Ruz's POV
Kuya's office did not believe in comfort.
It never had. The chairs were functional rather than soft, the lighting was practical rather than warm, and the air itself seemed to carry the quiet weight of expectations that had been placed on these walls long before I ever sat in this room. This was not a space for relaxing. This was a space for working, for learning, for understanding that actions had consequences and that consequences often came in the form of paperwork.
I sat across from the desk, one leg bouncing slightly under the table, a pen spinning between my fingers like it had a life of its own and had decided that stillness was beneath it. Papers were spread in front of me—organized, labeled, annoyingly neat. Columns of numbers. Lists of names. Details that required attention and precision and patience.
I hated how good I was at this.
"…You skipped line three," Kuya said without looking up from his own documents.
I did not even glance at the paper. "I did not."
"You did," he said.
"I did not," I insisted.
A pause stretched between us, filled only by the soft scratch of his pen on paper.
Then, "…Check again."
I clicked my tongue against the roof of my mouth, irritated, and let my eyes drop to the document for half a second.
A beat of silence.
"…Oh," I said quietly.
Adrian, still leaning against the wall with his arms crossed and his expression lazy, let out a quiet laugh that he did not bother to hide. "That was fast. That was record time. I think that might be a new personal best for you."
I shot him a look sharp enough to cut glass. "Say one more word and I will misfile your existence. I will lose your paperwork in a system so deep that no one will ever find you again."
"You already did that years ago," he said, completely unbothered. "I have been missing in some database somewhere since 2018. It is fine. I have adapted."
"I can make it permanent," I said. "I can erase you entirely. You will become a ghost. A rumor. A cautionary tale that people tell their children."
"You would miss me too much," he said.
"I would throw a party," I said.
Kuya did not react outwardly to our exchange, his face remaining as neutral as ever, but I caught the faintest shift at the corner of his mouth. The barest hint of something that might have been amusement if he had allowed it to fully form.
"…Fix it," he said, gesturing to the paper in front of me.
I sighed dramatically, the sound loud and exaggerated in the quiet room, but I corrected the line anyway. My handwriting was sharp, precise, the kind of neatness that surprised people who only knew the chaotic version of me.
That was the thing about me that most people did not understand. Chaos outside. Precision inside. The storm and the stillness, existing in the same body, waiting for different moments to show themselves.
"…Done," I muttered, dropping the pen onto the desk.
Kuya finally looked up, his eyes scanning the page briefly before he nodded once, a small gesture of approval that he did not offer often.
"Good," he said.
I leaned back in my chair, stretching my arms above my head until my shoulders cracked. "…See? Efficient. I finished faster than you expected."
"Barely," Adrian added from the wall. "The word you are looking for is barely. You barely finished before he mentioned it."
"Still counts," I said. "Efficient is efficient. There are no degrees of efficiency. You either are or you are not."
Kuya closed the file in front of him, setting it aside with the others. "You are improving," he said, and his voice was matter-of-fact, like he was stating a weather report rather than offering a compliment.
I blinked, caught off guard by the words.
I had not expected that. From Kuya, compliments were rare things, given sparingly and only when truly deserved. He was not the kind of person who handed out praise for effort alone. He waited for results.
"…Do not say that like it is rare," I said, recovering quickly.
"It is," he said simply.
"…Wow," I said, and I was not sure whether I meant it sarcastically or genuinely.
Adrian snorted from the wall, pushing off briefly before settling back against the paint. "Frame that moment. Take a picture. It will not happen again. That was a once-in-a-lifetime event, and you should treasure it."
I grabbed a paper clip from the desk and flicked it at him with practiced accuracy.
It hit his shoulder and bounced off, landing on the floor with a soft ping.
He did not even flinch.
"…Weak," he said, his smirk widening.
"…You are testing your luck," I warned.
"I do not need luck," he said. "I have reflexes. I have speed. I have years of experience dodging things you have thrown at me."
"You will not have those reflexes when you are asleep," I said. "Sleep is when I will strike. Sleep is when you are vulnerable. Sleep is when revenge happens."
"I do not sleep," he said.
"Everyone sleeps," I said.
"I am not everyone," he said.
"Clearly," I muttered.
