Chapter 30 : The Weight of Forgiveness and the silence between us (Part 4)

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Priscilla lunges.

A strong, clean jab—direct and confident.

I sidestep and drive my heel into her gut.
She grunts, stumbles back—but keeps her footing.

Damn. She’s tougher than she looks.

Priscilla cracks her knuckles, smirking.

“Makin’ gorilla noises already, eh, Pris?”

She grins.

“No idea what was coming, eh? I’ve been waiting for this, mate.”

She dives in again.

I counter with an axe kick. She blocks it with her forearms—grits her teeth through the pressure—and retaliates with rapid low kicks.

I block two—barely dodge the third—then leap back.

Her form’s clean. Street-trained. Maybe even better than I thought…

But I won’t lose.

Not to her.

Not tonight.

Our fists clash again.

Sweat flies. Dirt kicks up.
It’s not a clean fight—but neither are our feelings.

She charges, throwing a spinning elbow.
I duck low, slide behind, twist—aim a sweeping kick that grazes her ribs.

She grunts, stumbles a half-step, then laughs through gritted teeth.

And then—

She says it.

“You’ve got the upper hand, Sil.”

I pause—not in motion, but in my heart.

She breathes heavily, her short hair matted to her cheek, arms still up like a boxer. We both have the same bob hair style.

“I feel like I’m always trying to keep up… especially with Alex in the picture.”
“Am I just the runner-up, mate?”

The words sting. Not because she’s right.

But because I’ve asked myself the same thing.

I clench my fists tighter.

“You… dumbass bitch.”

She blinks—caught off guard.

I spit out the rest like venom, each word sharpened.

“If that’s what you really think, then maybe you should just head home.”
“Curl up in your castle like the damn princess you are—or throw another tantrum like an angry gorilla.”
“Doesn’t matter to me.”

I smirk at her.

But behind that smirk is a storm.

Because if she’s struggling, I’m drowning too.

We crash into each other again.

A flurry of kicks and punches—raw, unchoreographed, not for show.

There’s no grace. No audience.

Only two girls, fists raised, hearts exposed.

Everyone thinks fights are just for boys.
But this—this is how we speak.

Not with words.

But with bruises, breath, and refusal to back down.

Neither of us is backing down.

The air is thick with tension—our panting echoes against the trees behind the house. Dirt sticks to our skin, bruises forming like badges of stubborn pride.

Priscilla wipes blood from her lip, breath hitching.

“You’ve got the moves, Sil.”

She spits to the side, then narrows her eyes at me with a sneer.

“But let’s be real—you’re not the original. You’re just a bloody copycat, mate.”

That hits a nerve.

Hard.

You wanna go there? Fine.

I snap back with venom laced in every syllable.

“Not like you’re any different, Pris! You’re just another one following him around like a lovesick sidekick.”

“You think you’re the blueprint?! Don’t make me laugh.”

Her expression twists.

She lunges with a roar—and suddenly, I’m off the ground.

Her arms wrap around me in a brutal tackle. The world flips upside down—

SLAM!

The impact knocks the air from my lungs.

We’re rolling now, fists flying, tangled like two wildcats in a back-alley brawl. No form, no technique—just raw, chaotic fury.

“You dumb bitch!! Get your facts right!! I learned this way before I ever met Alex!!” I scream, blocking a wild hook.

“Shut it!! You think I needed Alex to survive?! I was doing just fine on my own, mate!” Priscilla growls, nailing me with a glancing blow to the shoulder.

“Don’t underestimate me!!”

We grab, kick, scratch, shout—all the pain we’ve bottled up spilling out in punches.

This isn’t about Alex anymore.

This is about us.

About proving that we’re not just girls orbiting around some guy.

We’re warriors in our own right.

We’re more.

We stagger to our feet.

Our breathing is ragged, our legs barely holding.
Knuckles bruised. Cheeks swollen. Dirt smeared across our faces.

But neither of us backs down.

Not now.

Not when the weight of everything we feel crashes down in this moment.

We’ve both been saved by him.
We both love him.
And maybe… we both owe him a debt we’ll never be able to repay.

Because Alex isn’t just someone we care about.

He’s our anchor.

Our storm.

Our reason to fight.

Priscilla tightens her stance, but doesn’t speak.

Her expression is unreadable—half-exhausted, half-defiant.

Then, she flashes that crooked, cocky grin.

“Well then… nighty night, mate.”
“Don’t let the bed bugs bite... hard.”

