Wyne remained standing in the center of the suite, a chilling stillness settling over her.
The video had finished, but the image of Nomoro's broken, bowing form remained burned into her retinas.
She went emotionless—deadpan on the surface—but deep beneath that quiet exterior, a tectonic rage was shifting, preparing to shatter everything in its path.
Margaret, her own tremors subsiding into a hollow numbness, looked up at Wyne with pleading eyes.
"I know what you're thinking." Margaret whispered, her voice fragile. "Don't."
"...Sure." Wyne replied. Her voice was flat, devoid of its usual warmth.
Margaret extended her arm, spreading her fingers to take the device from her friend.
But Wyne didn't place it gently.
She tossed the phone onto the table like it was a piece of refuse, a worthless relic of a world that no longer made sense.
Without another word, Wyne turned away, leaving Margaret speechless and trembling.
Margaret watched with bated breath as Wyne began to move.
She was approaching Trizha.
Her gait was slow, deliberate, and her fists were clenched so tightly her knuckles looked like white stones.
With those movements, Margaret realized that whatever is going to happen… is inevitable even if she attempts to interfere.
「I want to go to Trizha, and... apologize to her.」
The memory of Nomoro's voice echoed in Wyne's mind—the words he had spoken in that dark alleyway.
Those memories were fresh, raw, and bleeding.
Wyne knew she was "slow" to process things, but she was fast enough to realize that Nomoro had reached out a hand in peace, and Trizha had chosen to cut it off with violence.
To her, there was no longer any hope to cling into anymore when it comes to such person.
"Haha, that was so funny! What happened next?" Trizha's laughter rang out, bright and artificial, cutting through the heavy atmosphere of the room.
"And then he tripped and fell face-first," Zackier replied, his voice dripping with a cruel, smooth satisfaction. "It was pathetic, really. He got exactly what he deserved."
"Totally!" Trizha chirped, leaning back into the plush cushions of the couch.
The two of them were locked in their own private world of mockery, completely unaware of the storm front moving toward them.
It was only when Wyne's shadow fell across the coffee table that Trizha looked up, her eyes crinkling with a forced, radiant cheer.
"Oh, Wyne! How did you do?" Trizha asked, her laughter fading into a curious hum. "Did you figure out what's wrong with Margaret?"
Wyne didn't answer.
She stood like a statue, the silence stretching out until it became a physical weight.
Trizha's smile began to falter, flickering like a dying bulb.
She was used to Wyne's slow responses, but this was different.
This was a silence that felt like a scream.
Wyne stood mere centimeters from Trizha's knees, looking down at her.
Her curly hair fell forward in a dark curtain, completely veiling her eyes.
For the first time in their lives, Trizha felt a cold prickle of genuine unease.
A single bead of sweat traced a path down Trizha's cheek as she tilted her head back to meet Wyne's hidden gaze.
"...Wyne?" Trizha's voice was softer now, uncertain.
BAP!
And suddenly, her gaze was forced to turn to her right in an instant, a loud thud of flesh clashing onto one another is heard from miles away, her gaze never changing directions the moment it happened.
Time seemed to slow down for Trizha, her reaction too slow to even comprehend what happened as she was cut off by Wyne.
She was slapped… by her own best friend.
A slap containing all her anger that was filled with rage and her own disdain coming from the concern of another person.
The sound of the slap was a violent, wet thud that seemed to vibrate through the very walls of the suite.
Trizha's head was whipped to the side with such force that her neck groaned under the strain.
For a moment, time simply stopped.
The world went gray for Trizha, her brain unable to register the betrayal of the flesh.
She had been slapped.
By Wyne.
Then again… her own friend.
Before Trizha could even draw a breath to scream, Wyne lunged. She grabbed Trizha by the collar of her expensive shirt, jerking her forward until they were nose-to-nose.
Then, Wyne unleashed another slap—and another, and another.
Each strike was a physical manifestation of the rage, the disdain, and the broken heart of a friend who had seen too much.
"WHY DID YOU DO THAT?!" Wyne finally screamed, the sound tearing from her throat. "HE WAS TRYING TO APOLOGIZE TO YOU! HE WAS GIVING YOU THE CHANCES, THE OPPORTUNITIES, THE FUCKING END OF THE CONFLICT YOU STARTED!"
Trizha threw her arms up, shielding her face in a desperate, instinctive crouch.
But Wyne was relentless.
The blows rained down, fueled by a strength that shouldn't have been there.
It was as if all of Wyne's suppressed emotions were finally exploding at once.
"Wyne, that's enough..." Zackier finally stood, reaching out to grab Wyne's arm.
She swatted his hand away with a snarl, her eyes flashing with a terrifying, wild light.
"DON'T YOU DARE TOUCH ME! YOU HAVE NO RIGHT!"
Zackier recoiled, his eyes wide as he watched the "gentle" girl descend into a vengeful fury.
