Rumors spread like wildfire.
Whispers turned into laughter, laughter into lies — all carrying Yui's name like an unwanted melody.
By lunch break, everyone in the hallway had heard something different.
That Yui had begged Haruto for attention.
Haruto had rejected her in front of everyone.
That she'd cried, thrown her necklace at him, and stormed off.
No one mentioned how he'd hurt her. No one cared how broken her expression had been.
The halls buzzed like static as she walked — every step heavy, her ears burning from the weight of unseen stares.
Then came the sharp, unexpected crack.
A slap.
Her cheek stung, the sound echoing in the air before her mind caught up. Yuki stood there, hand trembling, eyes filled with tears and fury.
"Do you have no shame, Yui?!" Yuki's voice trembled between rage and heartbreak. "After everything he's done for you, after how he protected you — you humiliate him like that?!"
Yui's world spun, but she didn't cry this time.
For once, something inside her snapped. The silence she'd carried for weeks broke open, and her hand moved before she could think.
SLAP!
Gasps rippled through the crowd.
"You don't know anything, Yuki!" Yui's voice shook — not with fear, but fury. "You think you do, but you don't! So stop acting like you're protecting him!"
Yuki staggered back, more shocked by Yui's defiance than the slap itself. The hallway flooded with whispers. Phones out. Eyes wide. Haruto's name started weaving into the murmurs.
And then, as if summoned by their words, he appeared.
Haruto walked in from the other end of the corridor, one hand in his pocket, the other clutching a drink can. His uniform blazer hung loose, bandages faintly visible beneath the collar — the aftermath of that night still fresh on him.
His eyes lifted lazily, but the moment he saw Yui, something flickered behind that smirk. Something colder.
Yuki instantly turned toward him, her voice desperate. "Haruto! Yui's picking a fight with me—"
Haruto stopped a few steps away, gaze moving from Yuki to Yui. The crowd fell silent.
Yui stood with her palm still red from the slap, her breath uneven, her eyes locked on his. The faintest trace of pain and betrayal still lingered there, but beneath it — defiance.
Haruto tilted his head slightly. His smirk curved slowly and deliberately. "You look cute when you're mad." A pause. Then, lowering his voice just enough for only her to hear: "Wanna hit me again?"
It was mocking. Cruel. But his tone — that half-whisper, half-laugh — carried something only she could catch.
He wanted her to break again.
Her lips parted, but no words came. Her heartbeat drummed in her ears. Haruto chuckled, brushing past her shoulder as if she were nothing more than air. Yuki followed instantly, a satisfied smirk on her lips, clinging to his arm like she'd just won something.
Yui stood frozen in place, nails digging into her palms.
Every laugh, every whisper, every click of a phone recording twisted inside her chest. That mocking smirk of his — it wasn't just to humiliate her. He knew what he was doing.
And the worst part? It worked.
Later, Yui sat behind the school gym, the air cool against her heated face. The rumor storm hadn't quieted — if anything, it had only grown.
Haruto had been seen talking to Yuki near the vending machines. He'd let her touch his arm. He'd laughed when she said something silly.
Every gesture — deliberate. Every word — calculated.
He was building an image right before Yui's eyes. The kind that said, See? You're not the one who matters. Not anymore.
By afternoon, everyone was talking about the upcoming dance competition. Posters fluttered on the notice board. The pairing list was out — random chits had decided it.
And fate, in its cruel sense of irony, had paired them together.
Yui Nakamura — Haruto Kuroya.
The room went silent when the list went up. Students exchanged knowing looks, and a few even laughed. Haruto, leaning against the wall, tilted his head toward Yui with a smirk that was too calm for someone caught in a storm.
"Well," he said, voice dripping with mockery, "seems like the universe just loves a good tragedy."
Yui didn't respond. Her jaw clenched, her eyes glistening but strong. "I'll pass," she said, her voice trembling, yet firm.
For a moment, silence.
Then Haruto's smirk deepened — that dangerous kind of amusement that only he could wear. "Oh? Running away already?" He stepped closer, his voice a low purr. "Didn't you want to prove you're brave? Or are you scared you'll fall for me again?"
Her eyes met his. For a heartbeat, the world went quiet.
He was pushing her. He wanted her to say no.
Because if she walked away, it would be her fault. If she left him, he could pretend he'd never cared. That it was she who ruined things, not him.
She turned her gaze down. "I'm not scared," she whispered. "I just don't dance with people who like you."
Haruto's smirk faltered for just half a second — barely enough to catch. Then he laughed, sharp and cold. "Good. Saves me the trouble of pretending."
He walked off, leaving her standing in the hallway — her reflection in the window catching his retreating figure.
That night, as the city lights flickered outside his window, Haruto sat on his bed, tossing the small silver carrying his initials between his fingers — the one that Yui slapped on his face.
He hated how familiar it felt in his hand. How heavy.
He threw it on the table and leaned back, running a hand through his hair, the image of her tear-streaked face still haunting his mind.
He'd made her hate him on purpose. He needed her to hate him. Because hate was easier than love. Because love — love would only destroy her.
He remembered his father's words. You're leaving for London. You'll forget her. But he couldn't.
So he did the one thing he was good at — ruin what mattered before it could ruin him.
The next morning, Haruto strolled into class late, as usual. The whispers didn't bother him — he'd trained himself to ignore them.
But when he saw Yui at her desk, eyes on her notebook, pretending not to notice him — it hit harder than he expected.
She wasn't crying. She wasn't looking at him. She was… pretending he didn't exist.
That was new.
And for a second, something unfamiliar twisted inside his chest. Regret? No. He didn't allow that emotion.
He slouched into his chair, kicking his foot against the leg of her desk lightly. "Still mad?" he teased, though his voice lacked its usual venom.
She didn't look up. "Still proud?"
He smirked faintly, though it felt forced. "Always."
The teacher entered. The whispers stopped. But that moment — that quiet defiance in her — burned into him.
At lunch, Yuki slid into the seat beside him, laughing too loudly at something that wasn't funny. She kept touching his arm, twirling her hair, asking if they'd dance together instead since Yui had quit.
Haruto gave her that easy, lazy grin that made girls melt.
"Sure. If Yui doesn't want the spotlight, someone has to take it, right?"
His tone was casual, but his eyes — when they flicked across the cafeteria and found Yui — said otherwise.
He watched as Yui froze mid-bite, her fork clattering softly against the tray. Her face turned away, pretending not to care.
And that was the moment he knew he'd won. He'd made her jealous. Made her hurt. Made her choose to walk away.
Now he could tell himself — it wasn't him who destroyed things. It was her.
But that night, when Haruto returned home, the laughter faded.
He sat alone in the dim room, the bracelet still lying where he'd left it. His fingers brushed over it once, and he whispered to no one in particular —
"You made it look too easy, Yui."
He smiled, but it didn't reach his eyes.
"Now I have no excuse left."
"He provoked her into leaving — because letting go was the only way he knew how to care."