The car slowed in front of the school gate.
Narina was already there.
We didn’t wave.
We didn’t look at each other.
Only when I stood in front of her did she whisper.
“G-good morning, Ria.”
“G-good morning.”
Our eyes stayed on the ground.
Two introverts greeting each other wasn’t conversation.
It was permission to exist quietly, side by side.
As we walked, she talked about the detective show we’d watched last night.
Her voice brightened, just for a moment, before fading again.
“D-do you think…” she hesitated.
“Exvertias are all like that? So calm. So confident.”
I paused.
In the show, the Exvertia detective never hesitated.
Never trembled. Never looked back.
“If… if I become one someday,” I said slowly, “I’ll still be your friend.”
We stopped at our lockers.
Narina didn’t move.
Then she looked up, really looked at me.
“Th-then…” her voice shook. “P-promise me you won’t change.”
My chest tightened.
“Even if you become an Exvertia,” she whispered, “Don’t become like them.”
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Like the detective.
Like everyone else.
“Promise me you’ll still be you.”
“Pinky promise,” I said.
It felt childish and terrifying.
I raised my little finger.
She did the same.
Our pinkies hooked together, awkward, yet warm.
“I promise,” I said.
Her lips trembled into a smile.
“I promise too.”
For a moment, nothing else existed.
Then the hallway swallowed us.
Classes passed as they always did.
Exvertias filled the air with confident voices and raised hands.
Narina and I stayed quiet.
When my name was called, my hands shook; when Narina read aloud, her voice nearly vanished.
Every gaze felt heavy.
Still, when I glanced sideways, she was there—
Breathing when I breathed.
Enduring when I endured.
That was enough.
Until the bell rang.
After school, the halls changed.
Laughter sharpened.
Footsteps slowed.
Corners darkened.
Narina knelt to pick up her fallen stationery.
A shoe nudged her pencil case away.
Someone laughed.
Then her hand was struck.
Not enough to leave a mark—
Enough to hurt.
“Narin,” I whispered, kneeling beside her.
“A-are you okay?”
She smiled too fast.
“I’m fine.”
She wasn’t.
I could tell by the way she held her fingers.
By the pause before she stood.
“Please,” she said softly.
“Don’t… don’t let your father get involved.”
The words hurt more than the slap.
“Just… hold my hand,” she added.
So, I did.
We walked to the parking lot like that.
Tingers barely touching, as if letting go would make everything worse.
Her father noticed immediately.
His jaw tightened.
He guided her into the car without a word.
I watched her disappear.
That night, the memory wouldn’t fade.
Her hand. Her smile. Our promise.
How many times did she have to say I’m fine... before it meant nothing?
The next day, it happened again.
Lunch.
A tomato hit the back of my head.
Laughter burst out.
At the same time, they surrounded Narina.
Something cracked.
I stood.
Grabbed the nearest bowl of soup.
And poured it over them.
The cafeteria froze.
“Stay away from Narina!”
My voice shook. Broke.
“I don’t care if you’re an Exvertia or not!”
Whispers exploded.
“So, she finally snapped.”
“Of course—Papa’s money.”
“She only dares because she’s rich.”
Their face twisted.
“You’re trash!” he screamed.
“Without your father, you’re NOTHING!”
One of them, a boy, stormed off.
The speakers crackled.
Only my name and his name.
Then the principal’s office.
My legs refused to move.
Then Narina hugged me.
“Th-thank you, Ria.”
I hugged her back, trembling.
I didn’t know if I had saved her.
Or doomed us both.
The principal didn’t look at me like a student.
He looked at me like an expense.
“Pathetic,” he said coldly.
“Even with your father buying your way in, you disgrace this school.”
“You are nothing without his money.”
I couldn’t speak.
When I left, the halls were empty.
Kana and the driver were already waiting.
That meant they knew.
As I stepped into the car, one thought burned hotter than fear.
I had made a promise.
And in this world—
promises were far more dangerous than silence.