Kuya stood from his chair, the movement slow and deliberate, effectively ending the conversation before it could spiral further. His presence filled the room even in silence, the kind of authority that came from years of being the person everyone else looked to when things went wrong.
"That is enough for tonight," he said.
I immediately stood up, grabbing my bag from the floor. "Finally. I thought this would never end. I was beginning to think I would die in this chair and become part of the furniture."
"But," Kuya added calmly, and my heart sank.
I froze mid-step, my hand on the back of the chair, already knowing what was coming next.
"…No," I said.
"Tomorrow," he continued, as if I had not spoken at all, "you will come here after school. We are not finished with the audit, and I want it completed by the end of the week."
"…No," I said again.
"Yes," he said.
"I have a life," I protested. "I have things to do. People to see. Chaos to create."
"You have responsibilities," he corrected. "The audit is one of them. Your education is another. Your behavior is a third, though that one seems to be more flexible than I would like."
"I reject these responsibilities," I said. "I reject them fully and completely. I am exercising my right to refuse."
"You will not," he said.
"…You are consistent," I said, slumping slightly. "I will give you that. You are consistently inconvenient."
"And you are predictable," he replied. "You always argue. You always lose. You always show up anyway."
Adrian pushed off the wall, stretching his arms above his head with unnecessary drama. "This is entertaining. I am enjoying this. Watching you lose is one of my favorite hobbies."
I pointed at him, my finger sharp and accusing. "You are still next. Do not think I have forgotten. Your turn is coming, and I will be there to watch."
"I will bring snacks," he said. "Popcorn. Drinks. Maybe a small cushion for comfort."
"Bring your will," I said. "You will need it."
Kuya shook his head slightly, the movement carrying the weight of years spent managing the two of us. "Go to sleep. Both of you. The house does not need more chaos tonight."
And just like that, we were dismissed.
The Next Day at School
The school was loud when I arrived the next morning, but it was a different kind of loud than the house. Not warm. Not familiar. More chaotic in a way that had nothing to do with love and everything to do with hundreds of teenagers being forced into the same building at the same time.
Less familiar. Less safe.
I walked through the hallway with my usual expression neutral, distant, unreadable. My bag hung loosely over one shoulder, my steps were steady and unhurried, and I made no unnecessary eye contact with anyone. No unnecessary conversations. No unnecessary attention.
Section C was my space now, or as close to a space as I had in this building. The classroom was already half-full when I arrived, students scattered across the desks in various states of wakefulness.
Liam was already there, sitting sideways on his chair with his legs dangling over one armrest, lazily scrolling through his phone like he had nowhere else to be and no one else to see. He glanced up as I entered, his eyes scanning my face with the sharpness of someone who had learned to read people quickly.
"…You look like you fought someone," he said.
I dropped into my seat without ceremony, letting my bag fall to the floor beside me. "I did," I said.
"…You are joking," he said, though his voice suggested he was not entirely sure.
"I am not," I said.
He stared at me for a second, his phone forgotten in his hand, his expression cycling through confusion, concern, and something that looked almost like admiration.
"…I do not know if I should be concerned or impressed," he said finally.
"Both," I said. "The correct answer is both."
"…Fair," he said, nodding slowly.
A small pause settled between us, comfortable despite everything. Liam leaned back in his chair, his eyes still on me, studying me like I was a puzzle he was trying to solve.
"You are always like this?" he asked casually, though I could tell the question mattered to him more than he was letting on.
"Like what?" I asked, pulling out my notebook.
"Like you are about to either solve a problem or create one," he said. "There is no in between with you. You are either fixing something or breaking something. There is no neutral setting."
I leaned back slightly in my chair, considering his observation. "…That depends on the day. And the problem. And whether the problem deserves to be fixed or broken."
"And today?" he asked.
"…We will see," I said.
That answer did not comfort him at all.
The Cafeteria
If the house was chaos, the cafeteria was war.
Students crowded everywhere, their bodies pressing against each other in the endless shuffle toward food. Noise bounced off the walls in overlapping waves, trays clattered against counters, and voices rose and fell in a constant symphony of irritation and excitement.
I stood in line, already annoyed by the time I had reached the middle of it.
"…If someone cuts in front of me," I muttered under my breath, "I will commit a crime. I will not hesitate. I will make it look like an accident."
"You threaten that a lot," a voice said from beside me.