She leaps forward—arms cocked back, knuckles aimed for my jaw.

I spring up with a high, spinning kick—my signature move.

And then—

CRACK.

Her fist connects with my cheek at the exact same moment my heel smashes into hers.

Time stops.

Pain blooms like fireworks behind my eyes.

We both drop—like fallen warriors after the final blow.

Dust settles.

There’s no victory cry.

Just silence.

We lie there—shoulders touching in the grass.
Sweat glistens under the moonlight.

The world spins. But the sky stays still.

We stare up at the stars.

No more punches. No more words.

Just the quiet sound of two girls breathing, bruised and broken—yet somehow lighter.

I lie flat on the ground, breath still heavy.

The stars above twinkle like they're mocking us.
Priscilla's arm brushes mine, and for once, it doesn’t feel like competition. Just… peace.

Then her voice cuts through the quiet.

“Gosh, Sil… ya ever notice we’ve never actually had a proper conversation before?”

I raise an eyebrow, still panting.

“Well, you were always busy seducing him instead of talking to me…”

That makes her snort.

We both giggle—genuine, breathless, and ridiculous after a street-level brawl in the backyard.

Priscilla flashes that smug grin again, wiping her cheek with the back of her hand.

“At least we’re starting fresh. And if I’m being honest—”
“I reckon I’m coming out on top, mate.”

I roll my eyes, smirking.

“Still looking for a fight? You bloody gorilla.”

We laugh again, louder this time.

Then—out of nowhere—a voice joins in, calm and smooth as ever:

“Kukuku… you girls never learn, do ya?”

We jolt up.

Mariam sits cross-legged near the tree stump, sipping a cup of tea like she’s been there all night.

Wait—WHEN did she get here!?

Priscilla blinks at her.

“Oi! When did you arrive, mate?!”

Mariam smiles knowingly.

“Since the start.”

She casually lifts her teacup again.

“Figured you two needed some space to punch out your feelings. Classic post-trauma bonding.”
“Haaah… If only that bozo saw this…” she sighs dramatically, sipping again.
“Nat… girl, you’ve got some serious competition.”

“Umm… the food’s getting cold, you know…” she adds with a mischievous wink.

Priscilla groans and pulls herself up, brushing dust off her skirt.

“What’s for tucker, Sil? Got somethin’ cookin’ in the pot?”

I grin, standing slowly with a wince.

“Curry.”

Her eyes light up like a kid at a festival.

“Oh hell yeah! Curry’s the good stuff!”

She loops an arm over my shoulder like we’re besties now.

“Come on, Sil! What’s the delay? Let’s get moving, mate!”

I shake my head, chuckling as Mariam follows behind us, still sipping her tea.

Even bruised, beaten, and emotionally wrecked… it’s moments like this that feel like home.

Mariam leans against the house back door with that signature smirk of hers, sipping her tea like she's the queen of mischief.

“Well, you ladies better clean yourselves up... Unless you want the others to start asking why you look like you went five rounds with a wild boar.”

I roll my eyes, sore in every inch of my body.
Priscilla, still brushing the leaves out of her hair, snorts.

“Oi! Boar? Rude. We were way more graceful than that.”

“Yeah, right.” I sigh, my muscles protesting as I move.
“Come on, bruiser. Let’s not let Hana see us like this—she’ll cry for sure.”

We slip back into the house like secret agents.
Quiet footsteps. Quick dash up the stairs.
Avoiding all human contact.

Into the bathroom. Shower. Steam. Silence.

For once, no jabs. No sarcasm.

Just two girls rinsing off sweat, dirt, and pride.

After, we change in my room. I toss Priscilla one of my spare dresses—it’s oversized, soft, and has an old print of a cartoon sheep on it.

She holds it up with a brow raised.

“This... this is what you’re giving me?”

“You want to wear your bloodstained jeans instead?”

“Tch. Fine.” She slips it on—and it hangs on her like a floppy curtain.
“Oi, I look like a bloody curtain ghost.”

I burst into laughter. She joins me a second later.

It feels good.
Like we’ve knocked all the walls down—literally and emotionally—and now we can breathe.

“Well,” I say between giggles, “at least you’re not trying to punch me anymore.”

“Nah,” she grins, flopping on the bed beside me, “only because I’m too sore.”

We both lie back, the moonlight drifting through the window.

There’s a comfortable silence for a while.

“Thanks, Sil,” she says quietly, almost under her breath.

