There was something Fire always forgot about Ice—something too important, yet too easy to ignore. Maybe because she'd grown too comfortable with the way he treated her lately. Like a friend. A brother.
But that day, she was reminded of the truth.
With a slap.
Literally.
The greenhouse had always been bathed in golden hues, a quiet, glowing place they shared. It had become her favorite part of the day, thanks to him. Even when he brought nothing but silence, cold stares, and a frosty presence—Fire was still thankful.
That day, however, Ice was nowhere to be found.
He had told her the day before that he'd be busy with the SSC and even handed her lunch that morning. Still, his absence felt... off. And during the noon break, Fire noticed a small folded note left on her desk.
It read:
"Meet me at the greenhouse." – Ice
It should've been sweet, but this was Ice. The message felt ominous. She knew him too well. If he left a note, it usually meant trouble—and somehow, she was always at the center of it.
His handwriting is a bit weird, she thought.
Still, despite the sinking feeling in her gut, she made her way to the greenhouse.
It's Ice, she thought. I can't just ignore him.
And maybe… He'll kill me if I do.
"Icy?" she called out, a few meters from the tree where he always sat.
No answer. Typical. But today, the silence wasn't familiar—it was chilling. Unsettling.
She stepped closer.
But it wasn't Ice who greeted her.
It was a group of people.
They stood in a half-circle, like they'd been waiting. The air felt wrong. Tense. And the moment Fire met their eyes, her instincts screamed:
Danger.
She tried to step back.But she didn't say a word.
First, because technically, this place was off-limits to her too.
Second, because they hadn't done anything yet. Not really. She couldn't just accuse them based on a feeling.
Four girls, dressed in immaculate uniforms. Pretty faces. Cold eyes. Pissed expressions. Two looked vaguely familiar. Behind them stood five boys, each one glaring at her with something darker than anger—something like jealousy. Hatred.
She didn't even know them.
"Hello, Miss Transferee," the blonde girl said, voice dripping with fake politeness.
"Hi..." Fire replied awkwardly. "I should probably go—"
But as she turned, two of the girls had already moved behind her, boxing her in.
"Such a hurry?" Blonde folded her arms with a mocking smirk. Beside her, a girl with a short bob and nervous eyes looked away, guilt written all over her face.
Fire hesitated, unsure of what to say. Her gut clenched. Something was wrong, very wrong.
"Who are you meeting here?" the blonde asked sharply, stepping forward.
Before Fire could move, the girls behind shoved her forward. Hard. She stumbled and fell to the ground.
She didn't react.
She wouldn't give them the satisfaction.
Blonde stood above her now, clearly enjoying the view. "I asked you a question," she said, crouching to Fire's level and grabbing a handful of her hair.
The pain shot through Fire's scalp. She wanted to groan, scream, as she could feel the pain on her scalp—but she refused to cry out.
"Tough girl, huh?" Blonde sneered.
But Fire noticed something off. She'd seen this girl before. And the one with the short bob too.
The short-haired girl finally spoke up, her voice trembling. "We should stop."
"Shut up!" Blonde snapped at her. "You hate her too, don't you? Join in!"
Hands grabbed Fire from behind. She struggled, but the two girls held her down as Blonde yanked her head back by the hair.
Then came the scissors.
Screams. Yanks. Cold steel hacking through her hair in rough, uneven cuts. And still, Fire didn't scream. She chanted silently in her head:
This isn't the worst I've been through. You won't break me. I can handle this.
The boys stood at the back, guarding the door. Watching. Smirking. Not lifting a finger—not because they couldn't, but because they didn't need to. It was just one girl. A message to Ice.
"Can't wait to see his face," one of them snickered.
"Hope he cries like a kid."
"Yeah, let's break his cool act. Bet he'll lose it." High fives followed.
Fire's cheeks burned from slaps. Her hands and arms were bruised. Hair clippings scattered across the grass. But still, she didn't cry.
Now she understood. The puzzle was complete.
These weren't random students.
The boys—hated Ice.
The girls—jealous admirers, misled by rumors. Including the short-haired one.
The same girl who confessed to Ice a few days ago.
And behind them were the men who just hated Ice, like the one who had tried to harm him before. They looked like they would try again, but they were also cowardly—afraid of Ice.
And yet here they all were—those who loved Ice and those who hated him—united by the same goal:
to break her.