This was the first time Margaret had ever set foot in the school cafeteria—and ironically, it was also the first time she felt truly seen.
Not in a pleasant way. It wasn't because she was a fresh face among the hundreds of students filling the vast hall, but because the rumors had traveled faster than her own footsteps.
The news of the accident weeks ago—the one that dragged her name alongside the rookie group from ASpire Entertainment—had morphed into a half-mythical tale whispered from mouth to mouth. And then there were the other hushed conversations, equally explosive: that Margaret was the daughter of a prominent CEO in Jakarta.
She had felt it from the moment she stepped into the classroom, and the sensation only intensified before she even found a seat in the cafeteria. Those stares. They came in waves, piercing from every direction, only to vanish into thin air the moment her eyes nearly met theirs.
Her right leg, still wrapped in a tan bandage, served as an unwritten marker—a visual testament that made the rumors feel even more tangible. Every step she took was shadowed by low murmurs, voices intentionally hushed yet clear enough to reach her ears. Phrases she didn't even need to hear to understand their meaning.
Students who happened to pass by her immediately veered away, finding other seats with made-up excuses, yet their eyes couldn't truly look away. It was as if Margaret were a spectacle too captivating to miss.
The lips that never stopped moving, the heads leaning close to one another, and the thieving glances—everything merged into a single, suffocating impression: she wasn't just a student that day; she was the headline.
Yet, strangely, none of it seemed to shake Margaret at all.
However, one small thing still left her feeling a flicker of hesitation—or perhaps, a quiet tremor from within.
Across from her, sitting neatly on the wooden cafeteria bench covered in old graffiti, were Adelia and Rachel. Her two friends stared at her with a gaze that was impossible to ignore. Eyes that seemed to demand answers, an explanation, or at the very least, an understanding of the reasons behind Margaret's behavior over the past few weeks.
She finally let out a breath—a heavy, labored sigh—before allowing a few words to escape her lips.
"It's true."
"The rumors... they're all true."
She immediately averted her gaze, looking down quickly.
Her eyes fell upon the three bowls of meatballs still steaming in front of her, the hot vapor swirling slowly into the air, dancing for a moment before vanishing toward the cafeteria ceiling.
"I am… the daughter of the CEO of ASpire Entertainment, Victor Visclonew."
"And everything circulating on social media is true. I do have a direct connection to the agency."
"It was I who requested that the matter be resolved immediately—as swiftly and as effectively as possible—to ensure that CATYOURS' debut remained undisturbed."
"Thinking realistically, I shouldn't have that much authority. All final decisions remain in the hands of the President Director… my father. But..."
She paused for a moment.
Slowly, she lifted her gaze, her eyes meeting Adelia's and Rachel's. At a glance, their faces remained as flat as before, as if nothing had changed.
Yet, as Margaret looked longer, she caught a subtle, almost invisible shift. Her two best friends seemed to be holding their breath, their eyes widening ever so slightly.
"Someone taking on a new responsibility for the first time won't become an expert on day one, right?"
"And them—CATYOURS. As a rookie group, they have fought through fierce competition and carried immense hope, both from themselves and from their fans, RUN."
"You've seen their live broadcast, haven't you? That's why I didn't want their debut to be delayed over a problem that, in reality, wasn't even that significant. Especially when the whole world had been waiting for the announcement of their group and fandom names."
She let out another sigh.
Unconsciously, she lowered her head again, staring at the bowl of meatballs in front of her.
It wasn't just an ordinary bowl of meatballs; Margaret observed every detail with a new-found awareness, as if the food could somehow steady her racing mind. There were curly yellow noodles coiled neatly at the bottom, thin wontons floating on the surface of the hot broth, a scattering of shredded chicken, and peanuts that added an unexpected crunch.
"If you want to ask anything, please do. But don't expect too much."
"Even though I am the daughter of the agency's top executive, I'm not particularly close to the idol world or anything of the sort."
"It's not because I hate them. I just… I've never been someone who cared much about what goes on inside the agency or the entertainment industry."