“For what?”

“For not going easy on me.”

I smile, closing my eyes.

“Right back at you, Pris.”

That doesn't end there.

Everyone’s staring at us now, like they’ve just walked in on a confession scene from a romance drama.

“Uh-huh... that’s interesting,”
Mother smirks, glancing between me and Priscilla like she’s watching her favorite soap opera.
Mariam leans over and whispers something into her ear—

And I swear—

Her expression lights up like she just unlocked a new matchmaking level.

“Aha~ I’m sooo proud of my son,” she says, voice thick with playful sarcasm.
“Seems like I’ve got plenty of options for my future daughter-in-law, chak~!”

She even winks.

Huh—?! Excuse me?!

I choke slightly on my drink, while Priscilla turns redder than the curry pot.

Lord Newman joins in with that posh chuckle of his.

“Well, well, well—looks like you two are finally having a chinwag. About time, if you ask me.”

That’s not the point!!

Even I feel my ears burning with embarrassment.
I try to glare, but it only makes mother more smug.

Priscilla shifts awkwardly beside me, mumbling something about needing more rice.

The teasing drags on through dinner, filled with sly comments, smug smirks, and poor Amin trying not to laugh with food in his mouth. Siti nearly chokes on her drink when Mariam throws in a comment about “Alex’s harem arc.”

Eventually, the noise dies down.

The table’s clean. The dishes done.

But the weight in my chest? Still there.

Priscilla and I slip away, heading quietly to Alex’s room.

It’s dim. Peaceful.
The faint sound of his breathing fills the space.
He still hasn’t moved.

Still lying there...
Like time itself refuses to move until he opens his eyes.

We both sit down at his bedside, one on each side.
No words. Just silence and the dim glow of the bedside lamp.

Please... wake up.

I glance at him.

His face looks calm—too calm. Almost unnatural.

And my heart aches.

I’ve seen him hurt before.

When he got swept away by the landslide in Long Pasia…
When he collapsed after taking hits meant for me...
Even when I found out—

That the woman who gave birth to me…
Tried to kill him.

That memory stings more than any bruise.

I never experienced anything like this.
This fear… this helplessness…

My hand gently finds his.

Warm, but unmoving.

“Alex...” I whisper.
“You idiot... You said you’d always be here.”

Priscilla doesn’t speak. But I feel her hand tremble just a bit.

We sit there together, bruised, battered, and terrified.

Waiting.

We both decide — without a word — that we’re not leaving him alone tonight.

Not now.
Not after everything.

So Priscilla and I sit by Alex’s side, taking turns watching the gentle rise and fall of his breath… until finally…
sleep pulls us in.

Morning.

I blink groggily, my body stiff, still curled beside Alex.
The blankets are tangled. My head rests against the edge of the bed, the faint scent of his skin clinging to the air.

As I shift slightly, I see her.

Mom.

Already there.
Humming softly. Gently wiping his forehead with a warm cloth.

Her movements are calm, practiced — the kind that only a mother knows.
She notices me stir and smiles.

“Morning, Sylvia…
Thank you, dear. For watching over him.”

I sit up, brushing my messy hair back, and instinctively move beside her, helping clean his arm.

The blanket slips back slightly — and that's when I see it.

A long, jagged scar.
Trailing down his shoulder like a remnant of something brutal and unseen.

I pause. My breath catches.

Mom sighs quietly, gently pressing the cloth against it.

“Oh dear… look at these scars.
All the pain he’s been through…”

And then… I remember.

That day. That moment. That madness.

The day when Borneo College was still ruled by pride and cruelty.

Orientation.

A sick “tradition” where students were split — elites above, commoners below.
Where humiliation was part of the system, and silence was survival.

I stood in that crowd, my fists clenched, heart thudding.

Then he stepped forward.

Alex.

Quiet. Calm. Unshaken.

They tried to push him, mock him, break him.

But instead…

He took the mic.
Stared out at the hall. His gaze — fierce, unblinking.

And then—

He unbuttoned his shirt.

Gasps rippled through the room.

There they were.

Scars. Dozens of them.
Some deep and jagged, others faded like ancient battle lines.
A mosaic of survival etched into his body.

He wasn’t trying to intimidate us.
He wasn’t playing a part.

He was showing us the truth.
What pain really looked like.
What it meant to endure — not for applause, but because he had no choice.

And in that moment… every “elite” in that room looked small.

