Third years were eighteen now. Old enough to be called adults. Still too young to understand the weight of their own shadows.
The girl was stunning. Not in the magazine way—too glossy, too filtered—but in a haunting, controlled way.
White hair, just brushing her shoulders. Pale skin, tall frame, and cold blue eyes that didn't see people—only movement.
She walked into West High without needing to say a word. Her presence alone did the work.
"Eiraaa! Wait up!" a girl behind her called. Her friend. Chipper, loud.
Eira stopped just enough to be polite. "Don't yell."
"You're so mean sometimes," the girl puffed.
She didn't respond. She wasn't being mean. She was being honest.
Class 3C was noise and chaos.
Music from someone's phone. Desks out of alignment. Boys throwing pens at each other like darts. But the second the teacher entered with her—
Silence.
"We've got a transfer," he announced. "Third year. Be decent."
She stepped in.
Half the class blinked like they were seeing a celebrity. A few girls whispered. One dude almost choked on his gum.
But three boys didn't look up.
One near the window lazily spun a pen. One sipped from a juice box without breaking eye contact with the ceiling. The third tapped his pencil against the desk like it owed him money.
She didn't look at them.
She moved toward the second row, right corner, and sat—same seat her friend had used before switching schools. It still had a small scratch on the right edge. She noticed.
A breeze slipped in through the cracked window. Her hair moved. Her expression didn't.
She ignored the whispers.
"Is she a model?"
"Dude, she's unreal—"
Back of the class?
"Yo, Daniel," Sunny whispered. "Do you think I could pull off white hair?"
"No."
"But—"
"No."
------
During Lunch break.
Daniel groaned. "Third year's already chewing me up."
"You say that every year," Sunny said, checking himself out in a soda can.
"I mean it every time."
They walked down to the convenience store. The fluorescent lights above them buzzed like dying flies. The air was cold in the wrong way.
While reaching for packaged ramen, they heard something.
A first-year girl being cornered near the instant noodles. Wide eyes. Trembling hands.
"You're a first year, right?" one second-year sneered. "Carry our bags."
"Get us drinks."
She backed up. Her shoes scraped the floor.
Daniel's body moved before his thoughts did.
"Let her go."
The second-years turned.
"You got a problem?"
Daniel didn't flinch. "Yeah."
The one in front chuckled. "You think that look's supposed to scare me?"
He stepped up—until something in the air changed.
Isac stood behind Daniel, silent.
Not angry.
Just still.
The second-year's smirk vanished.
His friends looked behind Daniel and paled.
"...Let's go," one mumbled.
They left without another word.
Daniel blinked. "Damn. I guess I really am intimidating now."
Sunny wheezed. "You dumbass. Turn around."
"…Oh. F**k off."
-----
It was Evening.
Eira walked alone down a quiet road.
Orange light poured from the sky like melted fire. Shadows stretched longer than they should have.
She reached her apartment building. Third floor. Quiet complex. Faint smell of rice and detergent in the stairwell.
She unlocked the door.
Clean. Minimalist. Neat in a way that didn't feel lived in.
Bag down. Tie loosened. She unbuttoned her collar and moved to the sink, washed her face. The mirror reflected a girl who never smiled.
She opened the wardrobe. Half school uniforms. Half suits.
She picked one.
Black blazer. Fitted shirt. Slacks. Pressed and perfect. She changed slowly, methodically. Pulled her hair back just slightly. Tied it. Fastened her cuffs.
Slipped gloves over her hands—tight leather, smooth.
Finally, she picked up a slim blade from the drawer and slid it into the inner fold of her jacket.
A soft honk came from below.
She stepped out, locked the door behind her, and walked down without looking back.
A black car waited.
She entered the backseat.
A villa.
Expensive, loud architecture. Golden lining on windows. Statue of some lion outside like that made it safer.
Three figures hopped the back wall.
Two men in suits.
One girl.
Inside, a man in pajamas lounged on a leather couch. Glass of whiskey in hand. The kind of rich that forgot how to lock doors.
Eira walked in.
He stood, startled. "Who the hell are you?"
She stepped forward. Calm. Measured.
"I'm here to take you down."
He stared. Then chuckled. "You? You're here for me?"
He walked closer. Smirked like a wolf. "C'mon now. You're cute. Why don't you sit down? We'll talk."
He reached for her.
Her arm moved like liquid.
*Schk*
Knife. In his side. Non-fatal. Avoided organs. His knees buckled.
She stood still as he screamed.
One of the suited men came forward, picked him up. "Target secured."
They left through the back.
Eira walked out the front.
------
Later at the Convenience store.
Same neon flicker. Same broken cooler.
Eira walked in.
Eyes followed her like she was gravity.
She picked a plain sandwich and headed to the register.
"Wait—Sunny, that sh*t expired yesterday."
"Preservatives, bro. It's fine."
"You say that every time."
"...I've survived every time."
Isac silently switched Daniel's drink for a better one again.
At the register, Lehya blinked. "Whoa… You're really pretty."
Eira gave the faintest nod. Paid. Bagged her sandwich. Turned to leave.
Door chime rang.
The store went quiet.
Four walked in.
Raphael.
John.
Two others behind them. Broad shoulders. Familiar tension.
John's eyes scanned the store. Landed on Daniel. Lips curled.
Sunny stepped slightly forward, voice low.
Raphael cracked his knuckles, smile as fake as it was dangerous.
Isac didn't move.
Daniel inhaled. Slowly.
And Eira… paused at the chips aisle. Still. Head slightly tilted, as if listening without looking.
Her fingers tightened slightly on the sandwich.
A war was seconds away.