Chapter Text
The violin cut through the empty hallway like a blade.
It was the end of classes that dead hour when the halls exhaled and the practice rooms filled with the scattered noise of students unwinding. But this sound was different. Precise. Relentless. Each note placed with surgical intent, the runs so fast they blurred into something almost cruel.
Riyo stopped mid-step, her beat-up messenger bag swinging against her hip. She didn't need to look. She knew that sound the way she knew the crack of a snare drum or the weight of a good rumor. Zanka. Her best friend. The only person she knew who could make a violin sound like both a confession and an interrogation.
She poked her head through the door's small window. There he was back straight, chin locked, fingers flying across the fingerboard like he was chasing something that kept slipping away. Sheet music spread across the stand, covered in red markings. He wasn't playing the notes. He was fighting them.
Riyo grinned. Slowly, she pushed the door open, stepped inside, and slammed it shut.
BANG.
Zanka flinched hard bow skidding across the strings in a raw, scraping yelp. He whipped around, glare already sharpening, mouth open to deliver something cutting. Then he saw the red hair. His glare softened, but only barely. The irritation bled into something more familiar the tired exasperation of someone who'd been ambushed one too many times. "Riyo." His voice came out flat. "How many times do I have to tell you not to sneak up on me like that?"
"Where's the fun in giving you a warning?" She dropped her bag by the door and leaned against the wall, arms crossed. "You were in the zone. Looked painful, by the way. You always make that face when you're chasing a passage you can't quite catch."
Zanka turned back to the stand, adjusting his bow with deliberate care. "I catch everything eventually."
"Sure you do." She let the pause stretch. "Big competition in two months, huh? I heard Enjin already laid down the rule no accompanist, no participation."
A muscle in Zanka's jaw twitched. He set the violin down with more force than necessary. "Yes. I know."
"And yet here you are, alone, in a room full of empty chairs, shredding your soul out for no one." Riyo tapped her chin. "Trouble finding someone who can keep up?"
Zanka let out a breath through his nose. "It's not that simple."
"Isn't it?" She tilted her head, voice dripping with false innocence. "You're the best violinist in this school. Probably in the district. But you're also how do I put this nicely insufferable to play with."
His eyes snapped to hers, sharp and cold. "I'm precise."
"You're a perfectionist who eats accompanists for breakfast and spits out their confidence by lunch." Riyo counted on her fingers. "the rish guy quit after three rehearsals. The Russian girl lasted a week called you a 'musical tyrant.' And let's not talk about the pianist from Northwood who walked out mid-session."
Zanka's grip on the bow tightened. "They couldn't keep tempo. They couldn't read my phrasing. They were weak."
"They were human, Zanka. You know, those things that make mistakes?" She pushed off the wall and walked closer, stopping just short of his space. "You don't want an accompanist. You want a machine that bends perfectly to your will. But machines don't win competitions and they don't make music worth remembering… Just like your plain play."
He stared at her, jaw tight he wanted to be mad but he knew he played without emotions he knew that problem... "You think I don't know that?" His voice dropped, quieter now. "You think I enjoy being alone in here?"
Riyo's grin softened into something almost sympathetic. Almost. "Then stop trying to break everyone who offers to help. Find someone who pushes back." She shrugged. "Someone who isn't afraid of your standards. Someone who likes the challenge."
Zanka let out a low tsk, turning away from her. He picked up the violin again, fingers brushing the strings like he was reassuring himself. "Easier said than done."
"Never said it was easy." Riyo headed for the door, pausing with her hand on the handle. "But if you keep playing alone in this room, you're never going to find out what happens when someone actually matches you." She stepped out, letting the door swing shut softly this time.
Zanka stood there for a second, then let out a long sigh. Riyo. Man. She could be really wise sometimes. Like, one percent of the time. The other ninety-nine she's just a menace. He slid the bow into the case, zipped it up, and slung the bag over his shoulder. ‘Time to go.’ He stepped out of the practice room and into the hallway. Empty. Of course. Riyo had already dipped. Tsk. ‘Could've waited.’
He walked. Past the practice rooms, past the bulletin board with all those posters he never read, past the main hall. His footsteps echoed a little in the quiet. Evening light came through the big windows, making everything look kinda orange and gold. Outside, the air was cool. Nice. Students were scattered around the campus, some sitting on benches, some heading to the dorms. Zanka kept his head down and walked faster.
He needed to talk to Enjin.
The thought made him pick up the pace. Enjin had done a lot for him got him into this school, let him stay at their Apartment, basically gave him a shot at playing violin for real. As a job. As his actual life. Zanka owed him big time. And Enjin had been patient about the whole accompanist thing. Months patient. Every time he asked, Zanka just said "still looking" or "haven't found the right one" or some other excuse. But the competition was in two months. He couldn't go alone.
‘Maybe Enjin can just assign me someone.’
He hated that thought. Sounded like giving up. But at this point, what choice did he have? He'd scared off every pianist in school. Not his fault they couldn't keep up.
The Apartment came into view. Three stories, warm lights in the windows. He shared it with Riyo, Rudo, and Enjin. Enjin had custody over Riyo and Rudo something about their parents, Zanka never asked and temporary custody over him too. It was a weird setup, but it worked. Enjin was cool about it.
Zanka pushed open the front door. He stepped inside and the first thing that hit him was the smell. Burnt. Like someone had tried to cook and the kitchen had fought back and won. He pulled off his shoes, placing them neatly by the door side by side, perfectly aligned, an old habit from a life he didn't like to talk about and stepped further into the Apartment. "I'm home," he called out. The words came automatically. Old habit from before.
"Oh hey, Zanka! Didn't think you'd be this early!" Enjin's cheerful voice rang out from the kitchen.
Zanka froze. ‘Wait. Is Enjin cooking?’ His eyes went wide. Enjin couldn't cook. Enjin had never been able to cook. The one time he'd tried making rice, he'd somehow set off the fire alarm and melted a plastic spoon. This was a known fact. A universal constant. Why was no one stopping him?
Without a second thought, Zanka dropped his violin case by the wall and rushed toward the kitchen. He stopped dead at the entrance. The scene that greeted him was nothing short of a disaster.
Riyo, Rudo, and Enjin. All three of them. Crowded around the stove like they were defusing a bomb. Flour dusted the counter like snow. Something sticky had spilled near the sink. And the pan the pan had black, shriveled onion rings sitting in it, smoking gently like a dying campfire.
Riyo was holding a spatula like it was a weapon. Rudo was chopping an onion with the worst form Zanka had ever seen, tears streaming down his face. Enjin was stirring something that looked suspiciously like scrambled eggs but had somehow turned gray. Right. None of them could cook. He'd forgotten.
