The rooftop was quiet. Always quiet.
Wind skimmed over the concrete, tugging at loose strands of Sable's dark hair as she leaned against the rusted railing, lunchbox balanced on the narrow ledge beside her. From up here, the courtyard below looked like a snow globe someone had shaken — clusters of students shifting from table to table, their laughter dulled into faint echoes.
Sable preferred it this way.
Even when the weather turned — when rain slicked the tiles or cold bit at her fingers — she still came here. The overhanging roof shielded her just enough, and more importantly: no one else bothered.
Downstairs was chatter and questions and noise she didn't have to answer.Up here, there was only sky.
She popped the lid off her bento box, methodically spearing pieces of fruit with a fork. Eating in silence had become muscle memory. It was easier than wondering who to sit with, what to say, or what fragments of herself she'd have to hand out this time.
No one climbed this high. No one looked this way.Not the teachers, not the students. Not even the ones who whispered when they thought she couldn't hear.
It had always been like this.
Constant transfers. Constant goodbyes.
Her father always blamed it on work — promotions, new branches, sudden relocations. Every few months, a new city, a new school, a new apartment with boxes that barely gathered dust.
Sable never complained. Never asked to stay. Never said how exhausting it was — building something, only to pack it away again.
She just… adapted.
Academics weren't a problem — her father made sure of that, always arranging study plans ahead of time. She showed up prepared, scored well, and left before anyone could get too used to her being there.
On paper, it worked.But there was still that hollow ache that came with always being the new kid — never rooted, never remembered.
Her only constant, the one thread that followed her through every move, had been the game.
League.
She'd realized early that she wasn't just good — she was exceptional.The game didn't care where she lived, who she was, or if she'd be gone next month. It only cared how well she played.
And she played like hell.
By nine, she'd been discovered by a small amateur team who mistook her quiet for nerves. She wiped their seniors in her debut. The world didn't know her name yet — not then — because she was the only competitor who wasn't allowed on stage. Her father forbade it. She competed remotely from home at ten.
The mystery only fueled the fire.
Whispers. Speculation. Then the headlines — the rumor of a hidden prodigy rising like a ghost.
Even now, years later, the title still clung to her like static:The League Prodigy.
She never asked for it. But she never rejected it either.It was the only thing that stayed.
Sable exhaled softly, gaze drifting across the skyline, the hum of the wind filling spaces where other people might've spoken.
The bell hadn't rung yet. She still had a few quiet minutes.
Her eyes wandered back down to the courtyard — to the tiny shapes moving between trees, voices too distant to make out.
But she could guess.
Raxian.
Always surrounded. Always the center of that noisy orbit.
And glued to his side, as always — Jake.She could practically imagine him from here, hands waving, voice carrying, probably bursting Raxian's ear off with whatever new grand plan he had.
She'd caught bits of them before, drifting up from the courtyard — loud, alive, impossible to ignore.
Not that she'd ever joined in.
When she first arrived, a few of them — Jake included — had tried.Well, Jake had tried. Hard.
A wave here, a joke there, looping circles past her desk just to spark a reaction.Little bursts of energy she never quite knew what to do with.
But when she didn't bite — didn't smile, didn't tease back — the sparks fizzled fast.
He wasn't the only one.New school, new faces — there was always someone curious enough to try, for a while.
She wasn't rude, just brief.Spare words when necessary.Not because she thought she was above them — just… not interested.
People mistook that for coldness. They always did.
But the truth was simpler.Noise didn't feel like connection.
And quiet — quiet was the only thing that ever stayed.
She poked at a piece of melon, lips twitching faintly.It'd be hilarious if it actually was him.
TimeWrapped.
The name had stuck in her head since their match. Same aggressive tempo, same reckless dives, same refusal to give up even when the map burned around him.
She'd stomped him — that part wasn't surprising. What was surprising was how much the loss seemed to shake him.
So she'd tried, in her own quiet way, to nudge him back.A comment in the hall.A message as AkarisLite, offering a rematch if he got his rhythm back.
She hadn't expected him to take it — not right away — but part of her hoped he would. Because there was still something in him. Rusty. Tangled. Buried under frustration. But there.