He didn’t shout.
He didn’t throw a punch.

He just stood there.

Scars bared.
Heart locked.
Eyes burning with quiet defiance.

Back in the present, I dip the towel into the water again. My hand trembles slightly.

He’s still the same.
Still carrying those wounds.
Still protecting all of us… without asking for anything in return.

Mom speaks beside me, voice low and distant.

“He was just a child when he disappeared in ‘95.
Ten years old…
And when he came back… he didn’t talk about it.
Just scars. Just silence.”

“He told me bits and pieces,” I whisper. “About Compton… about surviving.
But never the full story.”

She gives me a knowing look.

“He only tells you what he thinks won’t make you cry.”

She leans down, brushing his hair back gently — like she’s done it a thousand times before.

Then her eyes shimmer with memory.

“Sylvia…
When Alex disappeared that year…
I called Natalie first.”

I blink.

“What did she say…?”

She chuckles quietly.

“She didn’t say anything.
She fainted on the spot.”

My chest tightens.
Natalie…
She must’ve loved him that much — even back then.

Just like me.

I look down at him again.

Still. Motionless.
Like someone stuck between this world and another.

“Alex…” I whisper, clutching the cloth a little tighter.
“Please wake up…
I still have so much to say.
So much I want to hear… without blood, without fear, without scars.”

And under my breath, I add:

“You idiot… how many people are you going to make worry for you?”

After we finish cleaning Alex, I hear a soft rustle behind me.

Priscilla stirs, blinking as the morning light filters through the curtains. Her gaze lands on me and Mother quietly wiping Alex’s arms and legs with warm towels. She doesn’t say a word—just sits up, brushes back her tangled blonde ponytail, and walks over.

Wordlessly, she kneels down beside us and starts helping.

We say nothing.

But… somehow, that silence speaks louder than any apology.

Mother eventually breaks the quiet with her calm, ever-so-practical tone.

“The others are upstairs.
Your father, Priscilla, came by late last night. He said you’re safer here with everyone.”

Priscilla tries to keep things light, though her eyes still flicker toward Alex from time to time.

“He’s off his rocker.
I’m not bailing on my mates when things get hairy.”

I nod slowly.
She’s scared too. We all are. But she won't show it.

Mother gives a small sigh and brushes her apron.

“Sylvia, Priscilla—go get ready for school. You can’t afford to fall behind.”

We both nod, standing up with heavy hearts.

Upstairs, the dining table is set. The morning sun pours in through the windows, catching dust motes in the air like fireflies.

Amin and Mariam are already there, seated like it’s just another day — though Mariam’s mischievous grin is already suspicious.

“Kukukuku… a bit gloomy for you gals today, huh?”

Before I can reply, she smacks Priscilla’s butt with a loud SMACK!

“Oi, Mar!” Priscilla jumps up with a yelp.
“What the bloody hell’s gotten into you?! Don’t think you can just slap my bum and get away with it!”

I chuckle—only to be SMACKED next.

“OW!! Mariam!! What was that for!?” I shoot her a glare while rubbing my side.

She only shrugs, grinning like the gremlin she is.

“You two needed a wake-up call. That’s how I show love, y’know~”

Amin, who’s halfway through a sip of his tea, spits it slightly and turns beet red.

“Y-you can’t just go around slapping girls’ butts in front of people!”

Alex’s dad lets out a heavy sigh, one hand over his face.

“Ai… you kids.
It’s not even 8 a.m…”

Despite the sore muscles and gloom lingering from the night before, I feel something warm build in my chest.

This is what Alex built.
This chaos.
This family.
This bond.

And we’ll keep it safe until he wakes up.

We arrive at school just like any other morning — the sun is high, the air warm, and the gates buzzing with the usual chatter.

Hana, Steward, and Maya run off toward their class, giggling about something I can’t catch.
Meanwhile, up ahead—
I spot Shinji standing awkwardly in front of the main gates, flanked by Mariam, who’s practically dragging him toward the school council room.

The moment he spots me—

“Morning, senpai!!”

He bows — stiff and formal.
His tone is polite. Almost too polite.

My gut clenches.

Even now, after everything… I can’t completely forgive him.
The memory still burns.
But—I manage a small bow back.

Just enough.
Just… enough to be civil.

I pass him without a word and head straight to class.

The moment I walk in—
I can feel it.

That thick, buzzing classroom aura —
Not chaos, but something worse. Gossip.

George, naturally, is the ringleader.