When Zanka first moved in, he'd been just as hopeless. Growing up rich meant there was always someone else to handle things like this. Meals appeared. Laundry vanished and came back folded. He'd never touched a stove in his life. But he'd figured it out trial by fire, and discovered he was actually decent at it. Natural, even. And since then, he'd been the one cooking. Every single night. Because if he didn't, this happened.
"What are you doing?" Zanka's voice came out sharp, panicked. "You're burning the onion!"
Enjin looked down at the pan. The onion rings were black. Crispy black. Beyond saving. "Ah, shit—" Enjin chuckled, rubbing the back of his neck. And then instead of just turning the stove off like a normal person he grabbed a glass of water and dumped it directly onto the pan. The flame shot up like a firework.
"WHAT THE—" Riyo shrieked, jumping back.
"ENJIN WHAT ARE YOU DOING?!" Rudo yelled, dropping the knife.
Riyo grabbed a pot of water and threw it missed the pan entirely, hit the counter. Rudo scrambled for a towel. Enjin tried to pick up the flaming pan and carry it to the sink, which was somehow the worst possible decision.
Zanka moved. He shoved past Rudo, reached over Riyo, and turned the stove off in one motion. Then he grabbed the blanket draped over the nearby chair and threw it over the pan, smothering the flame in seconds.
The four of them stood there, breathing hard. The kitchen smelled like burnt onion and regret. Zanka turned around, annoyance creeping into his voice. "How can you be this useless in the kitchen? All three of you?"
"It's not our fault!" Rudo huffed, wiping his eyes from the onions or from embarrassment, Zanka couldn't tell.
"Not your fault? Then whose fault is it? The onion's fault? The stove's fault?" Zanka's voice rose. "You've lived here for how long and you still don't know not to put water on a grease fire? That's basic stuff. Basic."
"We panicked, okay?" Riyo crossed her arms, defensive. "Not all of us grew up with private chefs."
Zanka's jaw tightened. That stung. She knew exactly where to hit.
"Alright, alright." Enjin stepped between them, placing a hand on Zanka's shoulder and another on Rudo's. His voice was calm, easy the voice he used when things were about to spiral. "How about we just go out to eat tonight? I found this nice restaurant. New place. Supposed to have great curry."
Riyo's eyes lit up instantly. The tension in her shoulders dropped. "Oh yeah? Curry?"
"Yeah. My treat."
"I can just cook—" Zanka started, already reaching for the fridge.
But Enjin was already moving, steering Riyo and Rudo toward the door with practiced ease. "No, no. We go out to eat. You've been practicing all day. Take a break."
"I don't need a break—"
"Zanka." Enjin looked back at him, and there was something soft in his eyes. Gentle. The look of someone who saw right through him. "You cook every night. Let someone else handle it for once. Even if that someone else almost burned the Apartment down I will clean up later."
Zanka sighed once at Enjin's words, then nodded. "Fine. Whatever." He followed them back to the door, pulled on his shoes, and stepped out into the cool evening air. Enjin took the lead, and luckily they didn't need to take the car because yes, Enjin was also a horrible driver. Zanka had learned that lesson the hard way after one ride that nearly ended with him kissing the dashboard.
The walk was nice, at least. Evening breeze, the last bit of orange fading from the sky. Enjin walked ahead with Rudo, talking about something school, probably, or that new game Rudo had been glued to. Meanwhile, Riyo sidled up next to Zanka, bumping her shoulder against his.
"Ey, you gotta watch the new episodes of Vampire Diaries. It's so good."
Zanka glanced at her. "No thanks. I'm fine. I ain't into the vampire romantic lore."
"Aw, come on!" She groaned. "It's not just romance. There's fighting. And drama. And hot vampires."
"Still passing."
And so the chatting went Riyo rambling about shows he didn't care about, Zanka giving short answers, the comfortable rhythm of two people who'd known each other long enough that silence wasn't awkward and talking wasn't forced.
They reached the restaurant. It was small. A family-run place, cozy and warm. Warm light spilled out of the windows, and the smell alone made Zanka's stomach remind him he hadn't eaten since breakfast. They stepped inside, and the atmosphere hit him immediately nice. Not too many people. Quiet chatter. A small children's section in the corner where kids could play while parents ate in peace. And a few meters away, near the back wall, stood an old but well-maintained brown piano.
Zanka's eyes lingered on it for a moment. Then he looked away.
Enjin had really found a good spot.
They settled at an empty table near the window. The waiter came by with a warm smile and handed everyone a menu. Riyo, Rudo, and Enjin opened theirs and immediately landed on curry no surprise there. They ordered quickly. Riyo went for a light spice, Rudo normal, Enjin medium.
Zanka, on the other hand, was surprised when he flipped the page and saw Asian options. It was hard to find good Asian food here. His eyes scanned the list and stopped on one thing. Ramen. "I'll have the ramen," he said, closing the menu.
The waiter nodded and left. The others started talking Enjin asking about school, Rudo complaining about a teacher, Riyo interjecting with gossip. Zanka pulled out his phone and scrolled, half-listening, until the food arrived. The other three immediately dug in with a satisfied hum. Spoons clinked against the bowls.
Zanka looked down at his ramen. The bowl sat in front of him, steam rising in gentle waves. The broth was dark, rich. Noodles peeked out from under a perfectly soft-boiled egg, slices of chashu, green onions, and nori. It smelled like home. Like a memory he'd buried deep.
‘Damn. It's been a long time.’ Back in his hometown, he'd barely had a chance to eat this. His family didn't approve of such "low food." Ramen was for commoners, they said. Street food. Beneath them. So he'd only ever had it in secret, at tiny shops tucked away in alleys, sitting alone with a bowl and pretending he was someone else.
He clasped his hands together a quiet thank you for the food, old habit then picked up the chopsticks and the broth spoon. He parted the chopsticks. Slurped some noodles. The taste hit him like a wave. His eyes closed. His shoulders relaxed. For a moment, he wasn't at a restaurant with his makeshift family. He was just... there. In the bowl. In the warmth. The broth was rich and savory, the noodles had the perfect chew, the egg was soft and slightly sweet. It was everything he remembered. Maybe even better.
He opened his eyes and took a bite of the egg. A small sound escaped him mhm low and satisfied, completely involuntary. He took another bite. Then another. Slurping, chewing, completely lost in the bowl.
Until Zanka looked up and immediately regretted it. Enjin, Riyo, and Rudo were all staring at him. For different reasons, sure, but still staring.
He realized it a second too late. The way he was sitting back straight, elbows off the table, chopsticks held just right. The way he'd clasped his hands before eating. The way he slurped quietly instead of loudly, the way he chewed with his mouth closed, the way he didn't hunch over the bowl like he usually did. He'd locked in. Like muscle memory. Like he was back at that long dining table with the white tablecloth and the silent servants and the eyes watching his every move.
