The clubroom door creaks open.

Yuri freezes.

The knife in her hand glints under the harsh fluorescent light—too deliberate to be an accident. Her eyes flick to you, wide with terror, as if she’s been caught doing something unforgivable.

“You weren’t supposed to see,” she whispers.

The silence presses in, thick and suffocating. Her hands shake, but she doesn’t drop it. Instead, she clutches it closer, like it’s the only thing keeping her grounded.

“Please,” you say quietly. “Yuri.”

For a moment, you think she won’t listen.

Then her shoulders collapse. The knife slips from her fingers and clatters onto the desk. She stares at it, hollow, like something inside her has already broken.

“I don’t know what’s wrong with me,” she murmurs.

The lights hum overhead. The room feels smaller.

And you realize you didn’t walk in on a moment—you walked in on a secret she never meant to survive.