Darkness swallowed the room.
It wasn't a gradual dimming — it was sudden, absolute. The hum of the lights cut off mid-flicker, leaving only the sound of Yui's breathing and the faint rustle of fabric.
"Reina-san?" her voice trembled, floating into the void. "Are you still here?"
Silence answered.
She tried again, louder this time, "Reina—?"
But before she could finish, a sudden movement brushed past her shoulder. Fast. Close. The air shifted, cold fingers of wind curling against her skin. Her heart thudded painfully against her ribs.
Something — someone — was in the room.
Yui took a step back, her hand brushing against the edge of the changing table. "Who's there?"
And then — snip.
The sound of scissors cutting through air.
She spun around, panic rising like a storm inside her chest. "Stop—who are you!"
Another snip — this time closer, brushing against the hem of her skirt.
She gasped as a thin line of cold metal grazed her arm, not deep, but enough to sting.
A whisper — not a voice exactly, but the echo of breath — drifted near her ear. "Beautiful things should bleed to shine."
Yui's knees went weak. She stumbled back, reaching blindly for the wall, but something gripped her wrist, pulled her into a sudden spin — her own scream muffled against the dark. The scissors grazed her again — a shallow cut along her side, warmth blooming beneath her fingers as she pressed against it.
Then the grip loosened. Footsteps — quick, almost silent — retreated across the floor.
And just like that — the lights flicked back on.
Yui blinked rapidly against the sudden brightness. The room was empty.
No, Reina. No shadow. No one.
Only the soft hum of the fluorescent lights, steady and cruelly normal.
Her chest heaved. Her reflection in the mirror stared back — wide eyes, hair disheveled, dress in tatters. The fabric hung unevenly, slashed at angles that made her appearance half-exposed, half-sculptural — as if someone had tried to reshape her into something else.
She clutched the torn neckline with shaking hands. Her school uniform — the one she'd left on the hanger — was gone.
Her mind spun.
Did that just happen?
Was someone actually here?
Before she could collect herself, a voice echoed through the hall — cheerful, oblivious: "All students, please gather in the main hall for the rehearsal!"
Her pulse quickened. She couldn't stay here. She couldn't not go either.
She straightened the remains of the dress as best as she could and stepped out. Every movement felt like walking into fire. The air outside was filled with chatter — laughter, gossip — all of which fell dead silent the moment she appeared.
Gasps rippled through the room.
A few students covered their mouths. Others exchanged stunned looks.
Yui froze. Heat rushed to her face. She wanted to vanish, melt into the floor — but before she could move, a familiar voice cut through the stunned silence.
"Yui."
Riku.
He stepped forward in three long strides, his expression unreadable — somewhere between fury and concern. Without saying a word, he took off his coat and wrapped it around her shoulders, pulling it close enough that it shielded her completely.
"Don't look," he said sharply, glaring at the others. His voice carried the kind of authority that made even the loudest whisper die down.
Yui lowered her gaze.
Their teacher's heels clicked sharply against the floor as she approached, her brows furrowed. "Yui, what on earth happened? This behavior—this outfit—"
Yui opened her mouth, her words tumbling out, fragmented. "It wasn't me. The lights went out and someone—someone was there with scissors—"
The teacher's frown deepened, but her tone softened slightly. "Alright. Calm down. We'll check the surveillance footage. For now, I'll have someone bring you a proper dress to wear."
Yui nodded weakly.
The teacher turned to an assistant standing near the racks. "Bring her something suitable — long, modest. Something that fits her properly."
Minutes later, Yui emerged again from the changing room. This time, the transformation was unintentional — yet breathtaking.
The outfit they'd given her was simple but ethereal: a sheer net top that shimmered faintly in the light, layered over a long, flowing skirt that brushed the floor. It framed her figure delicately, soft but commanding, innocence and mystery balanced in equal measure.
The murmurs began the moment she stepped out.
"Whoa… she looks—"
"Like a doll…"
"Like an angel—"
Even Yuki's smirk faltered, the faint flicker of insecurity crossing her face.
Haruto, who had been dancing lazily with Yuki, straightened. His eyes widened slightly — the first genuine crack in his composure. His gaze lingered, tracing the light as it caught in Yui's hair, the soft rise and fall of her breath under the translucent fabric.
He forgot to breathe for a second.
"Yui…" he muttered under his breath, so faint that even he wasn't sure he'd said it.
Riku noticed Yui— and without looking away from her, his lips curved faintly.
The teacher clapped her hands, breaking the tension. "Alright, everyone! Enough staring. Back to practice! We're short on time."
The students dispersed reluctantly, though their whispers lingered like smoke.
The music began. Soft piano chords fill the hall, echoing faintly off the walls.
Pairs formed across the floor. Haruto's partner — Yuki, of course — slipped her hand into his, but his gaze remained elsewhere.
Yui stood opposite Riku. Their eyes met for a brief, electric second before the rhythm took them.
Their movements fell into sync almost naturally — Riku leading with confident precision, Yui following, her body light, graceful, every turn and step carrying a quiet intensity.
As they danced, the memory of the scissors still lingered beneath her skin — the phantom sting of the cuts, the whisper in the dark. It made her movements sharper, more emotional, almost haunted.
When the piano swelled, Riku leaned close, his hand steady at her waist. His breath brushed against her ear as he whispered, low enough for only her to hear—"Beautiful."
Yui blinked, startled by the word — by the warmth in it.
She tilted her head slightly toward him, whispering back, "Huh?"
He didn't flinch. Didn't look away.
His eyes locked with hers — deep, unwavering. "Huh?" he said softly, his tone carrying something that made her pulse skip. "I-I"
For a moment, the world around them blurred — music, murmurs, everything.
All that remained was the rhythm of their steps and the weight of his gaze, burning quietly into her.
Haruto's fist clenched at his side as he watched them from across the hall. The music played on, but his expression darkened — calm, cold, and cracking.