She paused, taking a moment to breathe before continuing.
"I'm sorry for making you worry."
Her voice grew faint, dropping to a low, humble whisper.
The silence at their table felt thick, almost palpable.
Not a word was spoken; there were only flickering glances exchanged between Adelia and Rachel. Their brows furrowed and lifted, as if they were holding a silent discussion, relying on the subtle movements of their faces to communicate.
They were shocked, of course—shaken to the core.
It wasn't because the facts were new—they had long suspected the truth—but because Margaret had finally voiced it herself. The rumors that had been circulating for weeks no longer stood as mere gossip; they had transformed into a confession, falling directly from the lips of their own friend.
Finally, one of them broke the silence.
"Margaret… are you okay?"
"I mean… your leg… is it… is it going to be alright?"
The question came suddenly, without warning, from Rachel. Margaret's head snapped up instantly.
"Huh? My leg?"
Adelia and Rachel both gave a series of stiff, frantic nods. Margaret let out yet another sigh—one of many that day—before she continued.
"I'm fine. Even though I can't walk fast yet, it's not a problem."
Her tone remained steady, as calm as the surface of a still lake.
Yet, behind it, her eyes held a faint glint of bewilderment—a subtle warmth because the direction of her friends' concern had veered so far from the interrogation she had prepared for. Instead of sharp questions or cold judgment, what came was simple, touching care that didn't back her into a corner.
"You're not angry?"
The words escaped her lips before she could hold them back.
"I mean… after everything I've told you, wouldn't certain suspicions and accusations be the first things to cross your minds?"
The clink of a spoon against the rim of a bowl shattered the silence, a sharp sound like a small bell intentionally rung. Margaret and Rachel simultaneously turned their heads, tracing the sound to its source: Adelia.
Her gaze was sharp, nearly piercing, as she stared straight at Margaret without any attempt to hide it. Her hand, gripping the spoon, moved with slow yet deliberate precision, scooping a single meatball from the lightly steaming broth.
Without breaking eye contact for even a second, Adelia brought the meatball to her mouth.
She chewed with exaggerated movements—too slow, too deliberate—her jaw working rhythmically as if every chew were an unspoken declaration. Her gaze never wavered, remaining fixed on Margaret.
Once the meatball was finally swallowed, Adelia let out a sharp, harsh huff. The breath sounded like a deliberate scoff. Her hand then moved swiftly, grabbing the glass of iced tea nearby. She took only a small sip—just enough to wet her throat—before setting the glass back down on the table with a soft yet firm thud.
Only then did Adelia's voice finally ring out.
"Angry?"
"Don't you think 'annoyed' is a better choice of words than 'angry,' Margaret?"
Her tone carried a sharp edge of sarcasm.
"If you're asking whether I'm angry, the answer is no."
"But I am incredibly annoyed with you. You ignored everything—my messages, my calls—for days on end. Can you truly live without a phone… and without a single soul, Margaret?"
The furrow in her brow wasn't just a spontaneous reaction; it was a reflection of frustration that had been piling up slowly—a resentment she had suppressed for far too long until it could no longer be hidden.
There was something about Margaret that Adelia truly couldn't wrap her head around—something that, the more she dwelled on it, the more it unsettled her mind.
Rachel nodded repeatedly, a silent confirmation of everything Adelia had just said. She fixed her gaze on Margaret.
"When it happened, Adelia and I almost lost control."
"You were thrown aside—like a leaf struck by a violent wind. The only difference is, a leaf would fly higher… while you simply crashed onto the asphalt, your right leg shattered."
Her tone was quiet as she finally spoke. There was no emphasis, no tremor of emotion slipping through her words. Her gaze was no different—a cold, unblinking stare fixed directly on Margaret, devoid of any hesitation or shift in expression.
"Both Adelia and I were in total shock. Pure panic."
Her memory leaped back to the fragmented events of those weeks ago. Even though days had passed, the memory hadn't faded in the slightest. Instead, it remained warm, vivid, and hauntingly real.