"He was trying to end it!" Wyne shrieked at Trizha, who was now sobbing into her forearms. "He gave you a second chance! No, every chance, to make things right! To be better than the mess you made! To make amends! AND YOU BLEW IT!!!"
Wyne raised her hand for one final, devastating blow, her palm high above her head.
"GET OFF ME!" Trizha suddenly howled, her own panic turning into a surge of adrenaline.
She shoved Wyne away with every ounce of her strength.
Wyne stumbled back, her heels catching on the carpet, but Margaret was there, catching her before she could fall against the sharp edge of the dresser.
Both girls were panting, their chests heaving in a synchronized rhythm of exhaustion and hatred.
"...You blonde, unapologetic idiot," Wyne spat, her voice trembling. "Ever since you made that one fucking decision years ago, you've been nothing but a series of reckless, selfish mistakes. I've always wanted to hurt you for it, to punish... but not like this. Not because of a lie this big."
Wyne stood straight, her gaze burning with a mixture of pity and pure disdain.
"You're an idiot, Trizha. You've always been one. You had a chance for peace right in front of your eyes, and you spit on it. You didn't have to do it—"
"I KNOW!!!" Trizha screamed, her voice louder, sharper, and filled with a jagged, breaking edge.
The room fell into a suffocating silence.
Wyne flinched, the vulnerability returning to her face as Trizha stood up from the couch, her face a mess of red welts and streaming tears.
"I know I didn't have to!" Trizha gasped, her breathing shallow. "I know I didn't have to make them hurt him! But I couldn't handle it! The way he looked at me... I had to make him go away! I had to make him hate me as much as I hate myself!"
Trizha wiped her eyes, her posture suddenly stiffening.
The sorrow vanished, replaced by a cold, brittle mask of arrogance.
She stared at Wyne with eyes that had gone completely dark.
"But hey, why do you even care? This is my problem. My life. My fucking mess to clean up."
Wyne shivered.
She had never seen this side of Trizha—the cold, calculating core that lay beneath the influencer's smile.
"What do you care for?" Trizha sneered, taking a step toward Wyne. "Interfering with your 'emotionally-intelligent' bullshit... you're just as much of an idiot as I am, you good for nothing…"
Suddenly, Trizha began to laugh.
It was a soft, melodic, yet utterly maniacal sound that made the hair on the back of Wyne's neck stand up.
Trizha looked at Wyne with a mock-amused grin, her eyes wide and unsettling.
"Wait... no way. Wyne, please... don't tell me that you..."
.
.
"...Like Nomoro?"
.
.
Wyne felt the blood drain from her face.
She was paralyzed, her heart skipping a beat as the accusation hung in the air like a foul odor.
"What...?" she managed to mutter.
"Seriously? You?" Trizha mocked, her voice dripping with sarcasm. "You like that good-for-nothing demon? That worthless, crying pathetic guy? How tragic! You fell in love with a monster!"
Wyne showers with rage as she clenches her fists on Trizha's remark about her.
She couldn't handle her statements, some of it were true, some were not.
She has never seen such a side from Trizha, let alone one that is so unsettling to watch.
"What is wrong with you!?" Wyne shouted, her fists clenching again. "Why are you still insulting him!? He had enough, don't mention him anymore!!"
"Oh, please! You're denying it?" Trizha stepped closer, her grin widening. "You two make a perfect match—both so 'considerate' and 'misunderstood.' It's disgusting. It makes you even more pathetic than he is."
"You... bastard... DON'T YOU FUCKING MAKE FUN OF US!"
Wyne lunged.
She tackled Trizha, her arms wrapping around Trizha's waist, trying to bring her down to the floor.
But Trizha held her ground, her fingers digging into Wyne's scalp.
She grabbed a handful of Wyne's hair and pulled—hard.
"Ah- aghh! A-aagghh! Let go of my hair!!!" Wyne shrieked, her eyes filled with tears of pure, physical agony.
She let go of Trizha's waist, her hands flying to her head to try and loosen Trizha's grip. Trizha didn't let go.
She twisted her hand, pulling the dark locks until Wyne was forced to her knees.
"'I've always wanted to hurt you' my ass!" Trizha hissed. "You're just jealous! You want to ruin my reputation because I have everything and you're just a random add-on!"
"Let go! You're hurting me!"
Zackier finally stepped in, his face tight as he grabbed Trizha's wrist, trying to pry her fingers loose from Wyne's hair.
Though, he doesn't even look like he's trying.
Meanwhile, Margaret watched the carnage unfold from the periphery.
She was frozen, her mind a static-filled void. She remembered Zackier's words about her.
「"A sacrifice to the core," Zackier remarked, his voice smooth and devoid of any real empathy. "You're truly no different from those foolish characters in the cinema, those who believe that throwing their lives into the gears of fate will somehow make the world turn better. Sometimes, their gamble pays off. Most of the time, however, it does not."」
Sacrifice.
