"Hello."
"Haha... hi."
I forced a smile, awkward and thin.
Standing in front of with that ever-haughty, smug expression was none other than Leo Taylor.
Even the way he said hello sounded like a flex. Like he expected applause for simply showing up.
Of course it was him.
The universe really had a twisted sense of humor.
"So... are you waiting for ?" I asked, breaking the silence before it dragged on too long.
"No point in just standing here staring at each other, right?"
He nodded slightly. "Yeah, I was."
That threw off a bit. "Can I ask why?"
"There’s a weird rumor going around about you," he said bluntly.
Ah. Right. That.
The rumor.
But still—why Leo Taylor of all people? The walking embodint of pride. The second protagonist of this story.
What did he have to do with any of this?
"I know it’s fake," he added before I could say anything. "You don’t have to stress over it. You might be weak—but you’re not spineless."
Wow. Thanks?
I looked at him sideways. The way he said it... like he was offering so kind of reassurance. It was weird.
Too weird.
What the hell happened between us in the past?
If I asked directly, he’d definitely find it suspicious. And the last thing I needed was for him to go digging around and contacting my family.
Leo let out a quiet sigh and looked at , more thoughtful than usual.
"Is it because of ?"
"What?"
"The rumors," he said, narrowing his eyes a bit. "Are they because of ?"
"No," I said quickly.
"Don’t play dumb. I’m used to my self-proclaid followers stirring up crap like this."
And there it was—finally, sothing that sounded more like the Leo I rembered from the original story.
Except... not quite.
You were supposed to brush stuff like this off. You were supposed to roll your eyes at Buttcheeks and walk away like it wasn’t worth your ti. You didn’t offer to help.
"I’ll take care of it if you want," he said.
"No thanks," I replied flatly. "I don’t need your help."
His brow lifted. "I’m not offering because I want you on my team or anything."
Yeah, sure.
But I didn’t need him stepping in. If Leo got involved, everything I’d been planning would fall apart. This was my ss, and I needed to clean it up myself.
If I was ever backed into a corner—beaten up or completely humiliated—maybe then I’d reconsider. But right now?
I still had so cards to play.
Leo smirked at my refusal, sothing flickering in his eyes.
"That’s good," he said, nodding to himself. "You’re acting like how you used to be."
I frowned.
What the hell was that supposed to an?
As far as I knew, this was how I’d always acted.
Or... how I’d pretended to.
***
Leo didn’t linger long after that.
He gave a final look—half amusent, half sothing I couldn’t quite place—then turned and walked away like he’d already said everything he ca to say.
His presence left a weird heaviness behind, like the air hadn’t quite settled yet.
I stood there for a few seconds, thinking.
"You’re acting like how you used to be."
What was that supposed to an? Did the original Rin have a spine? Was he actually stubborn like this? Or was Leo just projecting sothing onto ?
I shook my head and started walking again, my pace quicker than before. I didn’t have ti to unpack that. Not now.
I reached the gym entrance a few minutes later, still trying to organize my thoughts.
This was the only part of my plan I hadn’t fully sorted out—how to deal with Leo Taylor.
He was supposed to be the confident, lone-wolf-type who didn’t ddle unless he stood to gain sothing. Now here he was, checking on , offering help, dropping weird comnts about how I’d "used to be."
Maybe this world wasn’t following the story exactly.
Or maybe... the original Rin Evans really did matter more than I thought.
I pushed open the gym doors, letting the heavy scent of sweat and old floor polish rush over .
A few cadets were already inside, scattered across the mats and machines. Most ignored . A few glanced over, but nothing more than the usual curiosity. No glares, no whispers. Not yet.
I spotted soone I recognized near the punching bags.
Of course.
Buttcheeks herself.
She was busy talking to two other girls, laughing at sothing that was probably about .
Her voice was too sweet. Too performative. The kind of fake kindness that people used to hide knives.
She noticed a second later. Her smile faltered—just for a split second—before she waved with exaggerated cheer.
"Oh, loser! You ca to train again?"
That fake sweetness in her voice grated against my ears like nails on glass.
Normally she would just glair at while calling ’Looser’.
But not right now. She enjoying it after all.
She didn’t want her fun to be ruined.
I didn’t flinch. Just gave her a simple nod, my expression unreadable.
"Yeah," I said, voice calm but sharp around the edges. "Figured I should, since I’m apparently so special."
Her friends giggled behind her, like I was so kind of afternoon entertainnt. Buttcheeks didn’t laugh though—not really. Her smile twitched, like she hadn’t expected to bite back.
"Well," she said, pasting the grin back on, "don’t overdo it. Not everyone gets the Professor’s personal attention, you know."
There it was.
The knife—clean and smug—slid straight between the ribs.
I gave her a tight-lipped smile in return. "Guess I better live up to the hype, then."
And that was it.
I turned and walked off without waiting for a reply, my steps steady as I made my way to the far end of the gym, where the sparring mats were still untouched.
Let her laugh. Let them all whisper.
I wasn’t here for them.
I wasn’t here for validation.
It wasn’t ti yet—not for revenge, not for proving anything. That would co later.
No, I wasn’t going to strike back with words or half-hearted jabs.
Buttcheeks would see it for herself. Slowly.
Piece by piece.
She’d see what hell looks like when it wears a calm smile.
And I’d make sure she understood—every inch of her smugness would be burned away by the ti I was done.
But for now?
For now, I trained.
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