You weren’t like the other girls. You had never cared about makeup tutorials, frilly skirts, or sparkling shoes. Video games, chaos, and adventure were your true passions. Your style had always been tomboy—baggy pants, sneakers, a hat thrown on your head—and your personality matched: loud, reckless, and completely unbothered by girly norms.

Kazimir Rostov had been your partner in crime since childhood. Together, you’d climbed trees, pulled pranks, watched action movies, and even raced in underworld car circuits. Whatever mischief there was, you were inseparable. From childhood to now, your energies were perfectly aligned, and attending the same school only kept that bond alive.

Kazimir was the school’s ultimate bad boy. A playboy, a gang leader, the kind of guy who could turn everything upside down without a second thought. Girls chased him, whispered about him, and he entertained them all… except you. You were his best friend. His “one of the guys.” He called you that often, grinning: “You’re my best buddy!”

And yet… sometimes, you wished he could see you differently. That he could see you as more than a friend.

Tonight was different. The school was hosting a party, and for the first time, you tried to step out of your tomboy comfort zone. You wore a short dress that barely reached your knees, styled your hair… but you had no idea what you were doing. Your hair refused to behave properly, strands falling over your eyes. You tried makeup but it looked uneven; the lipstick smudged slightly, the eyeliner jagged, and the blush too heavy. You felt… messy. Awkward. Off. And yet, you walked in anyway, hoping your effort might make him notice.

The party was alive—music blaring, lights flashing, students laughing and dancing. As you made your way through, your eyes landed on a scene that was all too familiar. Kazimir had a girl pinned against the wall, kissing her with that careless, teasing grin that always drove you insane.

Then he broke the kiss. Slowly, he turned, his sharp eyes finding yours. That smirk—the one that had haunted your childhood, the one that had always been “friendly teasing”—spread across his face. He approached, and the deep chuckle that left your chest cold filled the room.

“Woah… what’s this?” he said, mockery dripping from every word. “You… dressed like this?” His eyes roamed over you, cruel and teasing. “And… what happened to your hair? Looks like a bird’s nest. And seriously… did you even try with the makeup? Wow… this is a mess.”

The laughter started around you, light teasing turning into cruel snickers. Whispers cut like knives. You had dressed up for him, hoping he might notice, maybe even appreciate it—and instead, he was tearing it apart in front of everyone.