He'd never eaten like this around them. Not once. He'd made sure of it. He adapted fast when he moved in learned to eat the way they did, relaxed, messy, comfortable. No chopsticks. No formal posture. No stupid habits from a life he wanted to forget. But the ramen had thrown him off. And now they'd seen it.
"Wow, Mr. Fancy over here," Riyo said, pointing at him with her spoon, a smirk spreading across her face.
Enjin chuckled. "Didn't know you could eat with chopsticks. Makes sense, though, considering where you come from."
Rudo nodded, completely oblivious. "Yeah, and isn't it so much more work to eat with chopsticks? Just use a fork."
Zanka's eye twitched. He set his chopsticks down. "Tsk." The sound cut through the air. "As if someone as uncultured as you could understand the most basic thing in the world."
Rudo's head snapped up. "Huh? What's that supposed to mean?!"
"It means you're uncultured. Does that get through your thick skull?" Zanka's voice was flat, sharp, cutting. "Chopsticks are made to be longer fingers, you idiot. They have the purpose of grabbing your food more precisely. If you ate ramen with a fork, you would most likely destroy the noodles break them apart or clump them together, making them disgusting. With chopsticks, they separate nicely. The juice drips down. It's easier to eat. Seriously. Educate yourself a little."
Rudo opened his mouth. Closed it. Opened it again. Nothing came out.
Riyo blinked, her smirk frozen on her face as she processed the absolute verbal beatdown that had just happened over table manners.
Enjin let out a low whistle, leaning back in his chair. "Damn, Zanka. Tell him how you really feel."
Zanka picked up his chopsticks again, a bit of color rising to his cheeks. He hadn't meant to go that hard. It just... slipped out.
Enjin chuckled, leaning back in his chair. "Though, Riyo ain't wrong. Since when do you eat so fancy?"
Zanka took another slurp before answering. "That's how I ate back at home. I just changed the way I ate when I moved in."
"Huh? Seriously? Seems uncomfortable," Enjin said, tilting his head.
"Not really. You get used to it. Besides where I come from you Gotta eat all fancy."
"Right, right." Enjin's smile faded a little. "I keep forgetting that you're from some rich family."
Riyo chimed in, pointing her spoon at him. "Yeah, like, proper rich rich, right? With like... servants and stuff?"
Zanka's chopsticks paused for a fraction of a second. "...Something like that."
Enjin watched him carefully. He didn't want to push he knew Zanka didn't like talking about his past. But something about the way he said "gotta eat all fancy" sat wrong with him. Like it wasn't a choice. Like it was a rule he had to follow or else. "Did they make you eat like that?" Enjin asked, his voice softer now. "Like, was it a punishment if you didn't?"
Zanka was quiet for a moment. Then he shrugged. "Not a punishment. Just... expectations. You don't eat right, you embarrass the family. Simple as that."
"That sounds exhausting," Rudo muttered.
"Whatever; I don't live there anymore."
Enjin wanted to say something you don't have to change who you are for us, you know that, right? but the words got stuck. Because he also knew that Zanka had changed because he wanted to. Because he didn't want to be that person anymore. And Enjin couldn't blame him for that. So he let it go.
"I wanna try too!" Riyo suddenly said, reaching over and grabbing the chopsticks right out of Zanka's hand.
Zanka blinked but didn't protest. He didn't mind sharing. Though she could have just asked.
Enjin burst out laughing as Riyo stabbed at the noodles like they'd personally offended her. The noodles slipped. She tried again. They slipped again. Rudo watched with an amused grin, leaning back in his chair.
"Here, let me show you," Zanka said, taking the chopsticks back. He held them up, demonstrating the grip top one between thumb and index, bottom one resting against the ring finger. "You move only the top one. The bottom stays still." He placed them back in her hand and adjusted her fingers. "Like that. Try now."
Riyo tried. The noodles slipped again. "How does it look so easy with you?!" she grumbled, frustrated.
"Well, I grew up eating like that. Obviously."
Enjin finally calmed down from his laughing fit and wiped his eyes. "Don't worry, Riyo. I also can't eat with chopsticks."
Riyo still looked sad, pouting at the bowl like it had betrayed her.
Zanka sighed. Then he reached over, took the chopsticks, and gently grabbed a small bundle of noodles. He held them out to her.
Her eyes sparkled. She leaned in and ate them right from his chopsticks, her whole face lighting up.
"It's good, isn't it?" Zanka said, a small smile tugging at his lips.
Riyo nodded quickly, mouth still full. "Mm! Next time I'm gonna order this too!"
Zanka just nodded and went back to his own bowl.
"Ey, we should really go to your home country soon," Enjin said, stretching his arms above his head.
Zanka almost choked on his noodles. Right. How could he forget? Enjin was a huge fan of Asian culture. When Zanka first met him back in his hometown, Enjin and Riyo where wearing those tourist kimonos the cheap, colorful ones that locals would never wear. He'd been so embarrassed for them.
"Yeah!" Riyo's eyes lit up. "I wanna see all the cool stuff and not just the short trip we took back then!"
"And eat the real food," Rudo added.
"I wanna go to one of those arcades with the claw machines," Riyo continued. "And a cat cafe. And one of those temples with the big red gates."
"Torii," Zanka said quietly.
"Huh?"
"Those gates. They're called torii."
Riyo blinked. "Oh. Yeah, those!"
"And the claw machines are rigged," Zanka added. "Don't waste your money."
"Hey, let me dream!"
Enjin laughed. "What about you, Zanka? If we went, where would you take us?"
Zanka thought for a moment. Somewhere quiet, probably. Away from the crowds. Away from the parts of the city his family owned. "There's a small ramen shop in a side street in Shinjuku," he said finally. "Only eight seats. Best broth I've ever had."
"Eight seats?" Rudo raised an eyebrow. "That's tiny."
"That's how you know it's good."
Enjin grinned. "Then it's settled. One day, we're all going. Zanka's gonna be our tour guide."
The conversation drifted as they finished their food, the empty bowls slowly stacking at the edge of the table.
Zanka stared at his empty ramen bowl, chopsticks resting across the rim. The thought of going back really going back sat heavy in his chest. He would love to. He would love to show them the small ramen shop with eight seats. The quiet temple gardens he used to sneak off to. The night markets his family never knew about. But if he ever went back, there would be trouble. His family had eyes everywhere. Connections. People who reported back. It didn't matter that he wasn't part of that world anymore they still knew who he was. And showing up with a foster family, with people who weren't the right kind of people, would cause problems. For him. For them.
