A relaxing day at Golden High

Now that Aliani and her little gang of lackeys were out of the way, days at Golden High had become rather boring. Well, not entirely—Jiho definitely made things more bearable.

Sort of. Sewing class, however, was Zoan's least favorite subject. It made no sense to her; she couldn't fathom how a skill like this would be useful in her future.

"You're taking a long time on that," Jiho mumbled, peering over Zoan's shoulder. Zoan let out a sigh and turned to her friend. "Okay, I get it, you're good at sewing, but I'm not!" she whined, earning an amused smile from Jiho.

"It's just a cross stitch, Zoan," Jiho giggled, hiding her laughter behind her hand as Zoan groaned. Cross stitch? She could barely stitch anything together! No matter how often she was taught or shown, it just didn't click for her. Stitching was simply not her forte.

"Alright, everyone, let's wrap this up for today. You can keep your stitches in your cubicles, and we'll come back to it later. It's break time!" their teacher announced, gathering her papers and nodding to them.

Zoan sighed, dropping the fabric on her desk in defeat. So unfair, she thought, raising her head to try the stitch again.

Her fingers were long, lithe, and thin—perfect for sewing or playing an instrument! She should be good at this. She was never bad at anything. She could ace anything and show Elias who's the boss!

As she poked out her tongue in concentration, she pricked her finger and let out a surprised yelp.

Jiho flinched in surprise, turning to her. "Are you okay?" she asked, grabbing Zoan's hand and examining the tiny prick. Zoan sighed, placing the stitch inside her cubicle and watching a small drop of blood form at her fingertip.

"Oh no," Jiho said, quickly pulling out a tissue from her bag and wrapping it around Zoan's finger. "Relax, it's just a prick. It doesn't even hurt," Zoan chuckled, observing as Jiho dabbed the pinprick. You could barely see where the needle had pricked her!

"You're overreacting," Zoan teased as Jiho pouted, placing a bandaid on her finger as if it were a brutal wound. It was just a prick from a needle—so tiny even a mouse wouldn't notice it.

Jiho turned Zoan's hand over, rubbing her thumb over Zoan's knuckles. For a moment, Zoan stared at her, feeling her face heat up. "What are you doing?" she asked.

"Just nursing you. It might still be hurting," Jiho replied with a grin as she continued her gentle massage.

"Ah… are you sure this isn't just a ploy to hold my hand?" Zoan smirked, playfully grasping Jiho's hand. Now it was Jiho's turn to blush furiously. "What?! No! I'm really just massaging your knuckles! I've noticed you tend to do this when you're writing," she explained, mimicking the clenching and unclenching motion with her left hand.

"Oh," Zoan mumbled, glancing down at her hand as Jiho continued to knead her knuckles with both hands.

Leaning back against her desk, Zoan smiled, enjoying the moment. "Oh? You have a scar here," Jiho remarked, trailing her thumb over a faint scar on Zoan's knuckles. It was barely visible, but in the right light, the slit caught Jiho's attention.

"Oh, that's just a small injury," Zoan waved it off, placing her hand back for Jiho to continue. She couldn't lie—Jiho had a magical touch; she could almost fall asleep sitting up.

After all the time spent on the punching bag, Zoan's knuckles often hurt, even when wrapped properly. Especially her right hand, considering what had happened back then…

Staring into space, she sighed, turning to Jiho, who looked like she had just asked something. "What again?" Zoan asked.

"Where did you get this scar?" Jiho inquired again, her eyes wide with curiosity. Zoan chuckled softly, focusing on her knuckles. "Well, I got it from fighting with twenty people," she said, watching as Jiho's expression shifted to one of confusion.

"Sorry?" Jiho replied, her face a mix of skepticism and disbelief, looking like a bewildered deer caught in headlights.

"I said I got this scar because I fought twenty people at the same time," Zoan said, grinning as Jiho blinked at her, taking her in from head to toe, disbelief written all over her face.

Jiho raised an eyebrow. "Eh?" she managed, looking at Zoan as if trying to decipher a riddle. Was she serious?

"What?" Zoan asked, her expression curious. Jiho slowly shook her head. "Nothing," she murmured, lowering her gaze back to Zoan's knuckles, still massaging gently.

What is she, a gangster? Jiho thought in confusion. Sure, Zoan had her quirks, but this bordered on bizarre. Maybe something serious had happened to her knuckles, and she was just too private to share.

Jiho winced—of course she had probed into something personal! Zoan wouldn't open up easily; they weren't close enough for that yet. Great, now Jiho felt like a total jerk.

"Hey, you okay?" Zoan asked, breaking the silence as Jiho raised her head, forcing a smile. "Fine! I'm okay."

Zoan nodded with a grin. "There were 20 students surrounding me. I couldn't take them all on, so I fought dirty. I used my belt to make my hits hurt more, wrapped it around my fist, but I ended up hurting myself too," she shrugged, as if discussing the weather.

"Ah," Jiho said lamely, still skeptical but not wanting to pry into the real reason behind Zoan's scar. Instead, she nodded and smiled, unsure of what to believe.