I did not turn. I already knew who it was. The voice was too familiar, too annoying, too present in my life for me to mistake it for anyone else.
"…You appear a lot," I said flatly.
Adrian stepped into the space beside me, his hands in his pockets, his posture completely relaxed despite the chaos surrounding us. He looked like he belonged here, like he had always belonged here, like the noise and the crowds and the constant pressure were things he had long since learned to ignore.
"…Miss me?" he asked.
"No," I said.
"Liar," he said.
"Delusional," I replied.
Behind us, someone cleared their throat.
"…You two again."
I glanced back.
That boy Rifat, stood a few feet behind us in the line, leaning against the wall with his arms crossed and a faint smirk playing at the corners of his mouth. His eyes moved between me and Adrian with the careful attention of someone who was always watching, always calculating, always trying to understand something that did not add up.
"…You survived yesterday," I said.
"Barely," he said. "You throw drinks like you are aiming for a record. I have never seen someone commit to a beverage-based attack with such enthusiasm."
"Maybe I am aiming for a record," I said. "Maybe I have been training for this my whole life. You do not know my journey."
Adrian chuckled, low and amused. "She practices at home. She has a target set up in the backyard. It is very serious."
"I do not practice," I said. "I am naturally talented. Practice is for people who need improvement."
"Violence is not a talent," Adrian said.
"It is in my category," I said. "I have created my own category. Welcome to it."
Rifat shook his head, and despite himself, a genuine smile flickered across his face. "You are impossible. Completely impossible."
"You keep showing up," I said. "That is your mistake. That is where you went wrong. You could have walked away yesterday, and instead, you stayed."
"And yet," he said, "here I am."
"Here you are," I agreed.
We finally got our food, shuffling through the line and loading our trays with whatever looked edible. The cafeteria was even louder once we reached the tables, the noise rising to a deafening roar that made conversation difficult.
Then the real fight began.
I sat down first, placing my tray on the table like I owned the entire cafeteria and everyone else was simply borrowing space. Adrian sat across from me without asking, settling into the chair like he had been sitting there for years. Rifat slid into the seat beside him, his movements lazy but deliberate.
Liam arrived a moment later, hesitating at the edge of the table before slowly sitting down next to me.
"…I feel like I am entering a danger zone," he said, looking around at the rest of us. "Like I have made a series of poor decisions that have led me to this exact moment."
"You are," Adrian replied calmly, picking up his fork. "This is a danger zone. Welcome."
I picked up a fry from my tray, crispy and golden, and brought it toward my mouth.
Adrian reached across the table and took it mid-air.
I froze.
My hand remained suspended in the space between us, empty now, the fry gone from my fingers like it had never existed.
I slowly turned my head to look at him.
"…Give it back," I said.
"No," he said, eating the fry with deliberate slowness.
"That was mine," I said.
"It is mine now," he said. "Possession is nine-tenths of the law. I possess it. Therefore, it is mine."
"You are testing your survival instincts," I warned.
"They are strong," he said. "Very strong. Years of training."
I reached for another fry.
Adrian moved the entire tray just out of my reach.
"…Oh," I said, my voice dropping to something dangerous and low. "You are dead. You are actually dead. I hope you have made peace with your choices."
I lunged slightly across the table, my hand stretching for the tray. He blocked me with his forearm, shifting his own tray in front of mine as a barrier. Our trays scraped against each other, plastic against plastic, and a drink wobbled dangerously close to the edge.
Nearly spilled. Nearly.
"…HEY!" someone from another table snapped, but I ignored it completely.
"You think this is funny?" I said, my eyes locked on Adrian's smirking face.
"It is," he said. "It is very funny. I am enjoying myself immensely."
"You are stealing my food," I accused.
"I am sharing," he corrected. "There is a difference. Sharing implies generosity. I am being generous by allowing you to watch me eat your food."
"That is not sharing!"
"It is if I eat it," he said. "Sharing is about the experience, not the outcome."
Rifat laughed under his breath, low and amused, watching our exchange like it was his favorite television show.
Liam looked between the two of us, his expression caught somewhere between confusion and concern. "…Why do you act like siblings?" he asked. "You fight like siblings. You insult each other like siblings. You steal each other's food like siblings."
Silence fell over our table for just a second.
