Chapter 13: “Rurika "

Before Touko Nishima arrived, the classroom had belonged to one girl.

Rurika Hanabusa.

She wasn’t a queen by force. She became one by charm—bright laughter, glossy hair, perfect social instincts. Teachers praised her confidence. Boys circled around her like bees around a flower. Girls followed her lead to stay in the warm center of popularity.

She shined.

Everyone saw it.

Everyone agreed she deserved attention.

Then Touko transferred in.

And the world shifted without warning.

Touko never tried. She didn’t chase attention. She didn’t gossip. She didn’t show off. She didn’t even speak unless spoken to. Yet somehow, her presence pulled the light away from Rurika like a quiet eclipse.

The classroom felt different with Touko in it—too still, too composed, too serene. People whispered without meaning to, drawn by a strange mixture of admiration and unease.

“Who is she?”

“She’s so pretty.”

“She’s like a doll.”

“No… more like a ghost.”

Each comment chipped at Rurika’s pride.

The first time Rurika confronted her, it was disguised as friendliness.

“You’re really quiet, Nishima-san. Trying too hard to look mysterious?”

Touko blinked once. “No.”

Rurika waited for more—an excuse, a stutter, a crack.

Nothing came.

Touko simply returned to her book, calm and unreadable.

That calm became Rurika’s enemy.

Soon Rurika started calling her fake behind her back.

“She pretends to be perfect.”

“She wants pity.”

“She thinks silence makes her special.”

Touko never responded.

She just watched her with those soft, empty eyes.

That made it worse.

She ignored every rumor.

Every whisper.

Every petty insult.

Silence wasn’t surrender.

Silence felt like superiority.

And Rurika couldn’t stand it.

---

Hiromiya’s sudden interest in Touko added fuel to the fire.

He had always been polite to Rurika, but never more than that. When he began carrying Touko’s books and walking with her, something in Rurika twisted painfully.

“Seriously? Him? With her?”

Himari overheard the comment once, but didn’t tell Touko.

Touko didn’t need to know how much damage she caused without lifting a finger.

---

Rurika escalated.

She “accidentally” stepped on Touko’s shoes.

Touko stepped back. “It’s fine.”

She whispered near the lockers, “People like her end up alone.”

Touko didn’t even glance at her.

She spread rumors that Touko cried in the bathroom every day.

Students laughed, confused—no one had ever seen Touko cry.

The lack of reaction terrified Rurika.

It felt like mocking.

It felt like Touko wasn’t even acknowledging her existence.

As if Rurika wasn’t worth noticing.

---

Then came the school visit day.

Parents wandered the halls with polite smiles, checking classes and meeting teachers. Rurika walked proudly with her mother, a stylish woman with a sharp face and a sharper voice.

“Make sure you look composed,” her mother whispered. “People are watching.”

Rurika straightened her back. “I always do.”

They entered the classroom. Students chatted, parents compared notes, teachers hovered around. Touko stood near the window, speaking quietly with Himari.

When Rurika’s mother’s eyes landed on Touko, something changed.

Her breath caught.

Her expression softened in a way Rurika had never seen.

She whispered, barely audible, “Who… who is that girl?”

Rurika blinked. “Her? That’s Touko Nishima. Why?”

Her mother stepped closer, almost mesmerized. “She’s beautiful…”

Rurika nodded, used to such comments, but her mother’s voice lowered to something fragile.

“She looks like… she should have been my daughter.”

Rurika froze.

Her chest tightened, a sharp sting she wasn’t prepared for.

“What?” she whispered, but her mother didn’t hear.

She was staring at Touko, eyes filled with longing.

Regret.

Something raw.

“She’d be perfect,” her mother murmured. “So perfect…”

Perfect.

Perfect.

Perfect.

The word echoed in Rurika’s skull like a crack forming slowly along glass.

Touko turned ever so slightly, sensing the attention. Their eyes met—Touko’s calm and empty, as if she had known this moment would come.

Rurika’s mother smiled softly at Touko.

Not at Rurika.

Not today.

Not like she used to.

Then Touko looked away.

Casual.

Dismissive.

Untouched.

And Rurika felt something inside her give out.

Her mother straightened her posture, composure returning quickly. “Come along, Rurika. Don’t fall behind.”

Rurika’s throat tightened. “Did you mean it?”

Her mother frowned. “Mean what?”

“What you said about her.”

Her mother didn’t answer. She moved on, walking toward another parent with a bright smile.

Rurika stayed frozen.

Her ears rang.

Her hands trembled.

A strange burning filled her chest—not anger, not jealousy… something far heavier.

Touko didn’t move.

She just watched Rurika’s collapse with that gentle, unreadable stillness.

The moment stretched thin, fragile as paper.

Rurika’s breathing hitched.

Everything she built—popularity, confidence, pride—collapsed in one sentence.

“She should have been my daughter…”

Rurika felt her world tilt.

And Touko Nishima, silent and perfect, stood at the center of it without lifting a single finger.