"...You're my idiot."

"You just had to smile at them, didn't you? Wagging your tail for someone else."

She wasn't stupid. But her grades said otherwise. Math looked like a different language. Reading took her twice as long as everyone else. No matter how hard she tried, the numbers never stayed in her head.

Her father didn't care about the effort. He only saw the red marks on her report cards. The failing grades. The wasted money on a kid who couldn't even pass middle school.

He started with yelling. Then throwing things. Then hitting.

Her mother tried to stop him. Got between them. Took hits meant for Reina. The fights got worse after that — crashing, breaking, screaming that leaked through the walls into the neighbor's apartment. No one ever called for help.

By the time she reached high school, Reina had learned two things: how to take a hit, and how to hit back twice as hard. She stopped trying at school. What was the point? She'd never be good enough anyway.

She leaned into the reputation instead. Skipped class. Picked fights. Made sure people crossed the hall when they saw her coming. It was easier to be feared than to explain the bruises under her sleeves.

Then she met him.

First year. Same class. He didn't flinch when she snapped at him. Didn't shrink when she got in his face. He just looked at her — not scared, not angry. Just present.

It threw her off. So she pushed harder.

One afternoon, she cornered him by the lockers — got right in his space, ready to see him finally crack. Students scattered. A teacher shouted. She was close enough to see the small scar on his chin, the way his breath fogged against her cheek. She waited for him to flinch.

He didn't.

Instead, he pulled a granola bar from his pocket and held it out to her. No words. No explanation. Just a quiet offer.

She walked away without taking it. But something in her chest had already cracked open.

After that, she started walking his way home. Started sitting where she could see him. Started telling herself she was just keeping tabs on her favorite target.

That was the story she told herself.

Then she saw someone else shove him. A guy from the year above, laughing while he pushed him against the lockers. He didn't fight back. He ne