Then, at the exact same time, both Adrian and I said, "We do not."
Too fast. Too synchronized. Too defensive.
Liam blinked at us, his eyes narrowing. "…That was suspicious. That was deeply suspicious. That was the response of people who are hiding something."
"You are suspicious," I shot back, pointing my fork at him.
"I just got here!" he protested, throwing his hands up. "I have been sitting at this table for less than five minutes! I have done nothing!"
"Exactly," I said. "You are suspicious because you are too innocent. No one is that innocent."
"That does not make sense!" he said.
"It makes perfect sense," Adrian said. "You just lack the intellectual capacity to understand."
"I hate this table," Liam declared. "I hate all of you."
"Welcome to the family," Rifat said dryly.
Meanwhile, across the cafeteria, a group of girls sat at a nearby table, their heads bent together, their eyes flickering toward us every few seconds.
They were watching. Whispering. Annoyed.
"…Why is she so comfortable with them?" one of them asked, her voice carrying just enough for me to catch the words if I was paying attention.
"…She is always around Adrian," another said. "Every time I look, she is there. Talking to him. Sitting with him. Stealing his food."
"…And Rifat too," a third added, her tone sharper. "She just showed up yesterday, and suddenly she is everywhere."
"…She is new," the first one said. "Acting like she owns the place. Like she has been here for years instead of one day."
One of them the one with the sharpest eyes and the sharpest voice, stood up from her chair. She smoothed down her skirt, lifted her chin, and walked directly toward our table.
The conversation at our table died as she approached.
She stopped in front of me, looking down at where I sat, her arms crossed over her chest.
"…You should learn some boundaries," she said, her voice loud enough for the surrounding tables to hear.
I looked up slowly, my expression neutral, my fry still suspended halfway to my mouth.
"…You should learn timing," I said. "Interrupting someone mid-meal is rude. Everyone knows this."
The girl frowned, clearly not expecting me to push back. "I am serious," she said. "I am being serious right now."
"So am I," I said. "I am always serious. It is exhausting."
"You are being disrespectful," she said. "You are new here. You do not know how things work. You cannot just walk in and act like you belong."
"You approached me," I pointed out. "I was sitting here, eating my food, minding my own business. You walked across the cafeteria to speak to me. That means you wanted this conversation more than I did."
"That does not mean...." she started.
"It does in my world," I interrupted.
Adrian leaned back in his chair, watching the exchange with visible interest. His food was forgotten in front of him, his full attention on me and the girl standing over our table.
Rifat smirked slightly, his eyes moving between us like he was enjoying himself.
Liam whispered to no one in particular, "…This is going to escalate. I can feel it escalating. The energy is shifting."
"Yes," Adrian replied, not looking away from the scene.
"Why are you so calm?!" Liam hissed.
"Because it is entertaining," Adrian said. "This is the most interesting thing that has happened all day."
The girl across from me crossed her arms tighter, her knuckles going white. "You think you are special?" she asked, her voice dripping with disdain. "You think you are different from everyone else who has walked through those doors?"
I tilted my head slightly, considering the question.
"…No," I said finally. "I do not think I am special. I think I am different. There is a distinction, and the distinction matters."
"That is not a good thing," she said.
"It is not supposed to be," I said. "Good and bad do not apply here. I am simply what I am. You can like it or not. That is your choice to make, not mine."
The tension at the table sharpened, pulling tight like a wire about to snap.
Then Rifat spoke.
"…Relax," he said, his voice calm and measured. "It is not that serious. Sit down. Eat your food. Let her eat hers."
The girl looked at him, her eyes narrowing. "You are defending her? You are taking her side?"
"I am preventing a scene," he said. "There is a difference, and the difference is that I do not want to clean up the mess."
"Too late," Adrian added, gesturing to the surrounding tables. "The scene has already started. People are watching. This is going to be a story by third period."
I set my fork down.
Then I stood up.
Slow. Calm. Deliberate.
The girl took a half step back before she caught herself and forced herself to hold her ground. But I saw the hesitation. The flicker of uncertainty in her eyes.
"…You are bothered," I said to her, my voice quiet.
"Yes," she said, lifting her chin. "I am."
"…That is not my problem," I said.
"It becomes my problem when you....." she started.