He didn't say any of that, though. He just let Enjin talk about itineraries and let Riyo plan imaginary trips, and he nodded along like it was a real possibility. ‘I would have liked to, I really would have.’
Once they all finished, the waiter cleared the plates. Riyo leaned back with a satisfied sigh, patting her stomach. Rudo was scrolling through his phone, occasionally showing Riyo something that made her laugh.
"So, Zanka." Enjin's voice pulled him out of his thoughts. "You really need a pianist if you want to participate in the competition."
Zanka placed his head in his hands, elbows on the table. "I know. I know. I'm sorry."
"Don't be sorry." Enjin's voice was firm but not harsh. "It's good that you're picky. But you can't decline everyone forever. We need someone who fits, and you've turned down, like, four people already."
"Five," Rudo said without looking up from his phone.
"Five," Enjin corrected. "Look, I'll reach out to some other pianists around town. Maybe we'll find someone good. Yeah?"
Zanka's eyes lit up. A small spark of hope that he quickly tried to hide. He nodded. "Yeah. Okay."
"Good." Enjin stood up, pulling out his wallet. "I'll pay. You guys head out."
"Come on, let's go," Riyo said, grabbing her jacket. "Before he starts arguing with the cashier about the price."
"He doesn't do that," Rudo said.
"He did it last week."
"That was because they overcharged him."
‘’mhm’’
They walked out into the cool night air, the streetlights casting warm pools of light on the pavement. Zanka leaned against the wall, hands in his pockets, watching the occasional car pass by. Riyo and Rudo bickered lightly beside him something about who got the last piece of garlic bread.
A few minutes later, Enjin came out, jingling his keys. "Alright. Let's head back."
The walk home was quiet. Comfortable. The kind of silence that didn't need to be filled.
Back at the apartment, Zanka didn't linger. He stepped inside, toed off his shoes, and walked straight to his room. He changed out of his clothes tossed them onto the chair in the corner. Took a quick shower, the hot water washing off the day. Brushed his teeth. Didn't look at himself in the mirror for too long and fell into bed, the sheets cool against his skin.
He just wanted to sleep. To get all of this off his head. The ramen. The memories. The thought of going home. The competition. The missing pianist. All of it.
He closed his eyes. Tomorrow. He'd deal with it tomorrow.
The next morning, Zanka woke to sunlight cutting across his face like a blade. He groaned, threw an arm over his eyes for a moment, then sat up. The clock on his nightstand read 7:12 AM. He stretched, his back cracking in a satisfying sequence, and swung his legs out of bed. Getting ready was routine. Shower. Uniform. A quick check in the mirror tie straight, collar flat, hair presentable. ‘Good.’
He grabbed an apple from the kitchen on his way out, biting into it as he pulled on his shoes. His violin case waited by the door, and he slung it over his shoulder with practiced ease. Usually, he walked with Riyo and Rudo. But they had first period free, which meant they were probably still dead to the world in their beds. So today, he walked alone.
The morning air was cool, the streets still quiet. Normally, he liked walking with the others their bickering filled the silence, made the walk feel shorter. Without them, his thoughts had room to creep in. And creep in they did. ‘The competition. The pianist. I need to apologize to someone, but who? None of them were good enough. I couldn't work with them. Maybe Enjin can find someone new, but I can't just rely on Enjin forever. I need to think too. I need to figure this out myself.’
Before he knew it, he was at school. The building loomed ahead, familiar and mundane. Students milled about the entrance, some rushing, some dragging their feet. Zanka slipped through the crowd easily, making his way to his locker. He spun the combination, pulled it open, and carefully placed his violin case inside. His bag went over his shoulder. He closed the locker with a soft clink.
Then he made his way to class. Room 2-B. Second floor, third door on the left. He settled into his usual seat by the window. The desk was cool under his forearms. Outside, the courtyard was still mostly empty. A few students walked by, but nothing interesting. Back when he was new here, he used to be the first one in class every single day. Early. Ready. Eager to prove himself. But at some point, he just stopped caring. Now he arrived when he arrived, and if someone else got there first, so be it.
Today, he wasn't the first. A few students were already scattered around the room, chatting quietly or staring at their phones. Zanka pulled out his own phone, scrolling aimlessly until the teacher arrived. A few more minutes passed. The door opened.
The teacher walked in, a middle-aged man with glasses and a perpetually tired expression. He cleared his throat, and the room slowly quieted down. But behind him, two figures followed.
Zanka's eyes flicked up, scanning them out of habit.
The first was a boy. Small. Slender. White hair with red under hair and red-tipped ends that looked almost like they'd been dipped in paint. He held himself tightly, shoulders hunched, eyes darting around the room like he expected someone to jump at him. He looked nervous. Really nervous.
The second was a girl. Taller. Long, wavy green hair that fell past her shoulders. Headphones hung around her neck, and her expression was flat bored, almost. Like she'd rather be anywhere else.
They both wore the school uniform, but it sat differently on each of them. The boy looked like he was drowning in his blazer. The girl wore hers like she didn't care if it fit or not.
The teacher went to the front of the class, set his papers down, and cleared his throat once everyone had settled.
"We have two new transfer students. Introduce yourselves."
The girl stepped forward first. No hesitation. No nerves. "I'm Momoa Ruckel. I'm 17." That was it. No hobbies. No "nice to meet you." Just the facts. She stepped back, hands sliding into her pockets.
Then the boy stepped forward. And immediately, he looked like he wanted to disappear. He opened his mouth. Closed it. His hands came up, fingers fidgeting with each other like they had a life of their own. His eyes darted to the floor, to the ceiling, anywhere but the class. "I— I uh— I am— f-f-fu—"
‘Oh boy.’ Zanka made a face. Not out of cruelty, but out of recognition. He'd seen this before. Kids who stuttered, who froze, who made themselves targets just by existing. This kid was going to get eaten alive here.
Before the boy could embarrass himself further, the girl stepped in. "That's Fu Orostor. He's also 17."
The boy Fu let out a breath he'd clearly been holding. His shoulders dropped slightly, relief washing over his face. He shot the girl a quick, grateful look.
‘Friends?’ Zanka wondered. ‘Or just looking out for each other?’
The teacher sighed, clearly already tired of the day. "Alright. Fu and Momoa, find seats."
The classroom had a few empty spots. Momoa walked to one near the back, sliding into her seat like she owned it. She pulled out her phone immediately, headphones slipping back over her ears.
Fu hesitated. He looked around the room, eyes scanning the empty seats, and Zanka could see the calculation happening behind his nervous expression. Where's safe? Where's least likely to get me noticed? He ended up taking a seat near the middle. Not too close to the front, not too close to the back. A survival spot.
Zanka watched him for a moment longer, then turned his gaze to the window. ‘New kids. Great.’
