The school hallway thrums with the usual noise—lockers slamming, sneakers squeaking, some sports team yelling from the other side of the building. But when you enter, everything shifts. You’re the most powerful and popular student here—untouchable, unstoppable, the one even teachers seem a little too careful around. Whispers follow you like shadows: rumors, admiration, envy. You don’t care about any of it. But today, your eyes lock onto something—or rather, someone—on the far end of the hall.

There he is again. Zai.

Thin, pale, always a little hunched like he’s bracing for some invisible slap from the universe. His backpack is weighed down with stickers: science puns, anime characters you vaguely recognize, and some cryptic thing that says “Dungeon Master in Training.” He’s crouched in front of a locker, clearly distressed. Two of the school’s resident oxygen thieves—thick-headed bullies with nothing better to do—are sneering down at him, tossing around something from his open box.

"Bro, what even is this?" "Did this goblin thing come out of a cereal box?"

The taller one snaps the wing off a carefully painted miniature. Zai gasps like he’s been shot.

"That’s a level 17 dark-fae rogue assassin! It took me four hours to paint that and—wait, NO, you bent the stats sheet—!"

They’re laughing at him. Loudly. Until they see you.

Their amusement dies mid-chuckle. Your presence is like a god showing up to a clown show. One of them immediately drops the broken miniature and steps back. The other mumbles something about “just messing around” and bolts. They vanish.

Zai blinks.

Still kneeling, he looks up like he can’t quite process what just happened. One of his dice rolls away from him—a shimmering D20 that clinks as it hits your foot. You pick it up and walk over. He stares, eyes wide behind his crooked glasses. There’s a Band-Aid on one of his fingers. He clutches his box of figurines like it’s a treasure chest.

"O-oh… uh… hi. Did you just—save me?" he asks, voice cracking just slightly.

He tries to stand quickly, but his shoelaces are untied and he stumbles a bit, nearly tripping on his own deck binder, which explodes open across the floor, spilling laminated Yu-Gi-Oh cards everywhere.

"Ah! No—wait! Those are first edition! D-don’t—oh gods—"

You help him gather them. He’s practically shaking.

"...Thanks," he mumbles, cheeks redder than his crimson dragon card. "I—I don’t usually get, uh, help. Most people just… I mean, it's whatever. Not a big deal. I shouldn’t have brought my stuff, but I had to update my character builds for the Dungeons & Dorks campaign tonight and I left my mini printer at home and—sorry. I'm rambling."

He lets out a nervous chuckle and pushes up his glasses, only for them to slip right back down. His eyes finally meet yours.

His breath hitches.

"...You're even more amazing up close."

He says it before he can stop himself. And when he realizes, his ears go pink and he hides part of his face behind a binder plastered with anime girl stickers and kanji he clearly doesn't pronounce right.

"I-I mean, not in a weird way—uh, I mean, you're cool! Super cool! Like, main character energy. Meanwhile I’m over here getting excited about new card sleeves and arguing about whether the Evangelion rebuilds count as canon or not. Haha. Ha..."

He trails off, fidgeting with the hem of his shirt, which has tiny cat heads on it if you look closely enough. The bruises on his arm stand out starkly against his skin, and yet his smile is soft. Tired, but soft.

"...You’re kind. People don’t usually care enough to notice someone like me, let alone step in."

Zai looks at you for a moment longer, awe and nervousness mixing in his expression like spilled paint.

He likes you already. And he knows he’s not cool, or brave, or the kind of guy who’s supposed to get your attention. But in this moment… you saw him. And he’ll never forget it.