Rumor said he was one of the school's top players.If that was true, he'd be entering the tournament.
The thought made her pause.
She knew how tournaments worked — sign up alone, get paired with strangers. Simple.Except when your IGN drew attention.
And hers would.
Eyes. Questions. Whispers.It always happened, no matter where she went.
Sable set her fork down and leaned on the railing, green eyes half-lidded against the sun.
She could already picture it — the way people would look at her, the noise that would follow.
And she was tired of being seen.
Up here, no one reached her.No noise. No eyes. No one pulling her back down.
For now…the rooftop was better.Quiet.Forgotten.
---
They stepped out from behind the corner before she even reached the bottom of the staircase — three boys, older, broad-shouldered, with that restless look of people who had nothing better to do than tear someone else down.
Perfect timing. Perfect place. No teachers. No crowd.
"Hey, prodigy," one of them drawled, voice dripping mockery. "Too good to sit with the rest of us?"
She didn't answer.
They circled in slowly, like they'd practiced this dance. It wasn't the first time. It never was.
"Think you're hot shit just 'cause people say you're good at a video game?" another sneered. "Bet it's fake anyway. All talk."
Sable lifted her gaze to meet his.Green eyes, flat as glass.She said nothing — just looked.
That look had always been enough to make people hesitate, just for a heartbeat. Cold, sharp, daring. Go on, it said.
But hesitation never lasted long.
The shove came sudden and sharp against her shoulder. Her back hit the wall.
She didn't flinch.
Another grabbed her bag, yanked it from her arm and tossed it down the hall. Zipper half-open, a container of rice skidding out across the tile.
A laugh. Short, ugly.
Sable stayed silent. Didn't lift a hand to stop them.
She knew how this went — they wanted a reaction. Wanted her to fight back, get angry, crack that mask they all seemed to hate.
So she gave them nothing.
But then—
Footsteps.
The sound carried easily in the stairwell: slow, steady, unmistakably not theirs.
The boys froze, glancing toward the corner.
"Shit," one hissed.
A shadow stretched across the wall — tall, broad-shouldered.
Bruce.
He came into view a moment later, hands in his blazer pockets, head tilted like he was halfway lost in thought.
"Yo—someone's coming," another muttered.
They scattered. Quick. No reason, no parting words — just gone.
By the time Bruce reached the landing, only Sable remained, crouched beside her scattered lunch, quietly tucking things back into her bag.
He blinked, slowing a little."Hey," he said, voice mild.
"Hey," she echoed, flat but not unfriendly.
He kept walking, passing her in the narrow hall.It should've ended there.
But something tugged at him — a faint crease between his brows, like he'd caught the edge of something strange.
Her bag hung low on one shoulder. Her posture too rigid.
He didn't ask. She never looked like she wanted anyone to.
Still, as he headed down the hall, he glanced back once.
She was already walking away, head down, shoulders steady. Composed.
But the quiet lingered, just long enough for him to wonder.
---
The gym was loud, all echoing sneakers and the sharp slap of dodgeballs against polished floor.
Bruce stood in line with Logan near the wall, waiting for their turn at the next rotation. Across the court, Jake was loudly trying to turn everything into a competition, which meant Raxian and Marcus were being unwillingly drafted into some kind of impromptu sprint race.
Typical.
Bruce's gaze drifted, almost without thinking, until it landed on her.
Sable.
She was moving through the agility ladders at the far end of the gym — precise, sharp, controlled. Too controlled. Her motions were clean, efficient… but stiff. Like she was forcing herself through each step.
Bruce frowned slightly.
"Hey," he muttered to Logan, keeping his voice low, "does Sable seem… off to you lately?"
Logan didn't even look up from where he was idly spinning a basketball on his fingertip. "She always seems off," he said simply, deadpan.
Bruce huffed. "No, I mean… more than usual."
Logan caught the ball, finally glancing her way. Sable finished the ladder drill, didn't so much as glance at anyone, and moved on to the next station without a word.
"She's just quiet," he said after a moment. "Not everyone wants to be part of Jake's circus."
"Hey, I heard that!" Jake called from across the gym, jogging over with a grin and flushed cheeks. "What, talking about Ice Queen again? Don't worry, boys — I'm working on it. Everyone cracks eventually."