The first two periods dragged by like molasses in winter. Zanka spent most of them staring out the window, occasionally glancing at the board, occasionally writing something down just to look busy. His mind was elsewhere. The competition. The missing pianist. The five people he'd turned down. Enjin's patience wearing thin. And now this.
He glanced at Fu, who was sitting rigidly, taking notes like his life depended on it. His handwriting was neat.
Honestly, Zanka had expected the bullying to start immediately. But it didn't. Fu was mostly left alone probably because he was too quiet to notice. The other students glanced at him, whispered a little, but that was it. For now.
Momoa was the same. The girls in class didn't know what to make of her. She sat in the back, headphones around her neck, answering questions in short, bored sentences. She didn't try to make friends. She didn't seem to care.
Being new was always hard. Zanka knew that. He'd been lucky his Asian genes, his "nice act," and the fact that he wasn't a pushover had kept him safe.
The bell rang. First break. Chatter erupted. Chairs scraped against the floor. Students flooded out of the classroom like someone had opened a dam.
Zanka slowly pushed himself up, stretched his arms above his head, and made his way out. He had to go look around. Maybe apologize to Follo… He'd been really mean to him. Harsh. Dismissive. But even if he apologized, it wouldn't solve the problem. The truth was that Follo couldn't keep up. He always played too slow. Made too many mistakes. And he always tried to play with his emotions like he was feeling the music instead of just playing what was on the notes. But no. Follo had to feel it. And it sounded like a mess.
He sighed. What was he supposed to do? Seriously. He was getting desperate. The competition was creeping up, and he had no pianist. No one good enough. No one who— His head snapped up. Piano. It was coming from somewhere down the hall. Faint at first, but growing clearer as he walked. Notes. Fast. Precise. Perfect.
Zanka stopped breathing for a second. It was nothing like anyone he'd ever heard play before. It was good. No it was incredible. Every note hit perfectly. Fast runs that should have sounded messy came out clean and sharp. The rhythm was flawless. The dynamics were controlled. It was technical perfection wrapped in something that actually had soul. He had never heard someone play this well.
His feet moved before his brain caught up. He rushed down the hall, following the sound, until he stood in front of the music room. The door was slightly ajar. The music poured out. He yanked the door open.
Inside, sitting at the piano, was a boy. Tall. Around his age, maybe a year or two older. Long dreadlocks fell past his shoulders, and every single one had a small golden ring threaded through it. His skin was tanned. His nails were painted black. On every finger sat a silver ring all catching the light as his hands flew across the keys. He played like the piano was an extension of his body. Like breathing.
Zanka stood in the doorway, frozen. He didn't know this guy. Had never seen him before. But he looked like the type to be popular the kind of person who walked into a room and everyone turned to look. The kind who didn't have to try.
The boy noticed him. He stopped playing. His hands hovered over the keys for a moment, then fell to his lap. He turned his head slowly, fixing Zanka with an emotionless stare.
Zanka stared back. His mouth opened. "Do you want to be my accompanist?" ‘Shit.’ He should have asked for his name first. Started with small talk. Been normal. But the words had just... fallen out.
The boy's emotionless expression cracked. A grin spread across his face sharp, amused, like he'd just been told a really good joke. He stood up from the piano bench, his rings clinking softly as he walked over. He stopped right in front of Zanka. "Nah." And then he walked past him, out the door, and disappeared down the hall. Just like that.
Zanka stood there, alone in the music room, the echo of the piano still hanging in the air. No. No one ever said no to him. Not like that. Not so casually. Not with that infuriating grin. He didn't know what to do. He just stood there, staring at the empty doorway, his mind blank. When he finally caught himself, the bell had already rung. Break was over. He didn't know the boy's name. Didn't know what class he was in. Didn't know anything. But he would find him. That was for sure. He turned and walked back to class, jaw set, hands clenched at his sides.
Zanka slid the classroom door shut and settled back into his seat. Everyone else was already there. A few heads turned, but most didn't care. He was just the guy who came in late after break. Nothing new.
Two minutes later, the teacher walked in, and the rest of the day crawled by in a blur of droning voices and chalk dust. Zanka stared at the board without seeing it. His mind was elsewhere on golden rings and black nails and that infuriating grin. "Nah." Just like that. Like Zanka's offer meant nothing. He gripped his pen a little tighter.
When the final bell finally rang, Zanka was out of his seat before the echo faded. He didn't wait for Riyo or Rudo. Didn't look for anyone. He just walked fast, determined to his locker. He spun the combination, shoved his bag inside, and grabbed his violin case. Usually, he'd stay behind to practice. Play a little. Let the music clear his head. Not today. He slung the case over his shoulder and made his way out of the school. He needed to talk to Enjin. Needed to tell him about the guy. The pianist. The one who played like a god and said no like it was nothing. Maybe Enjin knew who he was. Maybe he could help.
He was so lost in thought that he almost walked right past the commotion. Almost. A group of boys had cornered someone near the side gate. Zanka slowed down, recognizing the small, hunched figure immediately. Fu. The new kid. The stutterer. The one who looked like a stiff breeze would knock him over.
He was getting pushed around. Literally. One of the boys shoved his shoulder, making him stumble back into another one, who shoved him forward again. Like a game. Like he was a toy. Fu's face was pale. His hands were trembling. He wasn't even trying to fight back.
And standing a few feet away was Momoa. Her headphones were around her neck, her phone in her hand. "Stop it, or I will call—"
One of the boys turned, grabbed her arm, and shoved her hard. She hit the ground with a sharp thud, her phone flying out of her hand. The boy picked it up, smirked, and pocketed it before turning back to Fu.
Zanka stood there for a moment. ‘Not my problem.’’ He could walk away. He should walk away. He didn't know these people. They weren't his responsibility. Enjin would understand, right? You can't save everyone. That's not how the world works. But no. Enjin would be disappointed. Not angry. Not loud. Just... disappointed.
Zanka sighed, rolled his shoulders, and walked over. He grabbed the biggest one by the collar and yanked him back, hard.
The boy stumbled, caught off guard, and whirled around with a snarl. "The hell—"
Zanka smiled. His usual polite smile. The one that didn't reach his eyes. "Hey now. What's going on?"
"None of your business, foreigner," the boy spat, stepping closer. "Walk away."
Zanka's smile didn't waver. "Do I need to call a teacher? Or the police? What you are doing is against the law and could get you in serious trouble if minor or not."
The boy hesitated. His friends hesitated. They looked at Zanka at his calm expression, his steady stance. Something about him made them pause. "...Whatever. He's not worth it." The boy shoved past Zanka, and his friends followed. One of them tossed Momoa's phone on the ground as they left. It clattered against the pavement.
