Spent long ago.
She inhaled slowly.
Then her gaze lifted again—to Aunt Mary's photo.
"They think they can control me," Marvello murmured softly."They think they can erase what they did."
Her smile widened—not joyful, not wild.
Certain.
"I'll make them face it," she whispered. "Every lie. Every scar. Every moment they pretended I didn't matter."
She slid the mirror back into place just as a sharp knock hit her door.
Once.Twice.
"Open up," Nairo's voice called. Cold. Familiar.
She hid the photos quickly, hands steady, expression blank once more. Only then did she open the door.
Nairo leaned against the frame, arms crossed, eyes flicking over her bruised face with open disdain.
"You really don't learn," he said. "No matter how many times you mess up."
She said nothing.
"You're ungrateful," he continued. "You don't belong here. Never did."
Marvello looked at him calmly.
"You know," she said quietly, "my sister used to smile like you never could."
His lips twitched.
"Oh," he smirked. "Her? She's long gone."
Something inside Marvello cracked.
Not loudly.
Dangerously.
"She was twelve," Marvello said, voice low. "Just like I was when you ruined everything."
Nairo shrugged. "Not my problem."
She stared at him for a long moment—really stared.
Then she smiled.
"You should've been kinder," she said softly.
Nairo scoffed and stepped back. "You're still nothing."
He walked away.
The door closed.
Marvello stood there in her pajamas, fists clenched, breath slow and controlled.
That night, she came close to breaking.
But she didn't.
And that was what made her terrifying.