Epione's POV
The heavy oak doors of the administration wing clicked shut behind us, leaving Chizuru and me standing in the wide, empty corridor. The afternoon sun filtered through the high windows, casting long, geometric shadows across the polished floorboards.
The silence between us was different now. It wasn't the suffocating silence of the classroom or the terrified silence of the office; it felt heavy with secrets.
"Why?" I asked, my voice barely a whisper against the high ceilings. I looked down at my hands, which were still gray with industrial chalk dust. "You didn't have to do that. You manufactured a federal-grade lie for someone who checked 'NO' on your note. And you didn't even blame the right people."
Chizuru stopped walking. She turned her body toward me, her tall frame leaning slightly against the concrete pillar. The fragile, tearful girl from five minutes ago was completely gone. Her expression was calm, analytical, and entirely composed.
"I am fully aware, Epione," Chizuru said, her accent smooth and precise. "But an objective truth is rarely efficient in systems controlled by people like Miss Pillarion. The rooftop group has administrative immunity because of their family networks. If I accused them, the report would dissolve into endless bureaucracy."
She stepped closer, her spotless loafers making no sound against the floorboards.
"Kiro and Ssatihs were the immediate, loud threat in our local environment," Chizuru continued, tapping her pocket where the obsidian phone rested. "They were the ones actively dissolving your boundaries in the classroom. By mapping the real rooftop metrics onto Kiro's profile, I achieved total neutralization of Section Dream 5's immediate toxic elements. I simply provided the data parameters Miss Pillarion required to give us the outcome I wanted."
"But the video..." I stammered, my chest tightening as the sheer scale of her calculation set in. "How did you generate that within ten minutes?"
"I have rendering models pre-loaded for social architecture analytics," Chizuru murmured, a slow, unreadable smile touching her lips. "It takes very little processing power to map public profiles onto existing templates if you understand the skeletal framework of your targets. I observed their proportions during the morning block. It was... simple."
She reached out and gently plucked a stray piece of crumpled yellow pad paper from my blazer pocket the note I had returned to her.
"You checked 'NO' because you believed my presence next to you would cause my destruction," Chizuru whispered, her dark eyes locking onto mine with an intensity that made my breath catch. "You analyzed the risk and attempted to protect an asset that didn't belong to your world. But you miscalculated one variable, Epione."
She smoothed out the crumpled paper with her fingers, ignoring the dirt smudging the edges, and slipped it into her own blazer pocket.
"I am not an asset that can be broken by children like Ssatihs. And tomorrow, we enter Section Dream 2 together. We will deal with the rooftop group on their own territory."
"Dream 2?" My heart plummeted, a cold dread pooling in my stomach. "Chizuru, why did you ask for that? That's where Marcus and the others are. It's... it's a slaughterhouse. Miss Pillarion actually approved that before we left her desk?"
"Of course," Chizuru replied, her tone chillingly casual. "A silent communication passed between us at the end. A few knowing nods, a subtle shift of expressions. Miss Pillarion knows better than to deny a request from a student of my... prowess. She told us to return to her office tomorrow morning to collect our official transfer cards. Oh, and she also noted that you should take a shower in the school clinic before heading to your final block. She already called the staff to prepare it."
"Y-yes... I mean, okay," I muttered, still struggling to process the absolute whiplash of the last twenty minutes.
The "shaking" in Chizuru's shoulders from her crying act had vanished completely. She stood tall, the tears on her face dried as if they had never been there.
"By the way, Chizuru... thanks for saving me earlier," I said, my voice small but entirely sincere. I kept a deliberate distance from her, acutely aware that I literally smelled like stagnant sewer water. I kept my eyes locked onto my scuffed shoes, avoiding the direct radiance of her gaze. "If it weren't for you, I would look like a beaten-up tortilla wrapper by now."
Chizuru chuckled. Noticing my hesitation, she stepped into my space and ruffled my hair with a playful, disarming familiarity. "That is what friends are for. Real friends don't just stand by; they take the front line to protect you. My father always says: 'Better to lose a tooth and gain a scar, than lose a friend you left behind in a war.'"
I frowned slightly, my chest fluttering with a volatile mix of gratitude and deep confusion. "Friend... b-but I rejected your note earlier. Why would you still go to these lengths for me?"
