Ryohan Ren wandered the halls with her hands shoved deep into her pockets, boots scuffing lightly against the polished floor. Club activities were ending, classrooms emptying, and the school was slipping into that quiet, uncomfortable phase before dusk. It was her favorite time—too late for teachers to bother her too much, too early for the place to feel completely abandoned.
She didn't have anywhere to be.
That was normal.
She turned a corner without thinking, passing the music room, the library annex, the unused art storage. Her mind was restless, buzzing in a way she refused to examine too closely. The rumors were everywhere now. She heard them echoing in stairwells, muttered behind hands, exaggerated beyond recognition.
Good, she told herself. That was the point.
And yet… something itched under her skin.
Her steps slowed when she noticed the familiar sign mounted beside a sliding door:
Student Council Room
Ren stopped.
She stared at the door like it had personally offended her. A crooked smile tugged at her lips, sharp and humorless.
"So this is where Miss Perfect hides," she muttered.
The idea came to her naturally, almost lazily. She could annoy Shimiki Yerin a little. Maybe scare her. Maybe remind her that presidents still bled like everyone else. The image of Yerin's calm face cracking—just a little—sent a thrill through her chest.
She deserves it, Ren thought. For the way she talked down to people. For the way she looked at Ren like she was a problem to be solved. For existing so flawlessly in a world that had never given Ren the same luxury.
Ren reached for the door—
Then paused.
Something was off.
There was no noise inside. No voices. No shuffling papers or irritated sighs from underclassmen. The student council room was usually busy, especially this late. Ren frowned.
Curious despite herself, she leaned closer and peeked through the narrow window in the door.
What she saw made her freeze.
Shimiki Yerin was alone.
She sat at the center desk, sleeves rolled up slightly, surrounded by stacks of documents. Papers were spread across the surface with precise alignment, each pile perfectly squared. Her blazer was draped over the chair behind her, and her long black hair fell forward as she bent over her work.
She looked… different.
Not sloppy. Never that. But tired. The sharp edge Ren remembered from the hallway was dulled, replaced by something quieter. Heavier.
Ren squinted.
Yerin was writing quickly, flipping through folders without pause, as if she were racing something invisible. The room was lit harshly by fluorescent lights, casting shadows under her eyes that Ren hadn't noticed before.
"Since when does she do everything herself…?" Ren whispered.
She watched as Yerin stopped, removed her glasses, and pressed her fingers to her face. Just for a second. A tiny, human gesture. Then she straightened again, put the glasses back on, and continued working as if nothing had happened.
Ren felt something twist in her stomach.
What are you doing? she scolded herself. This is perfect. Catch her alone. Say something. Ruin her day.
Her hand lifted, ready to slide the door open.
Then Yerin's pen slipped.
Ren saw it clearly—the thin line of ink across the page, the way Yerin stared at it longer than necessary. The room was silent enough that Ren imagined she could hear Yerin's breathing.
Yerin crossed out the mistake neatly. Too neatly.
Ren's fingers curled into the doorframe.
This wasn't how she'd imagined it.
She'd expected anger. Maybe tears. Maybe frantic phone calls or righteous speeches. Not this. Not silence and overwork and shoulders pulled too tight.
"Damn it…" Ren muttered under her breath.
Memories surfaced uninvited—teachers lecturing her, classmates whispering, her own mother sighing like Ren was something she didn't know how to fix. Ren had learned early that the easiest way to survive was to strike first. Laugh louder. Care less. Hurt before being hurt.
That was the rule.
So why did watching Shimiki Yerin like this feel wrong?
Yerin stood and began organizing the papers, movements stiff but practiced. Ren noticed how she kept glancing toward the door, subtle and quick, like she expected someone to burst in at any moment.
She's scared, the thought came uncomfortably fast.
Ren scoffed quietly. "Serves you right."
But the words lacked bite.
She imagined opening the door now. Leaning against the frame. Smirking. Saying something cruel—Heard people talking about you, President. Watching Yerin stiffen, watching her pretend not to care.
Ren swallowed.
Instead of satisfaction, the image brought a strange tightness to her chest.
Yerin turned off one of the desk lamps, then the other, leaving only the overhead lights. She stood there for a moment, hands clenched at her sides, breathing slowly like she was bracing herself.
Ren held her breath without realizing it.
For a split second, Yerin looked small.
Not weak. Just… alone.
Ren took a step back from the door, her heart beating harder than it should have. "Tch," she clicked her tongue, annoyed—at Yerin, at herself, at the stupid feeling crawling up her spine.
You wanted this, she reminded herself. You started it.
Yerin gathered her things, slipping her blazer back on with perfect composure. The mask slid back into place so smoothly it was almost terrifying. Student council president. Miss Perfect. Untouchable again.
Ren felt cheated.
As Yerin reached for the light switch, Ren backed away fully, retreating down the hallway until she was safely out of sight. Her pulse was loud in her ears.
The lights inside the room clicked off.
A moment later, the door opened, and Yerin stepped into the hallway—expression calm, posture straight, eyes forward. She didn't look Ren's way. She didn't know Ren was there.
Or maybe she did, Ren thought bitterly. Maybe Yerin always knew more than she let on.
Ren waited until Yerin disappeared down the hall before exhaling.
"…Idiot," she muttered—to Yerin, or herself, she wasn't sure.
She turned and walked away, hands clenched tighter in her pockets than before. The thrill she'd expected never came. Only a restless weight sat in her chest, stubborn and unwelcome.
She told herself she'd get another chance.
That next time, she wouldn't hesitate.
But deep down, Ren knew something had shifted the moment she looked through that door—something she couldn't undo, no matter how cruel the rumors became.