Bruce gave him a look. "She doesn't need cracking."
Jake smirked, raising his hands. "Relax, man, I'm joking. Mostly."
Marcus jogged up behind them, catching his breath. "Joke or not, good luck with that. Girl's got walls thicker than the library archives."
"Yeah," Bruce said quietly. "Maybe for a reason."
Raxian didn't join in. He'd wandered closer during their exchange, towel draped around his neck, eyes still lingering on the far end of the gym.
Sable was setting up for the next drill, tugging her sleeve down before starting — a small, quick motion most wouldn't notice. But he remembered it. That same gesture in the stairwell last week. The faint bruise she'd covered with her hand before walking off like nothing happened.
Bruce followed his gaze. "You see it too?"
Raxian hesitated, jaw tightening. "...Yeah. Something's off."
Jake raised an eyebrow, glancing between them. "What, you two detectives now?"
No one answered.
Sable moved again, quiet and steady, hair pulled back, expression unreadable. But the tension in her shoulders — that invisible weight — was there.
And for the first time, Raxian wasn't sure if he was seeing composure or exhaustion.
---
The courtyard was unusually quiet that afternoon, the air warm and bright beneath a pale sun.Shadows of drifting clouds slid lazily across the stone paths, and the hedges shimmered faintly in the light breeze.
Bruce had taken the long way to class, hands tucked in his pockets, humming absently to himself as he cut across the garden path. He liked moments like this — slow, calm, quiet.
He wasn't expecting to see anyone out here at all.
And then he saw her.
Sable.
Crushed against the base of the courtyard wall, one knee drawn in, one hand braced against the bricks like she was holding herself up. Her bag was flung a few feet away, its contents scattered across the gravel.
There was a thin smear of dirt on her cheek, and her blazer was rumpled, one sleeve torn slightly at the cuff.
For a heartbeat, Bruce just froze. Then his calm cracked straight down the center.
"—Sable?"
His voice came out sharper than he meant it to. Her head lifted slightly.
Her eyes were blank, glassy. She didn't answer.
Bruce crossed the distance in three long strides, crouching down in front of her. "What the hell happened to you?"
Nothing. Not even a flinch.
"Did someone do this?" he pressed, quieter now but firm. "Tell me who."
Still silence.
Her gaze slipped past him — unfocused, distant. Like she'd been here before.
Bruce exhaled through his nose, trying to soften his tone. "Hey. You're hurt."
"I'm fine," she said at last, voice flat and paper-thin.
"You're not fine."
"I've had worse."
That stopped him cold.
The way she said it — practiced, automatic — like a reflex. Like it wasn't the first time.
Bruce swallowed down the sharp spike in his chest. "Alright," he said slowly. "But you're not staying out here like this."
He gently reached for her bag, gathering the scattered pens and notebooks without asking. Sable didn't move to stop him — didn't move at all, really — just sat there like the world was happening a few feet away from her.
Bruce slung the bag over his shoulder, then held out a hand to her.
She stared at it.
"…Come on," he said softly. "Let's get you inside."
After a long moment, she took it.Her grip was cold.
---
Bruce kept a careful pace beside her, not touching but close enough that if she stumbled again, he could catch her.
The walk to the nurse's office felt longer than usual. Students they passed in the hall slowed, eyes flicking toward the bruises, the dirt, the quiet way Sable kept her gaze forward. Whispers trailed after them — low, curious.
Bruce shifted subtly closer, shoulders squared — not glaring, just present. Enough that most people thought twice before saying anything out loud.
Sable didn't speak. She didn't look at him either — gaze fixed somewhere far ahead, jaw tight, every movement stiff with the kind of quiet control that looked less like strength and more like habit.
The nurse's office was cool and faintly antiseptic, sunlight slanting across the cabinets. The school nurse — a soft-spoken man with round glasses and a perpetually unreadable expression — barely blinked when they stepped in.
"She fell," Bruce said quickly. It wasn't the full truth, but he didn't know how else to start.
The nurse's eyes flicked over Sable, taking in her scuffed knees, the bruise blooming dark at her temple, the dirt streaked across her blazer. His face didn't change, but he set aside his clipboard with quiet finality.
