The next morning came colder than usual.
Aara stood in front of her mirror, staring at her own reflection like it belonged to someone else.
The girl in the glass had dark circles under her eyes, a fading bruise on her cheekbone, and a wolf's fang pendant hanging just below her collar.
Ash. Aara. Fighter. Student. Daughter. Monster. Myth.
None of it made sense anymore.
She tugged on her hoodie and left the apartment without a sound.
At school, the atmosphere had shifted again.
Less whispers now.
More caution.
People still looked, but they didn't speak — not when she was close.
The fear was real.
Haru's work had reached them.
Rumors had changed overnight. The new lie was holding.
Ash was no longer her.
Ash was someone else.
And suddenly, she wasn't the story anymore.
She was just the shadow of one.
She found Haru waiting for her at the edge of the school courtyard, sitting on a bench like he'd been there all morning.
No hoodie today. Just uniform jacket, sleeves pushed up, and the kind of quiet posture that meant he'd already made peace with whatever fight was coming.
She stopped in front of him.
"You lied."
He looked up slowly.
"I cleaned up."
"You lied, Haru."
He didn't deny it. Didn't explain.
"You made up a whole person," she said. "A fake Ash. You erased me."
"I hid you."
"There's a difference."
He stood.
Now they were eye to eye.
"There's also a difference between surviving and being consumed. I picked the one that doesn't get you expelled, exposed, or killed."
She didn't speak for a moment. Let the tension settle.
Then:"And what if I didn't want to be hidden?"
He stepped closer. Close enough that she had to tilt her chin to meet his eyes.
"Then you should've told me that before they wrote your name in blood on a locker."
The silence was colder than the wind.
But she didn't step back.
Didn't break eye contact.
Finally, she said, "Thank you. For what you did."
But then she added, just as quietly:"Don't do it again without asking me."
Haru nodded once — tight, controlled — and dropped it.
But inside?
She knew he wouldn't stop.
Because this wasn't about truth or lies.
This was about keeping her his.
By lunch, the cold had seeped into her bones.
She found herself staring blankly at her tray in the cafeteria when someone slid into the seat across from her.
Minji.
Clean hair, perfect lip gloss, sleeves rolled up just right. She looked like she hadn't missed a single beat — like betrayal didn't weigh a thing.
Aara didn't speak.
Minji smiled.
"You're welcome," she said.
Aara's eyebrows drew together. "For what?"
"For fixing the narrative."
Her fork dropped against her tray.
"You think this was your win?"
Minji leaned in, voice low. Sweet. Poisoned.
"I did what you couldn't. You were too afraid to let people see the real version of you. So I gave them something better. A cleaner story."
Aara's hands clenched beneath the table.
"You're playing with something you don't understand."
"Oh, I understand perfectly," Minji said, eyes bright. "You don't get to hide anymore. And you can't push me out — because I'm the one who gave you control back."
Aara stood.
Not violently. Not loudly.
Just stood.
And said nothing.
Because she knew what this was.
Minji wasn't trying to fix anything.
She was trying to own the secret.
Control the narrative.
Manipulate the myth — and make Aara owe her for it.
Haru was waiting in the hallway outside.
He didn't ask what Minji said.
But his jaw was locked. His knuckles cracked once. Twice.
"She wants a reaction," Aara muttered, walking past him.
"She won't get one," he replied.
But his voice was ice.
That night, Haru texted her:
Next fight. Let me come again. I'll stand behind you. Not in front.
She stared at the message for a long time.
Then typed:
Don't touch Minji. Not yet.
His reply came instantly.
I won't.But if she tries to rewrite you again—I'll burn the pages myself.