The words were barely out of Klara's mouth before the silence turned heavy.
"If you can't say it in front of them, keep it," Mike said bluntly, his voice sharp enough to cut.
Klara lifted her chin, pride stiffening her spine. "If you insist," she replied. "I don't mind."
Mike exhaled slowly. "So what is it?"
She smiled — that polished, practiced smile that had always bent rooms to her will. "Mike, we are the two richest and most popular people in this school. Together, we would be unstoppable. A power couple." She paused, savoring the moment. "So I'm giving you the honor of being my boyfriend."
For a heartbeat, no one spoke.
Then Mike covered his mouth, laughter breaking free despite his effort to stop it. Ray's hand curled into a fist, his jaw tightening as Ivy reached for him instinctively, grounding him. Ivy's gaze never left Klara — not as Klara glanced their way, smirking, as though she had already won.
"Klara," Mike said finally, the humor draining from his voice, "I won't stoop to your level. I won't do to you what you did to Ray."
Her smile faltered.
"So I'll make this quick," he continued. "I don't like you."
Klara stared at him, disbelief trembling through her features. "Why?" she whispered. "I'm close to perfect."
Mike's eyes hardened. "I would never like an arrogant, attention-seeking brat like you."
He turned and walked away.
Klara stood frozen as the laughter of the corridor swallowed him whole. Her chest ached, breath stuttering as tears burned behind her eyes. She didn't let them fall — not here, not where anyone could see.
"Did you have to say it like that?" Ray murmured.
"I told the truth," Mike replied quietly. "And it still wasn't half as bad as what she did to you."
"Guys," Ivy said gently, forcing a smile that didn't quite reach her eyes. "Let's not end today talking about Klara."
Reluctantly, Ray nodded. "She's right."
They stayed together until the sky softened into orange and gold, laughter stitched with something aching beneath it. When the time came to part, Ivy held them both a moment longer than usual, memorizing the warmth, the safety.
She didn't know it would be the last time.
The house was quiet when Klara arrived home. A single suitcase sat in the living room.
Her mother offered a faint smile. "Ivy's luggage," she explained. "She's going home."
A strange glow flickered in Klara's chest — relief tangled with something she refused to name — until a knock sounded at the door.
When she opened it, Ivy stood there.
Beside her was a tall man with the same charcoal-black hair, his hand resting lightly on Ivy's shoulder — familiar, protective. Klara's lips curved automatically into a smile, bright and false.
They left together.
The car ride was quiet, broken only by Ivy's soft hum of excitement. When they arrived, her face lit up as she stepped out.
A private book signing.
Yamada Sensei.
Ivy hugged her father before disappearing inside, returning later with shining eyes and a photograph clutched to her chest. Her father waited for her a few meters away, standing near the curb.
She walked toward him.
Too late, she saw the blur of motion.
A motorbike.
Someone screamed her name.
Ivy ran.
She shoved her father aside just as the impact hit her instead. The world shattered — sound, light, pain colliding all at once. Blood spilled across the pavement like ink in water.
Sirens wailed. Voices blurred. Her father's cries were the last thing she heard before darkness folded over her.
When Ivy regained consciousness, she did not open her eyes.
She felt weightless. Distant. As though she were drifting between moments.
At Klara's house, her parents welcomed Ivy's father with deep bows and reverence. Klara stood stiffly, confusion knotting her stomach.
Introductions followed — polite, measured — until the truth settled like a stone in her chest.
Ivy.
The daughter of the man who owned the billion-dollar company her parents worked for.
Everything made sense now.
The schools. The protection. The quiet power Ivy carried without ever naming it.
Klara forced a smile, her eyes burning.
"Thank you for taking care of my daughter," Ivy's father said. "According to her wishes, the house and car will remain with you." He paused. "Ivy — would you like to stay in touch with Klara?"
Ivy's gaze met Klara's. There was no hatred there. Only distance.
"I respect Mr. and Mrs. Hanman," Ivy said calmly. "But Klara and I are nothing more than acquaintances."
The words hollowed Klara from the inside out.
Two bodyguards entered, collecting Ivy's luggage. Ivy turned back once, offering Klara a handshake. Their eyes locked — pity where resentment should have been.
As Ivy walked away, regret bloomed too late in Klara's chest.
The car door closed.
It drove off.
In the backseat, Ivy leaned against the window, exhaustion pulling at her bones. She turned to her father.
"Where are we going?"
He smiled — the kind of smile that answered without words.
The road stretched ahead.
And somewhere between one breath and the next, Ivy slipped quietly away — leaving behind only questions, shadows, and the echo of a life unfinished.