"Sit," he said gently, pulling out the rolling stool for her.
Sable obeyed without protest, still silent.
While he cleaned her scrapes with practiced efficiency, the nurse spoke softly, as if they were discussing the weather. "This didn't happen from just a fall."
Sable said nothing.
The nurse glanced at her. "If you tell me who did this, they will face consequences. This is serious. Potentially expulsion-level serious."
Sable's gaze stayed fixed on the floor. "It doesn't matter."
Bruce's head snapped toward her. "It does matter," he said, voice sharp before he could stop himself.
She didn't react.
"They can't just—" He stopped, swallowing hard. "They don't get to do this and walk away from it."
"Jealousy brings out the worst in people," Sable said quietly. No bite, no bitterness. Just flat fact, as if she was quoting a textbook.
Bruce stared at her. "That doesn't make it okay."
Sable didn't answer.
He watched her in the silence that followed, really watched her — the careful stillness in her posture, the way she held herself like someone braced for impact even while sitting still.
And it hit him.
Her reputation… it wasn't just something that followed her. It was something that clung to her, shadowing every step. The so-called League prodigy, the rumored legend. Everyone else spoke about it like it was this shiny, enviable thing — but sitting here, Bruce saw the other side. The weight of being the target. The isolation it carved around her like glass walls.
She'd probably been dealing with this far longer than he could even imagine.
And somehow, she still showed up.
That realization settled heavy in his chest.
The nurse wrapped a bandage gently around her arm, his expression unreadable but his hands steady. When he finished, he set the roll aside and met her eyes.
"You should go home for the day," he said softly. Not a suggestion — a decision. "I'll inform your teachers."
Sable blinked once, slow, as if the words were foreign. "That's not necessary."
"It is," he replied, voice gentle but firm. "Rest. You'll recover faster."
For a moment, she looked like she might argue — then simply lowered her gaze, giving the faintest nod.
The nurse turned to Bruce. "Walk her out, will you? Just to be safe."
Bruce nodded immediately. "Yeah. Of course."
Sable stood without looking at either of them, movements careful but steady. Bruce followed her into the hall, a slow heat simmering low in his chest — frustration, anger, something heavier he didn't quite know how to name.
She didn't ask for help. She didn't want pity. But as they stepped into the quiet corridor, he knew one thing for certain — whoever did this wasn't walking away clean.
---
By the time Bruce finally slid the classroom door open, the lesson was already halfway through.
Every head turned.
He froze for a fraction of a second under the weight of a dozen curious eyes, then quickly bowed his head. "Sorry," he muttered, voice low.
The teacher, mid-lecture, gave a brief nod and continued without pause.
Bruce slipped inside, closing the door as quietly as he could, and crossed the room in a few long strides. He could feel the glances trailing him — curious, questioning — but no one spoke. Even Jake, who normally couldn't resist, stayed silent under the teacher's steady rhythm.
Sliding into his seat, Bruce set his bag down and tried to focus, though his pulse still hadn't settled.
From the next row, Marcus glanced back, brow raised. "Where were you?" he murmured, barely above a whisper.
Bruce hesitated, then shook his head once. "Later."
Marcus studied him a moment longer, sensing the edge in his tone, before nodding and turning back to his notes.
Bruce exhaled slowly, eyes drifting to the window — to the faint reflection of himself staring back.
Later. He'd tell them later.
---
When the bell rang, Bruce was the first on his feet.
"Hallway," he said shortly, eyes flicking toward the others.
Jake opened his mouth — probably to toss a joke — but froze at the look in Bruce's eyes. It wasn't the usual calm, steady Bruce. This was sharper, heavy."…Okay," Jake muttered, shoving his hands in his pockets as he followed.
The rest trailed after: Marcus, Tess, Ava, Logan — and finally Raxian, who hadn't said a word all period.
Once the door shut behind them, Bruce leaned against the wall, arms crossed, jaw set. He exhaled slowly, like he had to force the air out.
"Sable," he said quietly.
That alone made Jake straighten.
"She didn't come back to class," Bruce went on. "Because she was ambushed. In the courtyard. During lunch."
A beat of stunned silence.
