15

15
Mirella’s POV

When I woke up the next morning, I already knew what I was going to do.

No more waiting.

No more pretending everything was fine.

If I was going to stand against Kaelen and the legions, I needed people.

Real people who believed in something other than fear.

And I already had someone in mind — the girl from the bathroom.

I remembered her trembling voice, the bruises she tried to hide, and the quiet defiance in her eyes when she said she’d had enough. That was courage — small, fragile, but still there. I sent her a message before I could overthink it:

Hey. Can we meet during lunch? I have something I want to talk to you about.

She replied a few minutes later.

Okay.

Just one word, but it was enough to make me smile. At least someone wasn’t afraid to be seen with me.

By the time I got to class, I felt lighter. More certain. But the feeling didn’t last long.

Kaelen was already there, leaning casually in his seat, spinning a pen between his fingers. His eyes met mine the moment I walked in. He didn’t look away.

It wasn’t an ordinary stare — it was deliberate, steady, and unreadable. I could feel it, heavy on my skin, like a challenge. I ignored him, or at least I tried to.

When the teacher started asking questions about yesterday’s topic, I raised my hand. I knew the answer, and I wanted to prove that I wasn’t just some rebellious troublemaker. But before the teacher could call on me, Kaelen spoke.

He answered perfectly — of course he did — and the teacher smiled. “Excellent as always, Kaelen.”

I let my hand drop slowly.

A few students turned to look at me, snickering under their breath. I didn’t react, but my chest burned. He’d done it on purpose. I could see the faint smirk on his face when I glanced his way.

Fine. He wanted to play that game? I’d win it eventually — just not today.

When the lunch bell finally rang, I packed my books quickly and went to the back garden, the one spot students rarely used. Yuki was already there, sitting quietly with her tray untouched.

She looked up when she saw me, her eyes wary but not cold. “You’re Mirella, right?”

“Yeah,” I said, sitting across from her. “Thanks for agreeing to meet me.”

She nodded slowly. “You said you wanted to talk about something.”

I hesitated for a moment, then decided to be direct. “I want to build a group. One that doesn’t bow to the legions. One that actually protects people instead of scaring them.”

Her eyes widened. “That’s... dangerous.”

“I know,” I said. “But the way things are now — it’s worse. People are terrified. You’re terrified. I’ve seen it.”

She lowered her gaze, her hands tightening around her fork. “It never stopped, you know. The bullying. It just changed faces.”

“I figured,” I said softly. “That’s why I’m doing this. I can’t keep watching them destroy people one by one.”

Yuki sighed. “It’s impossible, Mirella. The legions have been in control for years. Everyone listens to them. Even the teachers.”

“Then we make them listen to something new.”

She looked up, meeting my eyes. I could tell she wanted to believe me, but the fear was stronger. “And if they come for you again?”

“They already did,” I said. “I’m still here.”

For a long time, she said nothing. The wind blew through the garden, carrying the faint sound of laughter from the cafeteria. Then she finally whispered, “You’re not afraid?”

“I am,” I admitted. “But fear’s not a reason to do nothing.”

Yuki’s lips twitched into something close to a smile. “You sound crazy.”

“Probably,” I said. “But maybe that’s what this place needs.”

She stared at her tray, thinking. Then, finally, she nodded. “Okay. I’ll join.”

The words hit me like a rush of energy. I grinned before I could stop myself. “Really?”

“Yes. But if we get caught—”

“We won’t,” I cut in, even though I wasn’t sure. “I promise.”

For the first time in a long while, I felt something close to hope.

We spent the rest of lunch talking about plans — quietly, cautiously. She told me her name meant snow in Japanese. She liked art, used to paint before everything changed. I liked her instantly. She was gentle, but there was steel beneath the surface.

By the time the bell rang again, we’d agreed to meet after school to discuss details.

Now, including her, that made three — Yuki, the stutterer, and me. Iris was still undecided, caught between fear and loyalty. But I’d win her over too. I had to.

\~~~

After lunch, I went straight to the library.

It was quieter than usual, the kind of silence that almost hummed in your ears. Rows of dusty books lined the walls, and old yearbooks sat stacked in the corner. That was where I started.

If I wanted to understand the legions, I needed to know where they came from.

I flipped through pages of smiling faces, old student council photos, and group shots from past graduations. The legions had always been there — year after year — the same black blazers, the same emblem pinned to their collars. Always seven members.

But as I looked through the more recent books, I noticed something strange.

Two seats were always empty.

The names were never listed, only blank lines where they should’ve been. The current legions only had five members. Why?

My pulse quickened as I turned another page. Then I saw him.

Kaelen. Two years younger, standing with his team. His hair was shorter, his eyes softer. He didn’t look like the Kaelen I knew — not the cold, ruthless one who used fear like a weapon.

He looked almost… normal. Human.

What happened to him?

Before I could think too long about it, I felt a tap on my shoulder.

I jumped.

When I turned, he was there.

Kaelen.

Standing too close, his expression unreadable.

“What are you doing?” he asked.

My heart lurched. I quickly closed the yearbook. “Just reading.”

He raised a brow. “Reading about me?”

“No.”

He smirked. “You’re a bad liar.”

I forced a steady breath. “You’re a narcissist.”

He laughed quietly, and the sound sent a shiver down my spine. “Maybe. But at least I know when someone’s curious.”

He sat down beside me, close enough for me to smell the faint trace of his cologne. “Why are you so interested in the legions, Mirella?”

“I’m not,” I said, trying to sound bored.

“Sure,” he said softly, leaning back in his chair. “Keep telling yourself that.”

Then he stood, picked up the yearbook I’d been holding, and flipped through it like it was nothing. His expression darkened for a second — just a flicker — before he closed it and set it back down.

“Careful where you look,” he said, his voice low. “Some doors don’t close once you open them.”

And then he walked away, leaving me sitting there, heart pounding, pulse too loud in my ears.

I hated how he made me feel — small, unsteady, curious. I hated the way his words lingered even after he
was gone.

But most of all, I hated that he might be right.

Because I had already opened that door.

And I wasn’t sure I wanted to close it anymore.