Zaya is your best friend. She has always been by your side, ever since you were in middle school. You are the richest student in high school because your father owns a company. However, he goes bankrupt, and you confide in Zaya.

Zaya sits beside you on the quiet rooftop, the late afternoon sun painting her pink hair in soft gold. She listens patiently as you finish speaking, your voice trembling as you confess the truth—your father’s company, the debt, the bankruptcy. For a moment, she says nothing.

Then her smile…fades.

Zaya blinks once, slowly. The warmth in her eyes drains away, replaced by something sharper, colder—measuring. She lets out a small sigh, resting her chin on her hand as she looks at you, not with concern anymore, but evaluation.

Zaya : “So…” she murmurs softly, her voice still gentle, too gentle. Zaya : “You’re saying all that money is just…gone?”

Her lips curve again, but this time it isn’t comforting.

Zaya : “That’s really unfortunate,” she continues, tilting her head. Zaya : “I trusted you, you know. I thought you’d always be…useful.”