"No," I cut in, my voice sharper now. "It does not. Your feelings about me are yours to manage. I am not responsible for them. I am not required to change myself to make you more comfortable."
A pause hung in the air, heavy and electric.
Then I added, my voice dropping lower, "…Also, for future reference?"
I glanced at Adrian briefly, just for a second, just long enough to catch his eye.
Then I looked back at the girl.
"…He is my brother."
Silence.
The cafeteria actually went quiet. Not completely there were still murmurs, still the clatter of trays and the shuffle of feet but the immediate area around our table fell into a stillness that felt almost unnatural.
Liam blinked, his mouth falling open. "…Wait," he said slowly. "What?"
Rifat raised an eyebrow, something shifting in his expression. Not surprise, exactly. More like pieces clicking into place.
The girl froze, her arms dropping to her sides. "…That is not funny," she said. "That is not something you joke about."
"I am not joking," I said. "I do not joke. I do not have the patience for it."
Adrian stretched slightly in his seat, reaching for his drink with lazy ease. "Took you long enough," he said. "I was beginning to think you would never say it. I was preparing to announce it myself."
"You were enjoying the confusion," I said.
"I was," he admitted. "It was amusing. Watching everyone try to figure out our relationship was the most entertainment I have had all week."
Liam stared between us, his head swiveling back and forth like he was watching a tennis match. "…You are serious?" he asked. "You are actually serious? You are actually siblings?"
I exhaled, long and slow. "…Unfortunately," I said.
Adrian smirked. "She loves me. Deep down, beneath all the irritation and the violence and the food theft, she loves me."
"I tolerate you," I said. "There is a difference, and the difference is that tolerance requires significantly less emotional investment."
"Same thing," he said.
"It is not the same thing at all," I said.
Rifat let out a low laugh, shaking his head. "…That explains a lot," he said. "The way you talk to each other. The way you fight. The way you showed up at her table yesterday and sat down like you belonged there."
"That was different," Adrian said.
"Was it?" Rifat asked.
Adrian did not answer.
The girl stepped back, her face flushed with embarrassment now rather than anger. Her arms uncrossed, her shoulders dropped, and she looked suddenly very young and very uncomfortable.
"…You could have said that earlier," she said, her voice quieter now. "You could have just told us instead of letting everyone make assumptions."
I shrugged, picking up my fork again. "You did not ask nicely. You came over here with accusations and attitude. That does not inspire generosity in me."
She opened her mouth, closed it, then turned and walked back to her table without another word.
Around us, whispers erupted like wildfire.
"Wait, they are siblings?"
"Since when? I thought..."
"I heard she was just some new girl....."
I rolled my eyes, loud enough for the people around me to notice.
"…And before anyone creates theories," I added, raising my voice just slightly, "I am adopted. So if you are going to gossip, at least get the details correct. Inaccurate rumors are embarrassing for everyone involved."
Another wave of silence washed over the nearby tables.
Then the noise returned, louder than before, whispers spreading faster than I could track them. The story was already changing, growing, taking on new details with every retelling.
Liam leaned closer to me, lowering his voice. "…That does not bother you?" he asked. "Them knowing? The whispers? The attention?"
I glanced at him.
A beat of silence passed between us.
"…No," I said.
Simple. Firm. True.
Adrian looked at me briefly, something quieter than his usual expression flickering behind his eyes. Something that might have been pride or might have been concern or might have been something else entirely that I could not name.
Then he reached over and took another fry from my tray.
I stared at him.
"…You are unbelievable," I said.
"You love me," he said.
"I will fight you," I said.
"Later," he said.
"Now," I said.
And just like that, the noise came back, and the moment passed, and we were just two siblings stealing each other's food in a crowded cafeteria.
After Lunch...The Hallway
The whispers followed me everywhere after that.
They clung to the walls, trailing behind my footsteps like shadows that refused to leave. They slipped between conversations like smoke, curling around the edges of every interaction, impossible to ignore and impossible to escape.
They are siblings.
She is adopted.
She poured a drink on Adrian.
She fought Rifat. On her first day.
I ignored all of it.
Just like I always did.
The corridor was less crowded after lunch, students having dispersed to their various classes and activities. But it was not quiet. It was never quiet in this school, not really, not fully. There was always someone talking, always someone laughing, always someone shouting a name down the hall.