"What?" Tess's voice cracked like a whip. "What do you mean ambushed?"
"She was on the ground when I found her," Bruce said. His tone stayed even, but his jaw flexed. "Bag tossed. Scraped up. Looked like three-on-one, at least."
Jake blinked, the words not quite computing — then his expression shifted, hardening fast. "You're serious?"
"Yeah."
Tess's hands balled into fists. "That's—what the hell—this isn't just some prank, this is—"
"Serious," Marcus finished quietly, face unreadable.
Even Ava had stopped scrolling, tablet tucked against her arm. Logan tugged his headphones down to his neck, gaze narrowed.
Jake was the first to really react. His voice dropped, low and dangerous. "Who?"
Bruce shook his head. "She wouldn't say."
Jake let out a harsh breath, pacing a step away. "Unbelievable. She keeps to herself, doesn't start anything — and they think that gives them a free shot? Nah. Nah, screw that."
"Jake," Tess warned, voice firm. "Don't be reckless."
"I'm not being reckless," he snapped — then caught himself, exhaled through his teeth. "I just—" His hands flexed open and closed. "She's supposed to be untouchable, y'know? And they—" He cut himself off, eyes narrowing. "They're lucky I don't find out who."
Silence settled again.
Raxian hadn't moved. He stood slightly apart, head bowed, hands buried deep in his blazer pockets.
That hallway flashed back — the mark on her wrist, the way she'd met his gaze, the way he'd said nothing.
His throat felt dry.
He hadn't said a word all day.
And right now, he couldn't trust himself to start.
---
That night, AkarisLite stayed offline.
No glowing green dot on Raxian's friend list. No ranked climb in the background. Nothing.
Sable didn't go home either.
She knew her father wouldn't notice — or if he did, he wouldn't mind. He was probably buried in another late meeting or halfway across the city, staying overnight at whatever office or hotel he lived out of this week.
Whenever she needed space, she took it. That had always been their silent agreement.
So she walked.
The city blurred around her in streaks of neon and tired streetlamps, all sharp edges and hollow hum. Her reflection passed in dark shop windows, dark hair tucked under her beanie, hands jammed deep in her jacket pockets.
Her ribs still ached from where one of them had shoved her. A dull, pulsing reminder.
She was used to it — the whispers, the looks, the cold-shoulder isolation that followed her between schools like a shadow. Being resented came with the reputation. A "League prodigy" wasn't supposed to be human. She wasn't supposed to stumble. She wasn't supposed to bleed.
Usually she didn't even flinch. She let the words slide past her. Let the elbows in the hallways glance off like static.
But today had been different.Today they hadn't stopped at words.
She hadn't fought back. Not once.
Partly because she knew she couldn't. Her body was light, quick on a keyboard, not in a fight. She'd never been built for strength. And partly because… fighting back meant drawing attention. And attention was worse than pain.
So she'd done what she always did. Endured.
What stung more than the bruises was that this time, it hadn't stayed invisible.
Bruce had seen her. The nurse had seen her. The quiet, invisible wall she'd built between herself and the world had cracked — just a little — and they'd seen through.
She hated how much that bothered her. How much it scraped against something fragile inside her chest.
They weren't supposed to see. No one was.
The streets were mostly empty now, washed in the dull amber of aging streetlamps. Her steps echoed faintly — steady, but aimless — until a thin thread of smoke caught the corner of her eye.
Someone was sitting there, leaned back against a graffiti-splashed wall beside a convenience store, sketchbook balanced across one knee. A half-burned zig glowed between his fingers, its ember cutting through the dark.
His hoodie was paint-stained, sleeves rolled to his elbows; his hair, a dark mess streaked faintly with color at the tips. Everything about him felt… settled. Not careless — just someone who didn't have anything to prove.
Raze.
He looked up as she passed, eyes sharp but unhurried, taking her in like he'd been expecting her.
"...You're that new kid."
Sable stopped. One brow rose, her tone cool. "And you are?"
He gave a small shrug, lips curling. "Someone who pays attention."
Another slow drag. The smoke curled between them, silver and soft.
"Beanie, tie, eyes like you've already seen too much," he said. "You match the description."
Her gaze narrowed. "Whose description?"
