It had been four days.
Four long, heavy, wordless days.

The dorm room they shared had turned into a battlefield of silence — two beds, two worlds, divided by something invisible but unbearable.

Anko’s perfume still lingered in the air, sweet and citrusy, but Reia had trained herself not to breathe too deeply. Not to remember.

They trained in the same hall, danced across the same polished floor, shared the same mirror — but never shared a look.
Reia’s movements were perfect. Too perfect.
Every spin, every line of her arms was sharp, controlled, emotionless.
Her heart, once too loud when Anko was near, was now locked behind glass.

And yet, every time she turned, she could feel it — Anko’s gaze. Watching. Wanting to say something.
But never brave enough to break the silence.

At night, Reia lay awake, listening to the faint sound of Anko’s breathing from the other side of the room. Sometimes she could hear her shift restlessly, or quietly sniffle into her pillow — thinking Reia was asleep.

She never was.

The tension hadn’t gone unnoticed.
Rumors spread like wildfire through the trainee floor — and where there were cracks, snakes always slithered in.

That’s when Lina and Ailie made their move.

They were the kind of girls who smiled only when it benefited them. Beautiful, disciplined, and venomous in silence — the kind that made you question whether they were complimenting you or cutting you.

“Anko, you’re late again,” Lina drawled one morning, tapping her watch. Her silver-dyed hair shimmered under the rehearsal lights. “I guess when you’re Reia’s pet, time doesn’t matter.”

Ailie giggled, pretending to stretch beside her. “Yeah, the teachers love a drama. Maybe they’ll debut you two as the ‘silent couple’.”

The room chuckled. Just a few laughs, light and quick — but that was all it took.
Shame burned on Anko’s cheeks, and she turned away without replying.

Lina and Ailie exchanged smirks.
They’d found blood.

By the second day, the taunts grew sharper.

During lunch:
“Oh, Anko, is Reia not sitting with you anymore? That’s sad… Did she finally get tired of carrying you?”

During vocal practice:
“Careful not to go off-key again, sweetheart. Wouldn’t want to embarrass your ex-partner, right?”

Anko ignored them. Always.
But Reia saw the toll. She noticed how Anko stopped laughing during breaks, how she avoided eye contact even with the kind trainees, how her once-bright blue eyes now looked a little dimmer every day.

And still, Reia said nothing.

Because if she opened her mouth — she wasn’t sure whether she’d apologize or scream.

It all exploded one Friday evening.

Training had gone late. Everyone was exhausted, drenched in sweat, heading toward the showers or dorms. The hallways were crowded, loud — music leaking from someone’s phone, the faint hum of city rain outside.

Anko, lost in thought, brushed past Lina by accident, her shoulder barely grazing her.

Lina froze, then turned — her tone dripping with venom.

“Watch where you’re going, cheap girl,” she said, voice rising over the chatter. “You think because Reia used to tolerate you, the rest of us will?”

The laughter that followed wasn’t loud — but sharp enough to slice.

Anko stiffened.
Her hand clenched around her bag strap.
For a second, she looked like she might walk away again.
But before she could—

Something in the air shifted.

The laughter faded.

Because Reia was standing up.

Slowly. Quietly. But the sound of her chair scraping against the floor was enough to silence the entire hall.

She turned her head — and her black eyes locked on Lina like a blade unsheathing.

“Say that again,” Reia said softly.

Lina blinked, frowning. “Excuse me?”

Reia took a step forward.
“Say it again. But louder this time. So everyone can hear how pathetic it sounds coming from you.”

Ailie’s laugh wavered. “Reia, relax, it’s just a joke—”

Reia’s voice cut through her words like ice.
“Do I look like I’m laughing?”

The hall went still.
Even the music from down the corridor stopped.

Lina squared her shoulders. “You think you can talk to me like that? You’re not a leader, Reia. You’re just another trainee who thinks she’s special.”

Reia’s lips curved in a cold, deadly smile.
“Special? No. I just know trash when I hear it.”

Gasps rippled through the crowd.

Reia walked closer, slow and deliberate, every step echoing.
Her presence was suffocating, dangerous, magnetic.

“You,” she said, pointing at Lina, “have been off-key for months. Everyone knows it. The only reason you’re still here is because your looks distract the trainers long enough to forget how flat your notes are.”

Lina’s face flushed red.

Reia turned to Ailie.
“And you — her little backup dancer, repeating every word she says like an obedient pet. Do you even have thoughts of your own? Or are you just waiting for someone to script them for you?”

Ailie stuttered. “I— I didn’t—”

“Enough,” Reia snapped.
The air seemed to freeze with that word.

She took another step forward until she was so close to Lina that their reflections merged in the glass of the corridor window.

“If I ever hear you talk about her again,” Reia whispered, low enough for only Lina to hear but loud enough that everyone felt it, “I’ll make sure your name disappears before you ever step on a stage. You’ll never debut. You’ll never even be remembered.”

Lina’s bravado shattered. Her jaw trembled. She looked away first.

Reia’s eyes softened — not for Lina, but for the girl standing behind her.

Anko.

For the first time in four days, Reia looked at her.
Really looked.

Anko’s face was pale. Her eyes shimmered, full of confusion and something deeper — guilt, maybe. Or love.

Reia’s breath caught.
A thousand words burned on her tongue.
But she said only one thing — the thing everyone heard without her needing to shout.

“Don’t. You. Dare. Touch. Her.”

Then she turned and walked away, her steps echoing down the corridor like a vow.

The silence that followed was deafening.
No one dared speak.
Lina stood frozen, her pride shattered.
Ailie’s eyes darted to the floor.
And Anko — she stood still, trembling, her heart pounding so hard she could barely breathe.

For the first time in days, she felt something other than regret.

She felt safe.

That night, the dorm lights went out early, but no one slept.

Not Reia, replaying the moment in her mind — every word, every look.
Not Anko, staring at the ceiling, clutching her blanket like it could hold back the storm of emotions crashing inside her.

Both were awake.
Both were breaking.
And both knew this silence wouldn’t last forever.

Because sooner or later — one of them would have to face the truth.
And the truth was terrifyingly simple.

They couldn’t stay away anymore.

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