“Yo, guys, you hear? That girl Windy—she’s being put through rehab. Like, counseling stuff. With Ms. Genevie, no less.”

Lidyia leans over from the next desk, curious.

“Hey, Sil... wasn’t she your classmate back in the day?”

“Yeah…” I nod slowly. “She was… well, a bit… spoiled.”

Hani snorts, arms crossed.

“Spoiled? That girl was like a nightmare in heels. She bullied half the girls in the old commoner class.”

Fiona joins in, chewing her gum with flair.

“Tch. Serves her right. Always thought she was top dog just because she had some connections.”

Rachel, a bit softer than the rest, murmurs from her corner:

“Still… I kind of pity her. She’s what we’d call katak bawah tempurung, y’know? Like a frog stuck in a well… clueless about the real world.”

I chuckle faintly at the expression, but my heart's not really in it.

We keep chatting, mostly harmless venting—until George pipes up again, lowering his voice like he’s about to drop a bombshell.

“Oh! Also—my brother, remember him? Works in that hotel downtown?”

Everyone perks up.

“Well… he told me something WILD. Apparently, his friend was on duty at this condo last night—right? Said some sketchy stuff was going down. Armed guys. Real scary types.”

“And get this—Alex was there.”

My eyes snap toward him.
The room goes a little too quiet.

“What?” I ask carefully. “What do you mean he was there?”

“I mean, they saw him. My brother swears it. Said the guy came out of nowhere and took out like... a whole squad of armed dudes! Like an actual secret agent or something!”

“Bullshit,” Fiona mutters.

“Nah, for real!” George insists. “He said they saw him walking out like nothing happened. Like a ghost. Said he looked calm, bloody even. Like he’s used to that kinda thing.”

My heart skips.

That... wasn’t something Mariam or Amin mentioned.
When did this happen?

Before George can keep going, I cut in quickly.

“Your brother probably just saw someone else. Alex isn’t... like that.”

Rachel and Jackie back me up instantly.

“Yeah, come on, George. Alex is cool and all, but he’s not some kind of action hero.”

“Totally. He’s strong, yeah—but that’s over the top.”

George just shrugs, unfazed.

“Hey, I’m just telling you what I heard. But hey—if he is a secret agent, that’d be kinda cool, right?”

Everyone laughs it off lightly.

But I’m not laughing.

I stare down at my desk, fingers tightening around my pen.

Alex… what are you hiding from me now?

Lunch break.

I push through the crowd, ignoring the shouts from the volleyball court and the smell of fried noodles from the cafeteria.

There’s only one thing I want to know today.

What happened few days ago ? That incident

I spot Mariam near the student council table set up under the tree. She's in full senpai mode — hand on hip, giving orders with the intensity of a drill sergeant. Right beside her, Shinji, looking awkward in his too-loose blazer, is trying to memorize a clipboard like his life depends on it.

“Hey, Mar…”

Mariam glances over. Shinji straightens up and bows immediately.

“Sempai! Good afternoon!”

I give a nod in return. He’s trying. Maybe a little too hard.

“What’s up, Sil?” Mariam says, not looking up from the form she's scribbling on. “My babe’s stuck sorting files with Melissa and I’m out here raising this delinquent like a baby duck.”

I walk closer, lowering my voice.

“It’s about... Alex. That night. What really happened?”

That gets her attention.

Mariam freezes, pen paused mid-sentence.

“Huh? What’re you talking about?” she asks, smirking. “Still scrambled from the catfight with Pris? Need a memory check?”

“I’m serious.”

I glance at Shinji. Still here. Still listening.

Suddenly, he perks up and speaks like he’s been trained for this moment.

“Sempai! The cafeteria looks chaotic. I think I’ll go help the staff with line control.”

Right on cue, from across the lawn:

“Shinji! Oi! Come 'ere and help with these trays, will ya?!”

Priscilla’s voice, like a whip cracking through the air.

“Hai, sempai!!”
And just like that, he bolts.

We both watch him disappear around the corner.

Gone is the Shinji who once made chaos. Now he’s just... a kid trying to make things right.

Mariam sighs, crossing her arms.

“Kukuku… Feels like I’ve raised a son. Weird, huh?”

I nod slowly, then ask again.

“Mar… I heard some rumors. About you. About Amin. About something that happened that night…”

Her teasing vanishes. She gives me a flat look, as if I just accused her of stealing.

“What’re you on about?”

“Just tell me.”