Fu was trembling, his hands shaking so badly he couldn't even hold his bag properly. He stared at the ground, breathing shallow. "Th-thank you," he whispered, barely audible. "I— thank you."
Zanka nodded once. "Don't mention it."
Momoa picked up her phone, checked the screen, and slid it into her pocket. She looked at Zanka with an unreadable expression. "...Thanks."
Zanka nodded again and turned to leave. He had places to be. People to find. A pianist to track down. But when he walked, he heard footsteps behind him. He glanced back. Fu and Momoa were following him. Zanka turned around, irritation creeping into his voice. "Hey. Can you stop following me?"
Fu looked down, fidgeting. Momoa met his gaze evenly. "We don't," she said simply.
Zanka stared at them. Fu looked like he wanted to disappear. Momoa looked like she didn't care either way. Neither of them moved.
He groaned, turned around, and kept walking. They kept following. By the time he reached his apartment building, Zanka was thoroughly annoyed. He could hear their footsteps behind him Fu's light and hesitant, Momoa's steady and unhurried. He climbed the stairs, fished out his keys, and unlocked the door. He was about to turn around and tell them to get lost when they simply... walked past him. Up the stairs. To the floor above.
Zanka blinked. ‘They live here?’ He shook his head and stepped inside, kicking off his shoes. "I'm home!"
The apartment was warm. Familiar. He could hear movement from the back room. He followed it, finding Enjin in his small office, leaning back in his chair with his phone in hand.
"Oh, hey, Zanka." Enjin looked up, a grin spreading across his face. "Good timing. Listen, I found a guy. Apparently, he can play piano really well. Like, really well. I'm setting up a meeting. You need to meet him."
Zanka dropped his violin case by the door and ran a hand through his hair. "Yeah, about that." He paused. "I also met a guy today. At school. He was playing in the music room. Perfect technique. Perfect rhythm. Best I've ever heard."
Enjin's eyebrows shot up. "No way. Seriously?"
"Seriously. I asked him if he wanted to be my accompanist."
"And?"
Zanka's jaw tightened. "He said no. Just... 'nah.' And walked off."
Enjin stared at him for a moment. Then he let out a low whistle. "Well. That's interesting."
"Interesting? He's the best pianist I've ever heard, and he said no."
"Okay, okay. Calm down." Enjin leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. "Did you get his name? His class? Anything?"
Zanka shook his head. "Never seen him before. Long dreadlocks. Gold rings in them. Black nails. Silver rings on every finger. Tall. Tanned skin. Looks like he belongs in a band, not a music room."
Enjin stared at Zanka, his expression shifting into something thoughtful. "Hmm. I think I know who you're talking about. But he lives on the other side of the UK. How is he here? Unless you're talking about someone else."
Zanka's eyes widened. "What?"
"Bring me a photo or a name, alright? But even if you find him, I doubt he'll accept to play for you. Till now, he's refused almost everyone who's asked." Enjin leaned back, crossing his arms. "He's picky. Like, really picky. Rumor has it he only plays for himself."
Zanka let out a slow sigh. Giving up wasn't an option. It never had been. But the weight of another rejection of hearing no again sat heavy in his chest.
"Anyway," Enjin continued, waving a hand, "some family moved in above us. I heard one of the kids around your age can play really well. You should go up there and ask them once. Worth a shot."
Zanka rolled his eyes. He didn't want anyone else. He wanted that guy. The one with the dreadlocks and the golden rings and the perfect, impossible playing. But he knew Enjin was just trying to help. So he nodded, even if it was half-hearted. "Yeah. Sure. Maybe."
The front door opened. "Zank! Ey!" Riyo's voice rang through the apartment, followed by the thud of shoes being kicked off. "Did you see the new transfer student? Damn, he got his position instantly. Seriously."
Zanka turned his head as Riyo and Rudo walked into Enjin's office, still in their school uniforms. Riyo was grinning, while Rudo looked more subdued.
"I got two transfer students too," Zanka said flatly. "Though I doubt you mean them."
"Nah, dude, he's a grade above you." Riyo leaned against the doorframe. "And damn, if I say he has good looks. Not my type, though. But the other girls in his class apparently already fell for him."
Rudo tsked, crossing his arms. "I don't like him. I saw him on our way home. He looks so weird."
Riyo rolled her eyes.
Enjin perked up, his interest clearly piqued. "Hmm. Do you guys have a name? Or a picture?"
"Yeah, yeah, I got a photo from one of the girls." Riyo pulled out her phone, scrolling for a moment before turning it toward Enjin. "Here."
Enjin snatched the phone out of her hand so fast Riyo yelped. "No way."
Zanka frowned. "What?" He leaned over to get a look at the screen. His eyes widened. It was him. The guy from the music room. Long dreadlocks. Golden rings. That same sharp, unreadable expression, even in a candid photo someone had snapped during class. "That's the guy," Zanka said quickly, his voice urgent. "That's him. The one I told you about."
Enjin let out a laugh loud, surprised, almost disbelieving. "Yeah, that's the guy I told you about too. The one who lives on the other side of the UK. What the hell does he do here?" He stared at the photo for a moment longer, then looked up at Zanka. "Wait. He transferred here? He goes here? To this school?"
Zanka just stared back, his mind racing. ‘He's here. He's in the same building. I can find him. I can talk to him again.’
Riyo and Rudo exchanged confused glances. "Uh, hello?" Riyo waved a hand. "Care to fill us in?"
Enjin quickly explained the pianist Zanka had met, the rejection, the connection. By the time he finished, Riyo's eyes were wide, and Rudo was looking at Zanka with something close to pity.
Riyo walked over and patted Zanka's back a little too hard. "Damn. How does your first rejection feel?"
Zanka turned his head slowly and gave her a look that could have frozen water.
Riyo grinned, completely unbothered. "That good, huh?"
"I didn't ask for your commentary," Zanka said flatly.
"And yet, you received it anyway. Free of charge."
Zanka rubbed his temples. He had a pianist to find, a rejection to overturn, and apparently, a fan club forming above them. This was going to be a long week.
Enjin sighed, stretching his arms over his head until his back cracked. "Zanka, I mean, you can try. But like I already said, I doubt he'll accept. He never does. Though..." He paused, tilting his head. "I wonder why he moved here. That's a pretty big jump, from the other side of the UK to here."
Zanka shrugged, leaning against the doorframe. "Maybe he got tired of people asking him to play."
"Or maybe he's running from something," Rudo muttered, earning a look from Riyo.
"Anyway," Enjin continued, waving a hand, "you should still try your shot with the family that moved in upstairs. Worth a try."
"Yeah, yeah." Zanka sighed. "Oh, by the way, I think the two of them go to my class."
Enjin raised a brow. "You think?"