"Raxian's."
That name made her pause.
"He's been all wound up lately," Raze continued, voice easy, grounded. "Guess losing that promo game didn't help."
She tilted her head slightly, feigning neutrality. "Promo game?"
"Yeah." He flicked ash to the pavement. "Some smurf stomped him. AkarisLite. Said they played like a machine."
The words hit like a quiet note struck in perfect pitch.
She kept her expression still, even as something behind her eyes shifted. "…Rough," she said softly.
"Yeah. He's been spiraling since," Raze went on. "Doesn't sleep, overthinks every match. Gets lost in his head. He'll find his footing again — he always does. Just… takes a while."
He studied her then, really looked — not like most people did. There was no curiosity, no demand. Just observation. A stillness that almost felt understanding.
"He's a good kid," he added finally. "Just needs someone to remind him who he is."
Sable's breath fogged faintly in the cool air. "If you say so."
Raze's half-smile twitched back. "I do."
He closed his sketchbook, tucking the zig out between two fingers as he stepped past her. "Do me a favor, though — don't tell him I smoke. He thinks I quit."
She watched him walk off — loose, unbothered, fading into the glow of the next streetlight.
For a moment, she stood there alone in the orange haze, hands buried deep in her pockets. The air still smelled faintly of smoke and graphite.
Then she turned, pulling her beanie lower over her eyes.
TimeWrapped.Raxian.Of course.
The city hummed on around her as she started walking again, the pieces finally falling into place.
---
Raze's footsteps echoed softly against the empty pavement, the cool night air brushing at his jacket as he walked.
What are the odds…
The thought slipped in quietly, uninvited, and refused to leave.AkarisLite — the mysterious smurf who had flattened Raxian's promos without breaking a sweat.And Sable — the new kid, calm to the point of cold, walking through the world like she'd already seen the end of it.
He frowned faintly.
It was ridiculous. There was no way. What were the chances someone like that would show up here, of all places?
And yet…
Her timing lined up a little too neatly. The way she carried herself — detached, precise, like someone who'd been under pressure before and come out steady. Like someone used to the weight of expectation.
No.He shook his head, pushing the thought aside. Absurd. Just his brain connecting dots that weren't there. Probably only thinking it because Raxian's spiral had gotten under his skin — because every time the kid tripped, it echoed through their little world.
Still…
His gaze drifted back down the empty street where she'd disappeared. For a second, he pictured her walking the same lonely line Raxian did — chasing something invisible, burning herself hollow to prove she could.
He exhaled slowly.
He hoped she'd be okay.That when she came back, people wouldn't turn her bruises into gossip or make her into a headline.She didn't need pity. She just needed air.
And whoever had done that to her…
Raze's jaw set.He believed in karma.So one way or another, they'd get what was coming.
Adjusting the strap of his sketchbook, he tucked his hands back into his pockets and kept walking, the streetlights humming overhead.
Funny, though — how their paths crossed like this.Raxian, still tangled in his own reflection.Sable, sharp but shattered at the edges.Two mirrors, cracked in different ways.
Both orbiting the same spark, whether they knew it or not.
Raze lifted his gaze to the stars, faint and scattered through the haze, and let the thought linger —
Maybe this wasn't coincidence after all.
---
[ACA Crew]
Leah: anyone else notice sable was gone all afternoon?
Mira: wait fr?? what happened?? 👀
Jake: uh— yeah about that
Bruce: don't.
Jake: what?? they should know
Tess: know what
Jake: she got jumped. after scrims.
Mira: WHAT— 😳😳😳
Tess: OMG
Leah: is she okay??
Fayne: Are you serious?
Logan: she's fine. handled it.
Mira: that's messed up. should tell admin.
Bruce: she said drop it.
Mira: still—
Bruce:drop it
Leah: tell her we're glad she's okay 💛
Raxian: yeah.
After the chat fades, Raxian's screen dims.
He stared at the last message for a while — thumb hovering, then lowering the phone face-down.
"I should've said something earlier," he muttered.
The image flashed behind his eyes — Sable in the hallway, quiet, unguarded for once.
He exhaled through his nose, sinking back into the sheets.
Hoping she really was okay.