She looks away. Her fingers tense.

“Please.”

She turns back to me, lips pressing into a thin line—then suddenly grabs my collar and yanks me close.

“Dumbass! You think you’re the only one carrying guilt?!”

My breath catches.

Her voice isn’t angry. It’s trembling.

She lets go, turning away again just as Amin walks over, a backpack slung over one shoulder.

“Told you, babe,” he says with a small grin. “I knew Sil would sniff it out eventually.”

Mariam scoffs and crosses her arms tighter.

“Shut up, you nerd.”

“Come on,” Amin says, looking at me. “Let’s go somewhere quieter.”

We head toward the old student council podium, the one half-hidden behind the gardening shed. The place we used to hang out after school — snack packets in hand, dreaming about festivals and future plans.

But today, there’s none of that.

We sit. Silence for a moment, until Amin unzips his bag and pulls something out.

Not a phone.

Not a flash drive.

A small black film canister.

Amin unscrews the tiny black cap and carefully pulls out a tightly rolled strip of 35mm negative film, tucked securely between thin layers of plastic. The film glints faintly under the natural light, like a coil of memories waiting to be unspooled.

“This is... from someone Alex met,” Amin says quietly. “He said it was taken by someone in the shadows… someone who was watching us — watching you.”

My chest tightens.

“What... kind of picture?” I ask, swallowing down the nervous knot forming in my throat.

“One of you and Alex. And a few of us… together. From a distance. Like surveillance.”

That sick, creeping feeling slides under my skin.

“When did this happen?”

Amin doesn’t answer right away. He looks to Mariam. She’s unusually quiet, arms folded, chewing her inner lip.

Then he speaks.

“It was around the time Shinji… started getting close to someone. Someone dangerous. A woman.”

My breath hitches.
So it wasn’t just reckless behavior… he was being manipulated?

“Wait,” I say, piecing it together, “Are you saying Shinji was—?”

“Trying to cut a deal,” Mariam says flatly. “Yeah. With them. And it nearly cost us everything.”

Boom.
My stomach drops.

“I thought you gave everything to the police,” I whisper.

Amin shrugs, flashing that sheepish grin of his.

“We did. But there’s nothing wrong with keeping a few copies… just in case. Especially when your secretary’s also your future husband.”

Mariam elbows him with a scowl.

“You sneaky bastard. But yeah,” she smirks, “That’s my babe.”

They lean into each other, but there’s a hollowness beneath the laughter.
I can feel it.
There’s more to this story. And they’re scared.

“Sylvia,” Amin says suddenly, his voice grounding into something serious. “Out of all the stills we managed to extract, there’s one that stood out.”

He unfurls the film slowly, stopping at a single frame. His fingers hover over the image — barely visible through the translucent celluloid — but just enough for me to see.

My heart stutters.

That’s… her.
A woman, sharp-featured and cold-eyed.
Standing in a dark alley. Facing someone blurred in the background.

“That’s the clone,” Amin says. “Caught in the middle of a deal. The one Alex warned us about. But…”

He shoots a pointed look at Mariam.

“But some of us didn’t believe him at the time.”

Mariam lowers her gaze. For once, the fire in her eyes dims.

“We thought he was being paranoid. Thought he was just... carrying too much again. But that time…”

Amin finishes for her.

“We got ambushed. Armed men. Like something out of a spy movie. Guns. Military precision. They were trying to erase the footage. Wipe out the trail.”

My blood runs cold.

“You were captured…?”

“Briefly. But Alex…”
He pauses, jaw tightening.

“He tore through them. Like a ghost. Efficient. Silent. Merciless.”

Mariam adds, her voice trembling now.

“He didn’t hesitate. Not once. It wasn’t a fight. It was an execution.”

A quiet, numbing silence falls over us.

I stare at the tiny strip of film again.
It’s barely a few centimeters wide.
But within it — pieces of a truth Alex never wanted me to see.

“Why are you showing me this now?”

Amin turns to me, his gaze sharp, unwavering.

“Because Alex still thinks he can carry all of this alone. And that’s what will destroy him.”

He grips the film, knuckles white.

“But you, Sylvia… You’re the only one who might be able to stop him from going too far.”

My throat tightens.
I think back to that night — the fear, the gunfire, the way his back looked as he shielded me with his own body.
Scarred. Unshaken.

Alex… What are you planning now?

I don’t say anything. Just clench my fists over my skirt, heart racing like thunder behind my ribs.