"Yeah, I think. I'm not sure if they moved in here or not. But they followed me home earlier, and then they walked up the stairs to the floor above."
"Wait, wait, wait." Riyo's head snapped up, her eyes lighting up. "We have new people moving in? Awesome. Is there a girl?"
Zanka nodded slowly, already regretting saying anything. "Yeah. A girl. Name's Momoa."
"Yes!" Riyo pumped her fist. "Let's go say hello right now!" She was already halfway to the door when Enjin's hand shot out and grabbed the back of her collar, pulling her back like a misbehaving cat.
"We'll go all after dinner," he said firmly.
Rudo groaned, dropping his head onto the table. "Why?"
"Because it's out of respect, you idiot," Zanka hissed, already turning toward the kitchen. "You don't just barge into someone's home the second they move in. Give them time to breathe."
Thirty minutes later, a simple meal was on the table. Nothing fancy. Riyo and Rudo set the table. Enjin poured drinks. They ate together, the clatter of chopsticks and bowls filling the space. Riyo couldn't sit still, her leg bouncing under the table as she talked about all the things she wanted to do with the new neighbor.
Once they finished, Enjin cleaned the dishes while the others got ready. Shoes on. Riyo was practically vibrating by the front door tho understandable she hadn’t many female friends…
"Alright, alright." Enjin dried his hands and walked over. "Let's go. And remember, Zanka mention that you're looking for an accompanist. But don't push it. I'll bring it up naturally if the situation calls for it."
Zanka nodded, shoving his hands into his pockets. "Got it."
They climbed the stairs together, their footsteps echoing in the stairwell. The building was quiet, the kind of quiet that came with evening. When they reached the door just one floor above theirs Enjin stopped, adjusted his collar for no reason, and knocked. Three firm knocks. Then they waited.
The door opened slowly, revealing a small, timid boy with a few fresh bruises on his arms.
Zanka recognized him immediately. Fu. So they really did live above them. Great. Fantastic. Just what he needed the stutterer from his class as a neighbor, probably expecting him to be some kind of protector now.
Fu looked unsure, his eyes darting between the four people at his doorstep. Then his gaze landed on Zanka, and something in his shoulders relaxed. Just a little. Like he'd seen a familiar face in a crowd of strangers.
Riyo stared down at him, her earlier excitement dimmed slightly by the bruises she was definitely noticing. Rudo mumbled a quiet "hey," shoving his hands in his pockets, not knowing what else to say. Enjin was about to step forward and introduce himself properly when
"Who's at the door?" A female voice called from inside.
Fu turned his head. "I think... our neighbors."
Footsteps. Then the door swung open fully, and a woman appeared. She was taller than Fu not towering, but solid built. Her blue hair was cut short, and her arms were muscular in a way that suggested she worked with her hands. Her expression was cold at first glance, but her eyes striking yellow, sharp and beautiful held something warmer beneath the surface.
Enjin stared for half a second too long before catching himself. "Ah. We're your neighbors from downstairs." He offered a polite smile, the kind he used for adults and authority figures. "We wanted to say hello and introduce ourselves."
The woman's expression softened. Not much, but enough. "Ah, how nice. Thanks a lot. We would have come downstairs tomorrow." She stepped aside, holding the door open. "Come inside."
The four of them shuffled in, pulling off their shoes by the genkan. Zanka noticed a pair of worn-out sneakers.
They followed the woman into the living room, and Zanka had to admit they were surprisingly far along with unpacking. Boxes were stacked neatly in corners, furniture was arranged, and the space already felt lived-in. Comfortable. A far cry from the chaos he'd expected.
On the couch, sprawled out like she owned the place, was Momoa. She had headphones around her neck now, scrolling through her phone with lazy disinterest. She was wearing sweatpants and an oversized t-shirt, completely at ease. But Zanka noticed the bruise forming on her hand the same place one of those boys had grabbed her earlier.
When Momoa noticed the others, she pulled her headphones down and sat up, her eyes scanning the group with quiet assessment. After a beat, she simply said, "Hello."
The woman with blue hair Cthoni sighed, gesturing vaguely. "That's Momoa. The boy is Fu."
Fu flinched slightly when he was mentioned, shrinking into himself like he wanted to disappear into the fabric of the chair. Cthoni either didn't notice or chose not to comment. "And I'm Cthoni," she continued. "Their foster parent."
Enjin's eyes went wide. "At such a young age?"
"I'm twenty-seven."
Enjin stared at her, genuinely surprised. "Oh. Damn. You're around my age. You definitely look younger."
Cthoni's titeld her head "Well. Thanks. I guess."
Rudo, Zanka, and Riyo settled onto the couch. Riyo immediately leaned forward with a big grin, the kind that made her look like an excited puppy.
"Hey! I'm Riyo. That's Rudo." She pointed at him. He gave a short, awkward nod. "And the other one the one who's in your class is Zanka."
Momoa's gaze shifted to Zanka. She nodded once. "I know."
And just like that, Riyo and Momoa started talking. Well mostly Riyo talked. She asked about Momoa's headphones, what music she listened to, what she thought of the school so far, if she'd found any good places to eat nearby. Momoa answered in short sentences, sometimes just nodding or shrugging, but she didn't seem annoyed. If anything, she looked mildly entertained.
Fu sat on one of the chairs near the window, perched on the edge like he was ready to bolt at any moment. His hands were clasped tightly in his lap, and he kept glancing at the door, then at the floor, then at Zanka but never for more than a second.
Rudo and Zanka sat in silence. Rudo was scrolling through his phone, occasionally glancing up with bored disinterest. Zanka was trying to figure out how to steer the conversation toward his violin. Toward the competition. Toward the fact that he desperately needed an accompanist. But how was he supposed to bring that up? No one was talking to him. And even if they were who here was supposed to be a pianist? Fu looked like he'd faint if someone raised their voice. Momoa seemed more interested in her phone than anything else. And Cthoni was a foster parent, not a musician. ‘This is pointless, I'm wasting my time.’
Cthoni had settled into a chair across from them, and Enjin sat next to Zanka, keeping the conversation flowing with easy, polite questions how they were settling in, if they needed help with anything, what brought them to the area. The usual neighborly small talk.
Just as the conversation started to lull, and Enjin was about to pivot toward Zanka's situation, Cthoni spoke up. "Where is the other one?"
Momoa looked up from Riyo and shrugged. "How should I know? Probably in his room."
Cthoni's brow furrowed. "Fu. Get him. Tell him we have guests and he needs to come introduce himself."
Fu shot up like he'd been waiting for an excuse to leave the room. He disappeared down the hall, his footsteps quick and light. Faint noises drifted back a door opening, a low murmur of voices, then a deeper, groggy response.
