Lira didn't speak to Ren the next morning.
She didn't message him.
Didn't walk beside him.
But she watched.
And so did everyone else.
The photo Elise had posted still hung in digital limbo—people commenting, speculating, dissecting their expressions like some drama series unfolding live. Some believed it. Others didn't. But it didn't matter.
Because it had planted a seed.
Ren noticed the shift. Not in the students' stares—those he'd grown used to. But in Elise. In the way she walked.
Like she had reclaimed something.
A step quicker. Chin higher. Smile softer. She had always known how to weaponize her charm. But now she'd turned it on him.
And maybe… he let her.
They shared lunch that day in the greenhouse corner behind the library. She'd brought strawberry soda and melon pan. He'd brought his camera. Said he wanted shots of student life.
She laughed when he showed her the photos.
"You make everything look cinematic," she said, brushing hair from her eyes as she posed deliberately. "Do you always see people like this?"
"Only when they're trying too hard."
She didn't falter.
"You think I'm trying?" she asked playfully.
Ren didn't smile back. "You always try."
But he still snapped the photo.
And that said enough.
…
Lira sat alone beneath the old sakura tree at the edge of the field. Blossoms were late this year. Branches bare. Fitting.
Evelyn, one of her few remaining friends, approached hesitantly. "You okay?"
Lira didn't answer right away.
"She's winning again, isn't she?" Evelyn muttered. "Everyone's watching that dumb photo like it proves something. Like she's pure now."
"She's not," Lira said. "But he's letting her act like she is."
"Do you still trust him?"
That question sank in Lira's chest like a stone.
"I don't know," she admitted.
Because trust wasn't about what he said.
It was about what he didn't stop.
…
Ren filmed a new video that afternoon.
Not for his main channel.
Not even for the second one.
It was private.
Unlisted.
Just clips. Fragments.
Footage of Elise, smiling into his camera. Footage from the past weeks—her slipping a flash drive into someone's locker, speaking sharply to a girl who'd since transferred, tossing a burned-out phone into the trash behind the gym.
His laptop held timestamps.
Logs.
Receipts.
It wasn't complete yet.
He needed one more piece.
And he knew where to get it.
…
The teachers had a meeting after school, so the halls were emptier than usual. Ren moved through them like water, flowing between shadows, unnoticed.
He passed the old stairwell.
Paused.
There she was.
Elise.
Leaning over a locker she wasn't assigned to.
Her phone in one hand, something shiny in the other.
Ren narrowed his eyes.
It wasn't just about appearances. This was a risk. Carelessness.
She looked up suddenly.
Met his gaze.
For one second, she froze.
Then she smiled.
"Following me, stalker?"
Ren stepped forward, calm. "Didn't know this was your locker."
"It's not," she said breezily. "I was looking for a friend's notes. She asked me to grab them."
Ren said nothing.
Just stared at her.
The silence stretched.
"You don't believe me," she said.
"I don't think even you believe youself anymore."
She tilted her head. "Then why are you still around me?"
A longer pause.
Ren's voice lowered. "Everyone reveal themselves eventually. It's just a matter of time."
Her smile faltered.
Only a flicker.
But it was there.
He turned and walked away without another word.
…
That night, Elise was more careful.
She deleted old backups.
Reformatted her drives.
Used incognito.
But her hands trembled when she typed.
Because something about Ren's words lingered.
'Everyone reveal themselves eventually.'
She hated that he could say that so easily.
As if he wasn't just as dirty.
As if she was the only monster.
She opened her window for air and stared into the night.
She would win.
Whatever it took.
…
Ren sat at his desk, headphones on, light low.
He watched the footage again.
The hallway.
Her hand in the locker.
The flash of metal.
He rewound.
Paused.
There.
Not quite hidden.
Not quite seen.
But it was enough.
He stared at her paused figure, fingers brushing against something she shouldn't have had.
And slowly, he smiled.
Because the final piece was falling into place.
And Elise?
She was doing exactly what she wasn't supposed to do.
All he had to do now was wait.