Chizuru grinned, fishing the folded piece of yellow pad paper back out of her pocket. With a neat flick of her fingernail, she peeled back a small strip of yellow translucent tape I hadn't noticed before. The sharp "NO" I had checked had been seamlessly altered with a few strokes of a black ink pen into a stylized message: NO PROBLEM, I OPENLY ACCEPT YOUR FRIEND REQUEST! :)
"We are officially Tomodachi now," Chizuru exclaimed, hooking her thumb with mine in a firm, solid lock. "That is Japanese for friend. And friends don't let each other walk into a meat grinder alone. Now, you go get a shower first. After that, let us get ICE CREAMMMMMUU!"
"H-HUH? But we still have our last period!"
I had no choice. I was dragged along by the tall, unstoppable girl, my protests completely drowned out by her sudden, infectious energy as she pulled me toward the clinic, ignoring the school bell entirely.
Eyes Above
The sun began to dip, casting long, bruised shadows over the school gates as the two girls parted ways. For Epione, the end of the school day was simply the boundary line marking the beginning of her second life. She was no longer just a student; she was a ghost navigating the concrete veins of the city.
As the evening chill set in, she spent her hours weaving through heavy traffic on a weathered, sputtering motorbike, delivering pizzas with the practiced efficiency of someone who could not afford to lose a single second. Every tip mattered. Every minute count was a shield against her reality.
Near midnight, her final delivery order took her to the high-end district, deep into the secure corridors of the De Cozzzy Apartments. She dragged her exhausted limbs up to Room 201, carrying a massive, towering stack of twenty large Hawaiian pizzas.
A tall, blonde girl answered the door. Another foreigner, Epione thought to herself, taking in the girl's striking features and easy confidence.
"You working students have it hard," the blonde girl, Yumi, said, her voice genuine, devoid of the patronizing tone Epione usually received from wealthy customers. She pressed a three hundred dollar payment into Epione's gloved hand for a two hundred and fifty dollar bill. "Keep the change. You deserve it."
"Thank you, Ma'am," Epione replied, her deep physical fatigue momentarily masked by the unexpected warmth of the tip.
Yumi smiled and turned back, leaving the heavy door slightly ajar as she carried the first stack inside. Epione turned to head back toward the elevator, but as she shifted her thermal bags, her eyes inadvertently caught a glimpse of the interior through the unlatched door.
Chizuru was sitting comfortably on a plush, expansive sofa, casually biting into a slice of the pizza Epione had just delivered. She was surrounded by an incredibly attractive, well-dressed circle of friends, laughing and talking in the warm ambient light. Stripped of her school uniform and dressed in expensive, casual streetwear, she looked completely different.
For a split second, a spark of recognition flared in Epione's chest. She wanted to greet Chizuru—to call out to the girl who had defended her only hours ago. But the words died in her throat before they could even form.
She looked at Chizuru's status compared to her own. She looked at the expensive apartment, the elegant friends, and her own uniform stained with grease and road dust. A heavy, suffocating realization sank into her chest: if she called out, she would embarrass Chizuru in front of her high-class peers. She would ruin Chizuru's reputation just by existing in the same space as a delivery girl.
Can't help it, Epione thought bitterly, her heart tightening with a familiar, localized ache. They look elite. High class.
Chizuru didn't see her. She remained completely oblivious, laughing at something a friend beside her had said. Epione immediately averted her gaze, pretending she hadn't seen a single thing, and silently stepped back into the shadows of the corridor. She slipped quietly into the closing elevator doors, shutting out the radiance of Chizuru's world, and proceeded with her work, racing back into the dark city streets.
It was nearly midnight when Epione finally returned to her own world. The air inside their small, cramped house was stagnant, smelling heavily of stale beer, damp carpet, and old upholstery.
She found her uncle passed out on the faded couch, surrounded by empty green bottles that clattered softly against one another as the vibrations of her footsteps moved through the floorboards. With the practiced, instinctive silence of someone used to navigating a minefield, she set to work. She cleaned the living area, tucked his wire glasses securely into his collar to keep them from being crushed under his weight, and left a plastic bucket nearby in case he woke up sick before dawn.