Mariam folds her arms, gaze turning distant as the memories stir.

“When Shinji called Alex... told him he had you... something changed in him.”

I feel it again — that chill from the warehouse. That overwhelming pressure when he appeared. The way even Shinji collapsed just from his presence.

Mariam continues, more carefully now.

“To tell you the truth… that was the first time I felt it. That… fear.”

She bites her lip.

“It was Alex, but at the same time… it wasn’t. You get what I mean?”

“That look in his eyes,” she adds. “Like he’d already decided someone was going to die.”

I feel my stomach twist.

Yeah… I saw it too. In that moment, he didn’t hesitate. He was ruthless.

Amin scratches the back of his head.

“Yeah, same thing happened… back in LA.”

I blink.

“Wait—what?”

“Yeah… That time Mariam had her MTV audition. You know, the one where LA was under lockdown? That was our trip.”

I freeze.

Hold on. That was them? That chaos was because—

Amin continues, voice lower now.

“Only Mika was with us. I swear, I’ve never seen Alex that pissed. Especially when Isabella’s brother got caught in the crossfire… and Mr. Hawk — Natalie’s dad — nearly got shot…”

His tone darkens, eyes glazing with the memory.

“Alex took a bullet. Just like that. Didn’t flinch. Soro and Maya were there too — backed him like it was a mission. Not a rescue.”

“Wait—Soro and Maya were in LA too?” I echo, stunned.

This is too much.

Mika.
LA.
Guns.
Soro.
A bullet—?!

“You mean… Mika… as in Mika Nakamura? The idol? The one who's on MTV, in magazines, on billboards—that Mika?”

Mariam snorts, puffing her cheeks like she’s about to explode with sass. Her nose lifts like a smug anime character.

“Yep. But back then? Hah. She wasn’t some sparkling pop superstar…”

Amin coughs awkwardly. He’s blushing now. Full-on tomato.

“Uhh… yeah, about that…”

Mariam casually drops the bomb like it’s nothing.

“She was a stripper.”

“EH!?!?” I nearly choke.

“Alex was hanging out with a stripper?! You mean that Mika?! The one with the cute bangs and the voice of an angel?!"

Mariam grins.

“Not so angelic back then. And don’t freak out — she was doing it to survive, okay? Life in LA wasn’t easy for any of us.”

“Still!!”

I’m trying to keep up, but every second they talk, it’s like I’m watching a live-action drama.

Alex…
Bullet wounds.
Secret missions.
An ex-stripper idol?
And Soro leading the way like some underworld commander?!

My thoughts are spiraling, but it gets worse when Mariam casually adds:

“Mika’s the same age as me, Alex, and Amin we met her during our LA trip.”

A pause.

Same age…?
Wait…
WAIT A MINUTE!

“So Mika… and Natalie… both older than me… and they already have history with him?!”

Mariam notices the twitch in my eye and smirks like she’s reading my entire soul.

“Aww… jealous already, huh?”

“I am not!”

I cross my arms, but inside my head, sirens are going off.

No wonder Soro saying that I don’t understand what Alex has been through…

And in my heart, one bitter thought creeps in.

How many pieces of him are still out there — with people who came before me?

I lean back slightly, the wooden edge of the podium creaking beneath me. My thoughts are racing — but I try to anchor myself, focus on what matters. So I cut through the noise and just ask.

“So… all of this… the violence, the chaos… is it because of us? Because we dragged Alex into this?”

Mariam goes quiet. Her gaze drops to the ground, her shadow stretching long beneath her as the sun dips further west.

“I don’t think it’s just us,” she says softly. “But yeah… we played our part. Still, this… this feels like Alex’s destiny. Like the universe just won’t leave him alone.”

Amin crosses his arms, voice steady but distant.

“That idiot… he never lets anyone help. Carries it all on his back like a damn hero. Like he has to protect everyone.”

He smirks for a second, but it doesn’t last.

“If he were awake right now, I can already hear him saying, ‘Don’t blame yourselves. It’s not your fault.’”

Yeah. That sounds like him.
Too proud. Too quiet. Too selfless.

Too broken.

Mariam offers a small, bittersweet smile.

“At least Shinji’s changed, right? I still can’t believe it. That guy was full-on delinquent mode. Then Alex walks in, doesn’t even say a full sentence… and boom. Shinji pulls a 180 and starts calling us ‘senpai’ like he’s in a shonen manga.”

