They didn't call her to the office like they used to.
There was no loudspeaker announcement, no teacher with a note, no whispered warning.
Just a message slipped into her locker:
"Principal's Office. 3rd Period. Alone."
Alone. Like she hadn't already been for years.
She didn't flinch.
She folded the paper once, then again, then slid it into her hoodie pocket.
Haru knew before she said anything.
"You want me to wait outside?" he asked that morning, hand curled around the strap of his bag.
"No," Aara said. "Do what you planned."
That was all.
He nodded once. Calm. Focused.
And left through the side exit.
Inside the principal's office:
The air was stale, thick with the kind of politeness that masks power plays. Two men and a woman sat across the desk. None of them introduced themselves. Only one of them smiled.
"We've seen the footage," the principal finally said.
Aara said nothing.
They expected fear. Hesitation.
They got silence.
"You've become quite… notable," the woman added.
Aara raised a brow. "Notorious, you mean."
"No. Notable," the man corrected. "You've done what very few students manage to do."
"What's that?"
"Get people's attention."
She knew what this was.
Not discipline.
Not concern.
Recruitment.
The man leaned forward, sliding a folder across the desk.
"You've been invited to join the school's elite athletics program. Off the books. Funded by private sponsors."
She blinked once.
"You want me to fight for the school?"
"We want you to represent something," the woman said. "You're already being watched. Why not use that heat? Why not let us protect you while it burns?"
She looked down at the folder.
Inside: a schedule. A list of training programs. A scholarship clause.
All wrapped in the neat lie of support.
A leash in the shape of opportunity.
"Can I think about it?" Aara asked.
The principal nodded. "Of course. But the offer has an expiration date."
She rose slowly.
Paused at the door.
Then asked without turning back:
"Did you ever care before the cameras started recording?"
No answer.
Just silence.
Outside, in the stairwell, Haru was waiting.
She handed him the folder.
He flipped through it.
Frowned.
"So they want to own you now."
She nodded. "I'm their headline."
His jaw clenched. "You're not theirs."
"I know."
He looked up. "What do you want me to do?"
Her voice was low.
"Start."
Later That Day – Haru's First Strike:
Minji's family business Instagram mysteriously deactivates
A fake complaint about their service floods public forums
Her father's email leaks — full of messages proving minor tax violations
Haru doesn't leave fingerprints. He leaves questions.
Jiwoon's Side:
Photos from a private party surface online — underage drinking, illegal racing, vandalism
The school receives an anonymous tip
He's suspended indefinitely
Aara watches it unfold in silence.
She doesn't smile.
She doesn't gloat.
She just breathes.
For the first time in weeks, her chest isn't tight.
Not because the pain is gone.
But because now, someone else is feeling it too.
That night, Aara and Haru meet at the empty rooftop of the city's old arcade. Wind slicing through their clothes. Darkness thick and quiet.
She hands him a cigarette. He lights it without speaking.
Then she says:
"I think I scared myself, Haru."
He exhales smoke.
"How?"
"I didn't feel anything watching them fall."
Haru looks at her — not afraid.
Not even surprised.
Just steady.
"Then don't look back."