The end wasn't far.
Not anymore.
And this time, it wouldn't be loud.
It would be surgical.
Flawless.
The fall of a queen, framed by her own hands.
…
The rooftop was silent.
Far above the chatter, the rumors, and the shifting tides of loyalty in the school below, Ren crouched near the old utility door, camera in hand, lens focused through a narrow gap.
She was there again.
Elise.
Pulling something from her jacket—a black, flat device. Familiar.
She tapped on it. Connected it to her phone. Then to the school's maintenance panel hidden behind the loose metal grate near the generator.
It wasn't the first time.
But this time, she lingered.
Long enough.
The lens clicked. Then again.
Ren zoomed in, caught the brand name, the exposed wiring.
The perfect confession, without a single word spoken.
She stood and left a moment later, unaware she'd just been caught in the final stitch of her own undoing.
He waited until she was gone before descending, steps silent as falling ash.
His laptop greeted him with an open project.
He dropped the new footage in, layered it against her last few weeks of behavior, overlaid captions, time stamps, and dates.
Everything was seamless.
Too seamless.
He stared at the screen.
His heart should have lifted.
But something else pulled at him.
The ache of watching someone choose their own fall, again and again, even when the cliff edge was visible.
And yet—he wouldn't stop.
Because it wasn't just justice.
It was balance.
The moment he uploaded this…
Elise would be done.
…
But before he could.
She found him.
In the art wing's abandoned studio, where he often worked alone, cutting together clips or reviewing footage under the warm light of antique bulbs.
Elise entered without knocking.
Her eyes were sharp.
Focused.
She closed the door behind her.
"You think you've won, don't you?" she said softly.
Ren didn't look up. "What do you want?"
"To talk."
He waited.
She stepped closer.
"No cameras?" she asked, scanning the room.
"None that you'll see."
She gave a hollow laugh. "I'm not stupid. I know what you've been doing. I know I'm cornered."
She sat on the table across from him, legs crossed, hands folded.
"But before you finish me off," she whispered, "I want to make an offer."
Ren's fingers paused over the keyboard.
She leaned forward.
"Anything," she said. "You want me to apologize? I will. Publicly. You want me to fake remorse? Cry? Kneel? I'll do it."
She slid closer.
"Want me to disappear? Say the word. Or…"
Her voice lowered.
"You want me."
He looked up then.
Her eyes were unreadable.
"I see how you look at me," she continued. "You say you're above it. But you're not. You watch. You listen. You collect me like data. But you could have stopped weeks ago. And yet… here you are."
She touched his hand.
"I'll give you anything, Ren. Even myself."
Ren didn't move.
Didn't flinch.
He stared at her like one might a collapsed monument—once impressive, now rubble.
"This is what you think will fix it?" he asked. "Seduction? A trade?"
She exhaled shakily. "You don't get it. I can't change. I've tried. But it's not in me. This… mask? I've worn it too long."
Her hands trembled now, not in performance.
In desperation.
"I never had friends. Not real ones. Just followers. And when that power cracked, everyone left. Even my father—he won't return my calls. You—you're the only one who still sees me."
Ren studied her.
For a long, agonizing pause.
"Elise," he said finally, voice low. "I don't see you."
Her face froze.
"I see what you've done. I see what you keep doing."
His voice didn't rise.
It didn't need to.
"Even now, when you could've begged for truth, for mercy—you offer yourself like it's currency. Because that's all you've ever known."
She blinked.
Hard.
But she didn't cry.
She couldn't.
That part of her was long buried beneath layers of practiced cruelty and survival.
"Please," she whispered. "Just delete the video. Let me… fix this. I'll disappear. I swear."
Ren's fingers hovered over his laptop.
Then lowered.
Not to delete.
But to click one final save.
The confrontation hung in the air, thick and stifling.
But he didn't speak again.
And Elise…
She stayed there.
Not as a queen.
Not even as a villain.
Just a girl, broken by the weight of everything she refused to let go of.
And for the first time, she had nothing left to offer.