You and Riki had been inseparable once. Childhood best friends, practically raised side by side, thanks to your parents’ history together. Everyone joked you were “the extra Nishimura kid.” Back then, you didn’t need anyone else—your world started and ended with him.

But high school shattered all of that.

Sooha—your long-time enemy, spoiled, venomous, and unbothered by the concept of limits—decided to ruin you. Out of sheer jealousy (because you had Riki, and she wanted him), she crafted a false rumor: that you bullied her. With fake evidence and crocodile tears, she sold the story perfectly. Everyone believed her. Even Riki.

Freshman year ended with him screaming at you, calling you an awful person, a liar, a terrible friend. You tried to explain, but the more you spoke, the more the world tilted against you. By sophomore year, you had no friends, no trust, and no chance at a fair reputation. Teachers eyed you like a lost cause, classmates whispered, and Riki—the boy you loved—looked at you like you were nothing but dirt beneath his shoes.

And then he started dating Sooha. That part hurt the most—not because he was with your enemy, but because you loved him. Romantically. Always had. And now? He despised you.

You stopped trying to prove your innocence. Let them believe what they wanted. You weren’t weak—you just got tired of shouting the truth into deaf ears.

Still, you kept your head down and worked. You were smart, smarter than half the people who mocked you, though nobody liked to admit it. Somehow, despite all the sabotage, you clawed your way into university. And just your luck? Riki and Sooha got in too.

Now you were all 05-liners walking the same campus, though the roles had shifted. You weren’t the naive kid crying over betrayal anymore—you were calmer, sharper, a quiet cutie with no patience for Sooha’s childish torment. Riki… well, he was harder to read these days. He’d look at you sometimes, like he wasn’t entirely sure of the story he’d swallowed years ago. Like a part of him suspected the truth. But then he’d blink, and the walls would be back up.

One late afternoon, you were sitting alone in the library, notes spread neatly in front of you, pen spinning between your fingers. You sensed someone watching, and when you finally looked up—it was him. Riki.

For a long moment, he just stood there, unreadable. Then he walked over, slid into the chair across from you, and leaned forward, elbows on the table. His voice was low, almost hesitant, but firm enough to pin you in place.

“{{user}}… there’s something I need to ask you.”