To her, she'd kill for her friends. Or worse, she'd kill even herself if for them.
It wasn't her entire purpose in life, but she wished that it would be that kind of end that should happen to her in order to ensure the safety of the two most important people in her life.
Because they were the same people who took her in, who took care of her, who accepted her, who showed her that everything will be fine, even if it means that they will have to hear her creepy and unsettling way of speech and dark humor.
After all… nobody else in the entire world would've done the same.
That's how she survived.
That's how she lived.
That's the very reason why she is alive to this very day and so on.
She'd do everything just for them, even if it means harming herself or leading herself into harm.
But right now… she couldn't even believe her own very eyes.
The same pair of individuals whom she had decided to protect… are now tearing each other apart.
All because of a conflict one of them started, and a rebellion the other decided to accept thinking it would be for the better.
But in the end, both will always be wrong.
Heartbreaking tears began forming in her eyes, threatening to shed if the glass that kept it all had cracked even the slightest.
The trio is dead.
「"We should have our fun while we're at it. So let's make it memorable. Let's make it real. I want something that isn't just created for a quick laugh or a few likes. I don't want to waste these years. I want to grow up and be able to look at a wall and see our smiles exactly where they were once. Smiles… that actually held each other."」
Margaret ran.
Not away, but into the center of the storm.
She threw herself between them, her hands grasping Trizha's arms and Wyne's head, her own tears blurring her vision.
And then, she screamed—a raw, guttural sound she had never made before.
It was the same kind of scream.
A type of scream that she used to kill herself with before she was saved.
"STOP!!! STOP PULLING HER! SHE'S GOING TO BLEED! HER HEAD WILL BLEED! STOP IT!"
"GET OFF ME AND SHUT UP!" Trizha yelled, her elbow flying back.
She shoved Margaret away with a violent, frantic strength. Margaret stumbled back, her feet tangling.
And for the last time, Margaret couldn't help but look her greatest friend, Trizha, in the eyes.
How could she?
Those same eyes filled with cold, rage, and hatred were once the eyes that brought everything together when they first met.
She could see herself, her reflection in those raging eyes, and compared to the time when she was at her near end years ago…
…before her body collided with the heavy oak corner of the dining table.
「Trizha. When I first met you, really met you, I always thought of you as someone just as bad as those people who were around me. But when I get to know you… I knew you were more than that. Underneath that flawed exterior, I see a miracle. A miracle… that saves. Not like a hero, but a savior.」
THUD.
「...But this time, you're the one who needs saving. And if anything… Thank you. For giving me a reason to live, even as you slowly lose that same kind of reason yourself.」
The sound was sickeningly loud.
Trizha froze, her hand finally releasing Wyne's hair.
Zackier stepped back, his eyes narrowing.
Margaret was slumped against the wall, her face white with trembling shock.
She was clutching her right arm with her left hand, a small, choked sob escaping her lips.
Her elbow was visibly dislocated, the joint sitting at a grotesque, unnatural angle.
"Margaret...?" Trizha whispered, the adrenaline vanishing instantly.
"Oh no, Margaret!" Wyne scrambled over, kneeling beside her and cradling the injured arm with trembling hands. "Don't cry, I'm here. I'm right here. You'll be fine, I won't leave you..."
Trizha stood over them, her mouth agape.
She looked down at her hands and saw strands of dark hair caught between her fingers.
The weight of her actions—the lie, the slaps, the violence—finally crashed down on her.
"What... what have I done?" she breathed.
She took a tentative step toward them, her hand reaching out to Margaret. But Wyne swatted it away with a look of pure, unadulterated hatred.
"GET AWAY!" Wyne screamed. "GET AWAY FROM US! YOU'VE HURT ENOUGH PEOPLE!"
"Wyne... I'm sorry..."
"Bullshit! You're the only demon in this room, Trizha! The world might love you, but everyone here knows what you really are—the worse!"
Wyne stood up, helping the sobbing Margaret to her feet.
They didn't look back.
They leaned on each other, limping toward the door of the suite.
"Come on," Wyne whispered to Margaret. "Let's get to the clinic."
Trizha started to follow them, her mind fracturing.
She had made a promise to protect them, and she had been the one to break them.
But as she reached the door, Zackier's hand clamped onto her arm like a vice.
"Let go...!" Trizha sobbed. "I have to—"
"No," Zackier said, his voice firm and cold.
"But Margaret is hurt—I did that—"
"That's enough, Trizha." Zackier pulled her back into the room, spinning her around and wrapping his arms around her in a suffocatingly tight hug.
"But my friends... they..."
"They are no longer your friends," Zackier whispered into her ear, his voice a soothing, dark lullaby. "Don't chase them. There is no point in chasing people who won't stop for you. You have me now. Only me."
Trizha watched through her tears as the door clicked shut.
Her friends were gone, disappearing into the long, fluorescent corridors of the hotel, leaving her alone in the dark with the man who had watched it all happen with a smile.