★ PRISTINE HIGH ★
The low hum of the morning breeze carried faint hints of dew and car wax as the sleek, obsidian-black car pulled into the pristine marble driveway of Pristine High School. It wasn't just any car. The glossy rims shimmered like diamond blades, the body curved like a work of modern art, and the brand logo—a luxury name too rare for most students to recognize—gleamed like a badge of royalty.
By the time the engine purred to a stop, a small crowd had already begun to gather. Eyes darted toward the entrance gates, conversations died mid-sentence, and necks craned like synchronized dancers.
"Whoa... is that the new LV Phantom Eclipse?" a boy in a sapphire-blue uniform whispered to his friend, clutching his designer backpack tighter.
"It just released last month," another murmured, pushing up her crystal-studded glasses. "Only five of them exist in the whole country."
The driver—dressed in a sharp gray suit and white gloves—stepped out and walked briskly around the car, opening the back door with a bow. And from the shadows of tinted windows stepped out the one name that needed no introduction.
Celine.
Her feet, clad in polished ankle boots that clicked sharply against the concrete, touched the ground like royalty descending from Olympus.
Her platinum-blonde hair was tied in a low, elegant ponytail, the ends curled inward like a silk ribbon. Golden strands caught the sunlight, making her head glow like a halo.
She wore the official school uniform, but on her, it looked custom-made. The navy-blue blazer hugged her slender frame perfectly, cinched at the waist with a thin belt that bore a silver treble clef—a subtle nod to her music.
Her white shirt was buttoned halfway with just the right balance of elegance and edge. The pleated skirt ended just above her knees, matching the school's dress code, though hers had faint embroidery along the hem—tiny silver stars, barely noticeable but perfectly placed.
Whispers surged like waves.
"Is it really her?"
"She's glowing, I swear."
"Celine looked at me once during music class. I still haven't washed my shirt."
"She's so cool. So distant. Like a pop goddess."
Some students dared to step closer. A few fans waved tiny notebooks and phones, hoping for an autograph or a selfie. One boy even held out a bouquet of roses.
Celine didn't stop.
Her boots kept clicking down the walkway, past the murmurs, past the praise, past the desperate hands and praises that clung to the air like perfume.
Her face was blank.
No smile.
No wave.
No spark of the bubbly charisma she usually offered when in the mood. Not even her signature wink. Just stillness and silence. She didn't even take out her AirPods to pretend to be listening to music.
Her fans noticed.
But none dared to ask.
Inside the main hallway of Pristine High, the scent changed to citrusy floor polish and lavender.
Glass trophy cases lined the corridor, filled with awards that glistened in the morning light. Framed photos of top graduates, billionaire alumni, and international celebrities stared down from the walls like ancient gods observing their heirs.
Celine walked past them all.
Still wordless.
Her gaze focused ahead, not even twitching at the sight of familiar faces.
But she didn't walk alone for long.
"You seriously ignored that crowd out there like you didn't just descend from Mount Olympus. Impressive."
It was Cindy.
The tomboy singer strolled up beside her, wearing the same uniform, but with a few rebellious touches.
Her blazer sleeves were rolled to the elbows, revealing a tattoo sticker of a dragon wrapped around a mic. Her navy skirt was pinned with safety chains and a key pendant. She had short silver-dyed hair and wore a studded black choker with a lightning bolt charm.
Her hands were shoved into her pockets. Her walk—lazy but confident.
"They were being dramatic," Celine replied flatly.
"They always are," came a voice from the other side, followed by the sound of a lollipop clicking against teeth.
Cathy.
She was curvy, sultry, and had a constant sway in her hips like she owned the air around her. Her uniform blazer was unbuttoned completely, showing a tight-fitted white shirt with a cherry pin near her collar.
Her navy skirt had little embroidered hearts scattered across the fabric. Pink ribbons wrapped around the ends of her braids, and she licked a red lollipop slowly, like it was some kind of statement piece.
"But that car though," Cathy continued, sucking on the candy. "I mean, it was hot. Even hotter than you, and that says a lot."
Celine gave a slight huff.
"Thanks, I guess."
Cindy arched a brow. "Are you okay though? You usually eat up that fan drama like cake."
"She's not okay," Cathy said, narrowing her eyes. "She's been off since she stepped out. You barely even glanced at the boy with the roses. That one used to make you giggle."
"That was months ago," Celine replied, brushing a hand down her blazer as if dusting off emotion.
Cindy and Cathy exchanged a look.
The Triple Cs. That's what they called themselves—Celine, Cindy, and Cathy. A band, a bond, a brand. They sang together, performed together, ruled the stage and social rankings of Pristine High like a polished empire.
But right now, their empress was acting... wrong.
"Did something happen?" Cindy asked, voice low.
"No."
"Family stuff?"
"No."
"Is this about that boy you saw yesterday?" Cathy said bluntly, crunching on the candy.
Celine froze for a second. It was barely noticeable, but they caught it.
Cindy whistled. "Nailed it."
"What boy?" she added, nudging her.
Celine looked away. "No one really"
"You're lying," Cathy said.
Cindy leaned in. "Who is he? Another rich jerk who sings off-key and thinks he's cool? Want us to beat him in a rap battle or something?"
Celine chuckled lightly. It was short. Forced.
"Forget it," she said. "Let's just get to class."
They walked on, but the tension lingered. Even Cathy's lollipop didn't sound as crunchy anymore.
They passed by a bulletin board lined with music competition posters and audition flyers. Photos of Celine and her band adorned many of them. She used to pause there. Smile at their legacy.
Not today.
Cindy caught her slowing down and bumped her shoulder gently. "Look. We won't force you to talk. But if something's up, don't try to carry it like Atlas. You'll end up with stress wrinkles."
Celine gave a small laugh. The tiniest curl of her lip. "Noted."
As they reached the stairway to the upper classroom halls, a new sound echoed from the hallway behind them—a burst of murmurs, faint laughter, and then... silence.
Students stood aside.
Someone was walking through.
Celine stopped.
Her friends did too.
She didn't look back yet, but something in her bones froze.
Then she heard it.
Footsteps.
Not the heavy, booming type. Not the chaotic rush of students. But calm. Almost reluctant. Measured, like the person walking didn't want to be noticed, but still somehow carved through the noise like a shadow slipping through sunlight.
Her fingers clenched around her bag strap.
"Celine?" Cindy asked softly.
But Celine didn't answer.
Slowly, almost mechanically, she turned her head to look.
And there he was.
Zhane.
At that moment, she felt her heart clinch
"Why does he feel so familiar?"