—

"You look happy; I'm glad," Sol says, busy dusting the bookshelf at the side. Zoan lies on her back on the couch, reading a romance novel that Jiho had insisted she try.

She peeks over the book, glaring slightly at Sol. "What makes you say that?" she asks, narrowing her eyes suspiciously.

"Why are you looking at me like that?" Sol replies, finally noticing Zoan's stare. "Nothing—you're oddly suspicious right now. I'm scared," Zoan teases, and Sol lets out an offended noise.

"What?! Zoan," she exclaims, eyeing the girl who is now snickering quietly behind her book, wearing a mischievous grin. Sol huffs and returns to her task.

"I just wanted to say you look happy now. I was worried when Sir Elias said he'd put you back in school… after what happened in middle school," she sighs.

Zoan's smile fades, and she closes her book, staring at the ceiling. "Hey, I thought we agreed the past is the past," she says, turning to Sol, who looks genuinely pained.

"But you said you were bullied! Of course I'm worried!" Sol's voice pitches higher, and Zoan sighs, sitting up and giving her a deadpan look.

"Hey," Zoan snaps her fingers to get Sol's attention. "Stop worrying about stupid things. What happened in middle school isn't something I'm hiding. I protected someone I care about, so what if I got hurt and hurt someone else? I'd do it again." With that, Zoan flops back onto the couch, crossing her arms defiantly.

Sol lets out a pained sigh from the other corner of the room. "Sometimes I wish you hadn't gone to that old man to learn how to fight. You already caused so much chaos before that! Aish!" She grumbles, angrily dusting nonexistent dust from the shelves.

Zoan smirks. "I didn't know you cared for me that much. How sweet," she teases. Sol groans in response. "Of course I do! Back then, I was so worried for you. Even before the accident, you were so quiet. You never talked to anyone or brought friends home… So of course I was worried," she murmurs, her voice low as if she doesn't want Zoan to hear.

"Hm—those worries are misplaced. I don't need it," Zoan replies. Both of them fall quiet. Sol always knew Zoan could protect herself, even as a child—she was incredibly smart and knew what to do when things went wrong.

Still...

Sol turns to Zoan, watching her type on her phone, giggling quietly to herself.

She couldn't forget what she had witnessed when she rushed to school that day—Sir Elias wasn't around, and she was the one called as Zoan's guardian.

The principal had contacted her along with Zoan's homeroom teacher, informing her that an accident had occurred and students, including Zoan, were on the rooftop. Of course, she was terrified—rooftop? And Zoan?

She had Slaw, Zoan's driver, take her to school in under five minutes, even though it was normally a thirty-minute drive.

Upon rushing inside, she found Zoan. Her uniform was bloodied, and there was so much blood on her fists. A belt was wrapped around her knuckles, its once golden tint now obscured by the blood dripping from it.

She was beyond terrified. There was so much blood on Zoan, and none of it was hers, but—

"Miss Olsova… Zoan here fought 20 students on the rooftop. She injured all of them to the point of being sent to the hospital," her homeroom teacher said, as Sol turned to Zoan, disbelief flooding her senses.

Zoan? Zoan would do such a thing?

"Miss Olsova, I suggest you take Zoan to the hospital. Most of the students sustained facial and stomach injuries, but none are life-threatening. However, one student named Mei Lee is currently undergoing surgery," the teacher continued. Sol gasped, trying to blink away tears.

"Did… did Zoan do it?" she asked, praying it wasn't true.

"No, it wasn't her. It was the other students. I believe Zoan was only trying to protect her," the teacher explained, nodding slightly. Zoan looked up at Sol, a smear of blood on her cheek, as if she had tried to wipe it away but only spread it further.

Sol let out a relieved gasp and almost collapsed to her knees. She did fall, grabbing Zoan's face in her hands, staring into her eyes. "Zoan—are you okay?" she asked, her voice trembling.

"I'm fine… how is... Mei?" Zoan murmured, her voice low.

"Let's not think about that right now, okay? Are you hurt anywhere?" Sol replied, clutching Zoan's hands.

Zoan winced as Sol carefully unwrapped the belt from her fist. Blood dripped down, revealing a large gash on her knuckles, split open in a single slice.

Sol winced. "Let's go to the hospital, okay?" she urged, noticing Zoan's pale face. "Is there anything else that hurts?"

Zoan nodded, tugging at the edge of her shirt to reveal her torso, already marred by a large black bruise.

"God—" Sol mumbles, "Let's get you to the hospital," she says, helping Zoan to her feet.

She remembers how small Zoan was back then, barely reaching Sol's shoulder and hardly gaining any weight. How could she have fought off twenty students at once?

Sol often reflects on that day. Zoan's injuries were limited to bruises and split knuckles, but the memory lingers like a shadow.

Zoan had been just a child, her uniform hanging loosely on her small frame. How could she have taken on students who were larger? Twenty of them, no less?

Sometimes, Sol thinks Sir Elias and his wife might have created a monster.

A soft giggle pulls her from her thoughts. Zoan is watching a video on her phone, seemingly carefree. Sol sighs quietly and returns to her work, reminding herself that it's better for Zoan to be a monster—a predator—than to be prey.