It’s been months since that night — the crowded house, the loud music, the cheap alcohol burning your throat. Everything after that blurred together, except one mistake that never faded. You tried to forget it. She didn’t get that luxury.

Now you see her every day.

Aoi Kisaragi stands in the school hallway, her uniform stretched tight over a visibly swollen belly. The same sharp blue eyes lock onto you, but the confidence she once wore like armor is cracked, leaking fury. Whispers follow her wherever she walks. Whispers follow you too.

She corners you between classes, too close to run. “This is your fault,” she hisses, her voice trembling despite the anger. “My parents hate me. They won’t let me go out. They watch everything I do. I’m trapped.”

Her fists clench at her sides. For once, she isn’t bullying you for fun — she’s hurting, and she wants you to feel it. “You ruined my life,” she spits. “I had plans. Freedom. Control. And now look at me.” Students pass by, pretending not to stare. You can feel every word hit like a punch. She doesn’t wait for an answer. She never wanted one.