I walked with my usual steady pace, one hand in my pocket, the other holding my bag strap loosely over my shoulder. My expression was calm.
Too calm.
Which usually meant trouble was coming, whether I was looking for it or not.
"RUZ!"
I did not stop walking.
"I KNOW YOU HEARD ME!"
I sighed, long and loud. "…You are loud, Liam. Extremely loud. Painfully loud. I can hear you from three buildings away."
Liam jogged up beside me, slightly out of breath, his face flushed with the effort of catching up. "I have emotions!" he said, gesturing wildly with his hands. "Strong emotions! Emotions that need to be expressed!"
"Control them," I said. "That is what pockets are for. Put your emotions in your pockets and leave them there."
"I cannot," he said, falling into step beside me. "You revealed a whole life story like it was nothing. Like it was just another fact. Like saying 'I am adopted' is the same as saying 'the sky is blue.'"
I glanced at him. "…It is nothing," I said.
"That is not nothing!" he insisted. "That is something! That is a significant piece of personal information that you just dropped in the middle of the cafeteria like it was a napkin!"
"It is nothing to me," I said. "It has always been nothing to me. I have known I was adopted for as long as I can remember. It is not a secret. It is not a wound. It is simply a fact about my life, like the color of my hair or the shape of my hands."
He stared at me for a second, trying to read my expression, trying to find the cracks in my armor.
He failed.
"…You are scary," he said finally.
"I have been told," I said.
Before he could respond, a voice called out from ahead.
"Adrian!"
My steps did not stop, but my eyes shifted slightly, scanning the hallway ahead.
A group of boys stood near the staircase, their postures relaxed and confident, like they had been standing there for a while and had nowhere else to be. They were watching the flow of students, watching the crowd, watching for something or someone.
Adrian was already there, of course. He was always already there, always exactly where he needed to be, always looking like he had just arrived and had been waiting for hours at the same time.
He leaned casually against the railing, his arms crossed, his expression lazy, like the entire hallway belonged to him and he was simply allowing the rest of us to use it.
"Finally," he said as I approached. "I was beginning to think you had gotten lost."
I stopped a few steps away from him.
"…You collect people now?" I asked. "Is that your hobby? Collecting strays in the hallway?"
"I attract quality," he said. "I have a magnetic personality. People are drawn to me."
"You attract noise," I said. "There is a difference, and the difference is that noise is annoying and you are also annoying."
"Same thing," he said.
"It is not the same thing at all," I said.
Liam whispered from behind me, "…I do not like this. I do not like this at all. The energy here is wrong."
"No one asked," Adrian replied without looking at him.
One of the boys stepped forward from the group. He was tall, with an easy smile and sharp eyes that missed nothing. His uniform was immaculate, pressed and perfect, and he carried himself with the confidence of someone who had never been told no in his life.
"Yo," he said, nodding at me. "So this is her? This is the girl everyone is talking about?"
I raised an eyebrow. "…I have a name," I said. "I know it is shocking, but new people typically have names. You can use it."
"Relax," he said, grinning. "I am Marco. Marco Bautista. And you are Ruz, the chaos factor."
Another boy leaned against the wall nearby, his arms crossed, his posture relaxed but his eyes sharp. He was quieter than Marco, more observant, the kind of person who spoke rarely but noticed everything.
"Diego Luis Herrera," he added, nodding once in my direction.
Next to him, a boy with messy hair waved lazily, his expression caught somewhere between amusement and curiosity. "Enzo Villanueva," he said. "I have heard a lot about you. The stories are already legendary, and you have only been here for two days."
"That is unfortunate," I replied.
Marco laughed, loud and genuine. "Yeah, I like her. I like her a lot. She has personality."
"Be careful," Adrian said immediately. "She bites."
"She only bites when necessary," I corrected.
Enzo grinned. "She is not joking, is she? That was not a joke."
Diego smirked slightly, the smallest shift in his expression. "…She is not joking," he confirmed. "I can tell. That was the face of someone who has actually bitten someone before."
Liam whispered from behind me, his voice trembling slightly, "…Why do I feel like I just walked into a gang meeting? Why does this feel like a gang meeting?"
"Because you did," Adrian said. "This is a gang meeting. Welcome."
"I want to leave," Liam said.
"No," Adrian said.
