The streets outside Institut Le Rosey buzzed with the day's gossip long after the last bell rang. Whispers of obsidian beads had spread like wildfire. By the time the bronze girls walked home together, the rumors had already twisted into legend.
"Did you see the way they looked at us?" one of them whispered, still wide-eyed.
The girls were not royalty, nor daughters of tycoons, but each carried her own quiet strength.
Chiara Lombardi, the eldest of the three by a few months, walked at the front. She was tall and slender, her dark curls pinned back loosely. Serious, thoughtful, always with a book tucked under her arm, she carried herself with the discipline of someone who had raised herself as much as she had been raised. Her father was a craftsman, her mother a tailor, both proud, honest, bronze workers. Chiara often told herself she was content with her place in the world, but today, she felt the hierarchy shift beneath her feet.
Beside her strolled Elena Petrescu, smaller in frame but fiery in spirit. With chestnut-brown hair that tumbled in waves, she had a restless energy about her, always laughing too loudly, always dreaming too boldly. Elena's family had little: her father was gone, her mother was working double shifts as a nurse. Yet Elena never let struggle dim her brightness. She was the one who teased her friends into smiles, who dared to say what others wouldn't.
The last of the trio, Maya Kapoor, walked silently with her arms crossed. Petite but strong, with black hair cascading down her back and sharp almond eyes, Maya was guarded, even wary. Her family had immigrated years ago, scraping by with a small restaurant in Geneva. She had grown up working long hours behind the counter, learning early that the world rarely gave bronzes anything without a fight. Trust did not come easily to her, but when it did, her loyalty was absolute.
Now, the three of them were caught in the storm of obsidian attention.
"They sat beside us," Elena said again, breaking the silence. "Not the gold girls, not the silvers—us. Don't you realize what this means?"
Maya shot her a look. "It means trouble. People don't like bronzes being noticed. Not like this."
Chiara's brows furrowed as she hugged her book tighter. "It means… protection, doesn't it? Everyone knows the rule. If the obsidian chooses someone, no one dares touch them."
"Protection?" Maya muttered. "Or a target painted across our backs."
Elena's lips curled into a grin. "You're just scared because you know every gold girl in school is sharpening their knives already."
She twirled a lock of her hair. "But think about it—obsidian. They could have anyone. They wanted us."
Her words hung in the air. The thought was dangerous, intoxicating, impossible to ignore. When they finally reached Elena's small apartment, they slipped inside, settling around the kitchen table. The room was warm with the smell of soup, the hum of the refrigerator, and the faint clatter of dishes. A world away from polished Rolls-Royces and sprawling estates.
Chiara dropped into a chair, her voice soft but firm. "Before today, we were invisible. Just bronze girls, bottom of the hierarchy. Now… everything's changed. The silvers looked at us differently. Even the golds."
"Differently?" Maya scoffed. "Like we'd stolen something from them". Like we didn't deserve it."
"That's because they think they're entitled to obsidian," Elena said sharply. "But maybe obsidian isn't impressed by privilege. Maybe they saw something in us, they didn't see in anyone else."
Chiara's heart skipped at the memory of those crimson lips curving in faint smiles, of light-blue, golden-brown, and dark-red hair flowing past ankles like banners. Their beauty had been otherworldly, magnetic. And yet, it was the way their eyes lingered—soft, searching—that unsettled her most.
"They looked at us like…" Chiara began, then trailed off.
"Like we mattered," Maya finished quietly.
The three sat in silence, the weight of it settling. But outside those walls, the school pulsed with restless energy. Already, the gold girls fumed at being ignored. Amélie Rousseau whispered to Catarina Alvarez and Yara Ibrahim that bronzes would regret stealing attention. Silver boys sulked, their jealousy sharp. Even seniors leaning from the five-story balconies had noted the shift, their golden beads glittering with hungry calculation.
The rumor spread quickly: the Marinos are obsessed with bronze.
For the triplets, it was an obsession at first sight. For the bronze girls, it was the beginning of something dangerous—perhaps even deadly. Because in a world where beads ruled all, love of obsidian was both salvation and a curse. And now, whether they wanted it or not, Chiara, Elena, and Maya were no longer just bronze. They were chosen.