Morning light slipped through the half-drawn curtains, spilling over Flora's face gentle, but cold against her skin.

The warmth of it couldn't chase away the chill left by last night's talk with Brandon and dreed she felt from the message. Her chest felt tight with the same heaviness that had followed her into sleep.

She freshened up and packed her new PE uniform, folding it neatly before setting the package on the table downstairs.

In the dining room, the faint clinking of dishes mixed with Brandon's voice as he spoke over the phone, polite and practiced.

It didn't take long to understand he was inviting guests for the welcome dinner they'd discussed the previous night.

When he finally ended the call, he looked up at her.

"I've called some of our parents' friends," he said, adjusting his sleeves as though it were just another chore. "You should find a time to invite Austin while you're at school."

her hand paused mid-air. The toast slipped back to the plate, crumbs scattering like tiny cracks in silence.

Even a sip of milk wouldn't go down her throat.

"I'm full," she murmured, setting the glass aside.

Before Brandon could respond, she grabbed the package and left her footsteps sharp, her heartbeat louder.

Today morning, in the quiet of the school office, the printer hummed as fresh enrollment papers slid out.

"Name?" the teacher asked.

"Liam hart," the boy replied, his voice steady but his gaze unreadable.

---

In school, PE class

By the time she reached the changing room, her thoughts were a tangled mess. She tore open the package, and a handful of glittering ribbons tumbled to the floor. For a second, she just stared blank, then horrified.

"Don't tell me…" she whispered. "I brought the wrong bag."

The class rep noticed her distress. "Did you forget your uniform? You can borrow mine," she offered kindly.

Flora hesitated. The shirt looked a size too small, fitted for someone slimmer. But she couldn't skip class now.

"…Thank you," she said softly.

When she changed, the borrowed shirt clung to her. Flora had never been ashamed of her body, she’d always had a natural, hourglass figure, the kind people paid trainers to sculpt. A slim waist, gentle curves, a softness that was hers alone. Beautiful, yes… but also the reason she dreaded the way eyes lingered on her.

"As long as I'm marked present, that's all that matters," she whispered, clutching the hem of the shirt before stepping outside.

---

The laughter came instantly.

"Hey, PE or photoshoot day?"

"Didn't know we had a model here!"

One guy, probably from a different section whistled. "Damn, Austin is one lucky guy."

"What's the use of that figure? She couldn't even keep her boyfriend," girl snickered.

"All the better," someone else chimed in. "One of us might have a chance with her."

"Hell nah. That girl’s a gold digger," a boy said with contempt in his eyes. "Girls like her are hard to get rid of."

If the boys mocked her but still stole second glances, the girls' reactions were completely different—jealousy, envy, and quiet contempt simmered beneath their stares.

"No wonder Austin dumped her. Who wants that kind of attention?"

"She’s pretending to be embarrassed, but she must be loving this."

To Flora, each word hit like a pebble against glass—small, but stinging. lately they have been talking a lot but retaliation would make it worst.

So, Flora's jaw tightened. She kept her eyes low, her hands balled at her sides until the teacher finished roll call. Then she turned and walked out of the field, ignoring the whispers trailing behind her.

Laughter rippled faintly across the field.

Then, without warning, one of the sprinklers burst open with a sharp hiss, drenching a cluster of boys who'd been jeering moments ago.

"Who keeps messing with the system?" the teacher barked, his voice cutting through the chaos.

Behind the bleachers, someone stood half-hidden in shadow, a phone glinting faintly in his hand. He looked at the girl leaving field, her face half-lit by sunlight and sadness.

Something in him tightened. Watching her like that quiet, hurt, and alone stirred an ache too deep to name. He could stop watching, yet he didn't. He could walk away, yet he lingered, as if her pain had rooted him there.

At last, he exhaled softly.

A sharp glint passed through his eyes as he gazed coldly at every guy who had looked at her. Slipping his phone into his pocket, he turned away. His steps carried a silent promise: this would not be the end of his revenge.

The field swallowed his figure, leaving behind only the faint shimmer of water and the echo of laughter that wasn't hers.

--

And across campus, Flora's phone buzzed with a new message.

You looked beautiful today.

Flora had left the field without looking back, her shirt clinging damply to her skin. The laughter behind her faded under the hiss of sprinklers and the murmur of confused voices.

She found herself in the quieter section of the second ground.

She crouched under a tree, hugging her knees close. The grass was cool against her skin. "Why can't girls have jackets like the boys?" she muttered, pressing her knees closer to her chest.

Something cold brushed her cheek. She flinched, looking up only to find a chilled can held out to her.

Shane stood there, one hand in his pocket, an unreadable half-smile tugging at his lips.

"Didn't know humiliation was part of your training," he said lightly.

A small frown gathered on her forehead, her lips pushing into a tiny pout, almost accusing. "Are you enjoying this?"

His gaze softened, though amusement lingered in his tone. "You're the one who insists on facing everything alone. Sometimes it's not wrong to ask for help."

Her fingers tightened around the can. That phrase not wrong to ask for help echoed against another memory, a message that had appeared on her phone the previous night.

- They won't be able to force you, Flora.

Her breath caught. For a fleeting second, her pulse stumbled, a shiver of unease threading through her.

"What are you implying?" she asked quietly.

Shane tilted his head, pretending confusion. "About how you're walking around in clothes that aren't your size," he said. "You could've borrowed from someone else. But you didn't."

She exhaled, letting her guard drop.

"This is the result of borrowing," she said with a dry laugh.

Her gaze drifted away from him. Then something warm and heavy fell onto her head.

His jacket.

"You didn't ask me," Shane said simply. His voice had lost its teasing edge; it was low, gentle, almost whisper.

Flora's chest tightened. He confused her. One moment he was the boy watching from a distance with quiet amusement; the next, he was the calm shelter she didn't know she needed.

Cold, yet comforting. Distant, yet far too close. 

Someone whose eyes held a quiet mystery pulling her in before she even realized it. And somehow, the moment his gaze brushed hers, her nerves loosened, as if he carried calm inside him.

---

And somewhere in between She didn't know someone has quietly taken revenge for her.