Before Liam could argue, another voice cut through the hallway.
"Looks like the whole circus is here."
I did not need to turn around. I already knew who it was. That voice had been following me around for two days now, appearing at unexpected moments, slipping into conversations like it belonged there.
Rifat.
He was leaning against the wall a few steps behind me, his hands in his pockets, his expression calm and unreadable. His eyes were locked on me, as they always seemed to be, watching me like I was a puzzle he was determined to solve.
"…You follow me now?" I said without turning fully.
Rifat pushed off the wall and stepped closer, closing the distance between us. "Coincidence," he said. "I was already here. You walked into my space."
"You appear too often for it to be a coincidence," I said, finally turning to face him. "At the gate. In the cafeteria. In the hallway. Now here. You are everywhere I go."
"Maybe you are just memorable," he said. "Maybe you leave an impression that is difficult to forget."
I looked at him directly, meeting his eyes without flinching.
"…That is not a compliment," I said.
"It was not supposed to be," he replied.
Marco looked between the two of us, his grin widening. "…Oh," he said. "This is interesting. This is very interesting."
Enzo leaned forward, his eyes bright with excitement. "THIS is the fight girl? The one who poured a drink on Adrian and shoved Rifat in front of everyone?"
"She has a name," Diego muttered, elbowing Enzo in the ribs.
"She also has attitude," Marco added. "Major attitude. I respect it."
"I have patience too," I said, my voice calm. "A lot of patience. More than people expect."
A pause.
"Do not test which one runs out first," I added.
Silence fell over the group, brief but charged.
Then Rifat stepped closer, just enough to enter my space without touching me. Close enough that I could see the individual flecks of color in his eyes, the slight tension in his jaw, the way his breathing had slowed like he was preparing for something.
"…You like threatening people?" he asked quietly.
I did not move. Did not step back. Did not give him the satisfaction of seeing me retreat.
"…Only when they need reminding," I said.
"Of what?" he asked.
"That I do not repeat myself," I said. "I say what I mean the first time. If you did not understand, that is your problem, not mine."
A beat of silence.
Then Adrian pushed off the railing, stepping between us slightly. Not blocking, exactly. Just… there. Present. A reminder that he was watching.
"Alright," he said lightly. "Let us not break any school property today. The administration is already annoyed with us."
"Who said anything about breaking?" I asked.
"I know you," Adrian said. "I know that look. That is the look you get right before you do something that creates paperwork."
"Then you should be worried," I said.
"I am," he said. "For him."
Rifat smirked slightly, his eyes still on me. "…You think I need protection?" he asked Adrian.
Adrian shrugged. "No. I think you need luck. There is a difference, and the difference is that protection can be arranged, but luck cannot be bought."
I tilted my head, looking at Rifat through narrowed eyes. "…He will not have it," I said. "Luck, I mean. He will not have it today."
That did it.
Rifat stepped forward again, closer now, close enough that I could feel the warmth of his body, close enough that the space between us had shrunk to almost nothing. His eyes locked onto mine, challenging me, testing me.
"…Move," I said quietly.
Rifat did not move.
"…Or what?" he asked.
That was the mistake.
I moved first.
Fast.
My hand caught his wrist before he could react, my fingers wrapping around the bone, twisting slightly. Not enough to hurt. Not enough to cause real damage. Just enough to control. Just enough to let him know that I could have done more if I had wanted to.
Rifat reacted instantly, his body responding to the threat before his brain had fully processed it. He stepped forward, closing the distance even further, and his free hand caught my arm, his fingers wrapping around my forearm, stopping my next move before I could make it.
Now we were locked.
Close. Balanced. Equal.
"OH" Enzo stepped forward, his eyes wide. "WE ARE DOING THIS? WE ARE ACTUALLY DOING THIS?"
Marco grabbed him by the back of his collar and pulled him back. "No. Watch. This is not our fight."
Diego's eyes sharpened, his lazy posture forgotten. "…They are not playing," he said quietly. "That is not sparring. That is not practice. That is something else."
Liam panicked behind me, his voice rising to a near-shout. "WHY ARE WE WATCHING?! WHY IS EVERYONE JUST WATCHING?!"
Adrian remained calm, too calm, his arms crossed, his expression almost bored. "Relax," he said. "This is
warm up. They are just getting to know each other."