Finally, she slumped onto her own mattress. Her muscles ached with a deep, throbbing fatigue that felt embedded in her bones. She closed her eyes, falling into a heavy, dreamless sleep before the sun could even think of rising.
The next morning, the two girls met at the school gate exactly as planned. The contrast was jarring. Chizuru was back in her pristine uniform, waving at her with that same bright, innocent smile, as if the luxurious midnight world in Room 201 had been a dream.
After receiving their official transfer cards from a weary-looking clerk who didn't even bother to lift his eyes from his desk ledger, they began the long, quiet walk up the concrete stairs toward their new classroom in Section Dream 2.
"So," Epione asked as they climbed the stairwell, her voice echoing softly against the concrete walls, "were those bruises in the office actually real? Also... the video. How did you do it? You mentioned yesterday that it had some presaved models, but editing that fast? That's gotta need a high powering software"
She had been thinking about it all night after the delivery. During the entire confrontation with Counselor Pillarion, Chizuru hadn't winced or protected her ribs a single time. And both of them knew with absolute certainty that Chizuru was the one who had single-handedly broken Kiro's arm.
Chizuru smirked, a playful, coy glint dancing in her eyes. "My magic? Just some high-grade cosmetic skills using authentic waterproof theater foundation, combined with a lot of acting talent, did the trick. And since I am caught, yes, I edited the video files right before we were marched into the administration office so both of us could come out on a loose end using a program my uncle had developed, Why? Does that data make you hate me? Because I manipulated the truth?"
Epione hesitated, her footsteps slowing on the landing. "I don't know. It feels wrong... dangerous. But you did it to save my life."
"It is a white lie," Chizuru said softly, her voice dropping the playful edge, replacing it with a serious, protective tone. "Sometimes you have to manipulate the parameters of the truth to stop a real monster. People warned me about your reputation before I arrived they called you a curse, a freak. But I choose to listen to my own eyes instead of their whispers."
They reached the third-floor corridor and stepped over the threshold of Section Dream 2.
The room was mostly empty, save for a few stray bags scattered across the front rows like territorial markers. They moved silently to the very back, where the sharp morning sun cast long, rhythmic shadows across the dusty floorboards.
"How come you let them do it to you, Epione?" Chizuru asked suddenly, turning her wooden chair to face me directly. "You are a green flag in a forest of red flags. You are like a flower waiting to blossom, yet you see yourself as a peasant. It is such an odd, distorted self-reflection."
"Because that is what I am," I whispered, my voice cracking as I stared down at my raw, dry hands. "I am weak. I don't have a record, or money, or power."
It wasn't me who answered, I thought bitterly. It was the voices haunting my head, the memories of the leather belt and the dry towel painting my reality.
"No," Chizuru replied firmly, leaning across the gap until our uniform shoulders touched. "You are just kind. But being kind should never be a structural weakness; it is simply an easy target for abusers who don't understand your value. But hey... if you ever feel like the clouds are too heavy, you can pour that rain directly onto my shoulder. I will be the sister you never had."
Chizuru reached over, smoothly pulled my phone from my blazer pocket, and saved her personal number under the contact name: Chizuru-chan.
"Call me anytime. I transferred sections specifically so I could keep an eye on the environment around you. Besides," Chizuru joked, her lips curving into a sharp grin, "the people in our old section smelled like a mixture of formaldehyde and phenol that not even mortuary cosmetics could cover. They were rotten to the core."
The joke finally earned a small, genuine laugh out of my chest.
But the warmth was short-lived. The heavy wooden door of Section Dream 2 creaked open with a slow, grinding friction, and a group of tall students walked in. The ambient temperature in the room seemed to drop ten degrees in an instant.
"Well, well," a distorted, mocking voice echoed from the front doorway."
"If it isn't my favorite slave."
My stomach did a sickening, violent somersault. I knew that voice. I knew that immense shadow stretching across the linoleum.
It was Marcus, and he looked twice as tall as usual standing in the narrow framework of the door, flanked by his two friends from the rooftop. His eyes locked onto mine, stripping away the safety of the last twenty-four hours in a single glance.
"Where the hell is our assignment, Dirt-Clinger Chick?"