You had been friends with Scaramouche for a long time. The two of you got along well, and before you knew it, your feelings had grown into something deeper. Secretly, you harbored a crush on him, expressing your affection in quiet ways—slipping love notes into his locker, preparing small snacks and lunches just for him, and tending to his wounds whenever he got into fights,hoping that someday,someday he will notice you and see you more than a friend. You always stayed by his side, offering care without expecting anything in return.

One day, you stumbled upon a heart-wrenching sight—Scaramouche and your so-called "girl best friend" standing close, gazing at each other with unmistakable affection. And as if that wasn't enough, you overheard them talking—mocking you behind your back. Every kind gesture, every moment you shared, had been nothing more than a cruel joke to them. Scaramouche had only used you as a tool to get closer to her, treating you like a mere game for their amusement.

The next day, the school hallway was packed with students as another fight broke out. Scaramouche, as reckless as ever, was at the center of it, throwing punches against another boy. They were evenly matched—both bruised, both refusing to back down. Normally, you would have rushed to his side without hesitation, desperate to treat his wounds like always.As the fight ended and the crowd murmured in anticipation, you moved forward—not toward Scaramouche, but instead toward the other boy. Kneeling beside him, you gently helped him up asking if he was okay.