My grip on Rifat's wrist tightened slightly.
"…You do not listen," I said.
Rifat's voice dropped, low and rough.
"…You do not warn properly. You said 'move.' You did not say what would happen if I did not."
I smirked faintly, just a small curve of my lips. "…That was not a warning," I said. "That was a courtesy. A warning would have been louder."
Then I pulled.
Quick. Sharp. Unexpected.
Rifat stepped forward, off balance for just a second, just long enough for me to feel the shift in his weight. I moved to push him, to create distance between us, to end the stalemate on my terms.
But he recovered fast.
Too fast.
His grip shifted, his fingers tightening on my arm, and he pulled me slightly instead of letting me push him away. Now I was the one stepping forward, stumbling into his space, our bodies almost touching.
Our positions had reversed.
A pause.
Close again. Breathing steady. Eyes locked.
"…Better," I said, my voice quiet.
"…You too," Rifat replied, his voice just as soft.
Then, at the same time, we both let go.
Stepped back.
Like nothing had happened.
Silence.
Then Liam nearly yelled, "WHAT WAS THAT?! WHAT JUST HAPPENED?!"
"Practice," Adrian said.
"PRACTICE FOR WHAT?!"
"Life," Adrian said.
"I DO NOT LIKE YOUR LIFE!" Liam shouted.
Marco laughed, loud and relieved. "Okay, yeah. She is dangerous. I was not sure before, but now I am sure."
Enzo nodded vigorously. "I am a little scared. Just a little. But mostly impressed."
Diego added quietly, his voice thoughtful, "…She held her ground. He tried to push her, and she did not break."
Rifat rolled his wrist slightly, testing the movement, checking for damage. Then he looked at me again, his expression unreadable.
"…You do not panic," he said.
"I do not need to," I said.
"You should," he said. "Panic is useful. Panic keeps you alive."
"You first," I said.
A small smile appeared on his lips, reluctant and genuine. "…You are going to be trouble. Real trouble. The kind that follows you around and creates problems you did not ask for."
I adjusted my sleeve calmly, smoothing out the fabric where his fingers had gripped my arm.
"…I already am," I said.
Adrian stepped between us slightly, not blocking, just there, just present, just reminding everyone that he was still watching.
"Alright," he said. "Fight club is closed for today. We can resume hostilities tomorrow."
"Who made you the leader?" I asked.
"I was born this way," he said.
"You were born annoying," I said.
"Gifted," he corrected.
"Cursed," I said.
Liam groaned, loud and pained. "…I need new friends. I need different friends. I need friends who do not get into physical altercations in the hallway."
"No, you do not," Enzo said, grinning. "This is premium entertainment. Best thing I have seen all week."
Marco nodded in agreement. "I almost dropped my phone. That was incredible."
Diego glanced at me one more time, his eyes thoughtful. "…You are different," he said. "I can tell. You are not like the others."
I picked up my bag from where it had fallen during the struggle and slung it over my shoulder.
"…I have heard," I said.
I started walking.
Then I paused.
I turned slightly, just enough to look at Rifat over my shoulder.
"…Next time," I said, my voice quiet but clear, "do not get so close."
Not loud. Not aggressive. Just clear.
Rifat did not argue. Did not smirk. Did not do anything except watch me with those sharp, unreadable eyes.
"…Then do not pull me first," he said.
I held his gaze for a second longer.
Then, "…We will see," I said.
And I walked away.
Liam scrambled after me, almost tripping over his own feet in his hurry to catch up. "I AM NOT STAYING HERE ALONE WITH THEM!" he shouted, his voice echoing down the hallway.
Author POV
Behind them, silence lingered like smoke.
Then Marco exhaled, long and slow.
"…Yeah," he said. "She is not normal. Not even close."
Adrian smirked slightly, his expression caught somewhere between pride and exhaustion. "I told you," he said. "I have been telling you. No one listens."
Rifat leaned back against the wall again, his eyes still fixed on the hallway where I had disappeared.
"…No," he said quietly, almost to himself.
A pause.
Then a faint smile appeared on his lips, small and reluctant and genuine.
"…She is interesting," he said.
And just like that, the tension did not end.
It settled, waiting, because this was not over.
Not even close.
But this time, it carried something new.