I chuckle, but it fades quickly.
Because there’s still one name I haven’t mentioned. One shadow that keeps trailing behind Alex… like a second heartbeat.

“What about Soro…?”

The air shifts.

Amin tenses immediately, his fists clenching at his side as if preparing to block a memory.

“Soro…?” he repeats, voice dropping an octave.

Mariam stops breathing for a second.

Amin is the first to speak.

“Forget about him. Seriously. Just… forget it.”

I stare at him, confused.

“But he’s always around Alex—he’s training him, right?”

“Training?” Amin scoffs. “That’s one way to put it. Or maybe he's just forging a weapon.”

Mariam doesn’t look at me, just stares off toward the rooftops.

“Soro isn’t like us, Sil. He’s not normal. He’s not even… human sometimes. He doesn’t smile, doesn’t flinch, doesn’t feel.”

“We call him the Grim Reaper,” she says flatly.

My breath catches.

“Because wherever he shows up, someone bleeds.”

“Sometimes the enemy. Sometimes… us.”

Silence falls like a weight. I look between the two of them — neither of them meeting my eyes now.

“Why does Alex trust him, then…?”

Amin sighs.

“Because Soro saved him once. And ever since, Alex has believed… that the only way to win is to become someone like him.”

Mariam finally looks at me. And for the first time, I see fear. Not for herself — but for Alex.

“That’s what scares me most,” she says. “Because if Alex keeps following Soro’s path…”

Her voice shakes.

“…he won’t come back the same.”

I bite my lip, the knot tightening in my stomach.
Is that what this all comes down to?

Alex becoming someone we won’t recognize anymore?

Someone not even I can save?

The air around us feels heavy — like a storm that’s passed but left the sky broken.

Amin leans against the pillar beside me, arms crossed, brows furrowed. “Alex always walks his own path,” he mutters. “Always has.”

Mariam sits beside me on the bench, her gaze distant, tapping her fingers rhythmically against her arm. “We tried talking to him before… after everything with the clones. But now…” She pauses, her jaw tightening. “…he’s different.”

I feel my throat tighten. “Different… how?”

She doesn’t meet my eyes. “He’s… obsessed. Like the only way forward is through the fire.”

My hands curl into fists in my lap.

I want to deny it — tell them they’re wrong. But I can’t.

Because I feel it too.

That cold weight in the air around him even while he’s unconscious. That invisible pressure in the room. As if his mind is still fighting battles even in sleep.

Amin sighs, looking down. “Alex is fighting something we can’t see. Something he won’t let us help with. Like he has to carry it alone.”

“…I met Soro,” I say softly.

Both their heads snap toward me.

“You what?” Amin blurts out, standing straight. “When?”

“Last night. Outside the house,” I say, voice quiet but steady. “He was standing under the tree. Smoking. Watching over us… or maybe just watching him.”

Mariam’s eyes narrow, her voice sharpening. “Did he say anything?”

I nod, recalling that cold voice in the dark.

“He asked if Alex was alright. But it wasn’t… concern. It was like he was checking if his experiment was still intact.”

Amin clicks his tongue, pacing. “Damn it… that guy gives me the creeps. I told you — Soro’s bad news.”

Mariam adds, arms crossed tight now. “He’s not a mentor. He’s a trigger. Wherever he goes, people get hurt. Death follows him like a shadow.”

I hesitate, remembering how Soro looked at me — the faint smirk, the golden eyes that mirrored Alex’s but colder… emptier.

“He told me… that what happened could’ve been avoided. That we—” I glance at Mariam, “—were too reckless. And Alex is paying the price.”

Mariam’s jaw clenches.

“He’s not wrong,” she mutters. “But that doesn’t give him the right.”

Silence stretches between us.

Then Mariam finally speaks again, softer this time. “If Alex ever wakes up… and decides to go full-on Soro… I don’t know if we’ll be able to stop him.”

Amin nods grimly. “Yeah… if Alex ever becomes like him… we’re all in trouble.”

I stare at the sky above the school rooftops, feeling that ache return to my chest.

“But he won’t,” I say quietly.

They look at me.

“He won’t,” I repeat, stronger this time. “Because we’re not going to let him go that far. We’ve all seen what he can become. But we also know who he really is.”

Mariam looks at me long and hard… then nods once. “Then we better be ready to fight beside him.”

“Or against him,” Amin adds, bitterly.

My heart pounds.

“…Let’s make sure it never comes to that.”

To be continued