A few moments later, Fu reappeared, hovering by the hallway entrance. "He was... sleeping. He said he'll come in a second."
Enjin exchanged a glance with Zanka. Sleeping this early? Either the kid was very young, or very well-behaved. Rudo seemed to share the same thought, raising an eyebrow. Riyo was too focused on her conversation with Momoa to notice.
Cthoni's brow furrowed deeper. "This early? Since when does he sleep this early?"
Fu shrugged helplessly. Momoa answered without looking up. "He pulled an all-nighter for the last two nights."
Ah. So not a young kid. Not a well-behaved one either. Just someone with terrible sleep habits and no regard for a normal schedule.
Cthoni looked slightly annoyed, her jaw tightening. She opened her mouth to say something, but before she could, the door at the end of the hall creaked open and footsteps echoed through the corridor slow, heavy, unhurried.
A tall figure emerged, rubbing his eyes with the back of his hand. Tanned skin. Long dreadlocks, slightly messy from sleep, the golden rings woven through them catching the warm light. He was wearing loose sweatpants that hung low on his hips and a perfectly fitted black t-shirt that stretched across his shoulders. His eyes were half-lidded, heavy with sleep, and he yawned wide, unguarded, without bothering to cover his mouth.
Enjin's eyes went wide. ‘That's him. That's THE guy. The pianist. The one everyone whispered about. The one who lived on the other side of the UK and now apparently lived just above their apartment.’
Zanka's breath caught. His hands clenched at his sides. ‘It's him. The same guy. Right here.’
Rudo's expression soured the second he recognized the face from Riyo's photo. He crossed his arms, jaw tightening. ‘Great. This guy.’
Riyo's jaw dropped. Then, faster than anyone could react, her hand shot toward her pocket, phone already halfway out. Her eyes were gleaming not with admiration, but with opportunity. The pictures of this guy right now all sleepy and hot would sell for good money.*
Enjin's hand shot out and pushed her phone down before she could even unlock it. He didn't even look at her, but the message was clear. Don't you dare.
The guy surveyed the room with sleepy disinterest, barely registering the four strangers on his couch. He yawned again. "Hello." Then he turned around, clearly planning to go back to his room.
Cthoni's hand shot out and grabbed him by the collar, yanking him back into the living room. He stumbled, caught off guard.
"Sit down. That's no way to behave."
He grinned and complied, letting himself fall onto one of the chairs with all the grace of a sack of potatoes. He slumped into it, one leg thrown over the armrest, his head lolling back like he was already planning his escape back to bed. Then his eyes landed on Zanka. A pause. A slow, lazy grin spread across his face. "Oh. You're the dude from the music room."
The room went quiet.
Riyo leaned forward, a mischievous grin spreading across her face. "Ey, Mr. Handsome. Would you mind if I took a few pictures of you?"
Enjin shot her a glare so sharp it could have cut glass. Riyo ignored him completely.
The boy tilted his head, looking at her with sleepy curiosity. "What for?"
"To sell them." Riyo said it like it was the most obvious thing in the world. "I'm sure girls would be ready to pay good money."
Jabber's grin widened. He ran a hand through his dreadlocks, the golden rings catching the light. "If you split the profit, then yeah, sure."
Riyo's eyes lit up. She nodded quickly, already planning her next move.
Jabber started to stand up probably to go back to his room and make a dramatic exit but Cthoni's hand shot out and pushed him back down into the chair before he could even straighten his legs. "Don't make a fool of yourself," she said flatly.
"Hey, it ain't my fault the ladies are crazy over me." Jabber shrugged, completely unbothered.
"Just introduce yourself."
Enjin already knew who he was. Everyone in certain circles knew who Jabber Wonger was. But he kept that to himself, watching with quiet interest.
Jabber sighed, slumping deeper into his chair. "I'm Jabber. Jabber Wonger. I'm eighteen." A pause. "Aaaaaand I live here." That was it. That was the full introduction. No elaboration. No details. Just the bare minimum.
Zanka stared at him, his mind racing. ‘This is the guy. The one who refused me. The one who's supposed to be impossible to convince. And he's sitting right here, looking like he just rolled out of bed.’
Rudo glared at Jabber, arms crossed, clearly not impressed. Riyo was trying to sneak her phone out again, but Enjin's hand intercepted her wrist every single time, pushing it back down without even looking at her.
"Ah, I didn't know you had a foster family, Jabber." Enjin's voice was smooth, friendly, the kind of tone that put people at ease. "That's nice."
Jabber nodded lazily. "Yep. I have one. We're a big, happy family."
"I can see that. You must really love them." Enjin paused, then tilted his head slightly. "Though I am curious why did you guys move here?"
The question hung in the air for a moment. Jabber's expression didn't change.
Cthoni answered before he could. "Because of work." Short. Simple. Final.
Enjin nodded, accepting the answer without pushing further. But Zanka noticed the way Enjin's eyes lingered on Jabber for just a second longer than necessary.
‘There's more to that story. And I'm going to find out what it is.’
Jabber's eyes landed on the bruise around Momoa's wrist. Then they flicked to Fu's arms.
He tilted his head. "What happened?"
Fu mumbled, "Nothing."
Momoa didn't even bother answering. She just kept talking with Riyo or well pretending to considering Riyo tried to sneak pictures.
Jabber's teeth ground together. The lazy, amused energy from earlier was gone, replaced by something sharper. Colder. "Come on. Tell me."
"Jabber. Drop it." Cthoni's voice was stern, final.
But Jabber didn't drop it. He kept pushing, his voice getting louder, more insistent. Fu looked like he was about to bolt.
"Well, if you wanted to know that badly," Momoa finally said, her voice flat, "you should have just walked home with us."
Jabber's expression shifted. He pouted actually pouted like a child who'd been told he couldn't have dessert. "That's not fair. You know I have longer classes than you guys. Why didn't you call me?"
"Because you have classes."
"I would have ditched—"
"Jabber. Shut up."
Jabber crossed his arms huffed and shut up.
The room fell into a long, heavy silence. Enjin cleared his throat. "Anyway," he started, placing a hand on Zanka's shoulder. "You know, my boy Zanka here is a very good violinist."
Jabber tilted his head. That lazy grin crept back onto his face. He didn't say anything. Just waited. Enjoying this. Watching them squirm. He was going to make them say the whole thing before he gave them an answer.
‘Asshole.’
"And we're searching for a pianist." Enjin's voice was calm, but there was a hopeful edge beneath it. "Do you mind playing with him a few times? Accompany him, see if you guys click?"
"Nah." Same answer. Same casual dismissal.
"Why not?"
"Because I don't like to play for others."
Enjin sighed. He'd expected this. It was still irritating. "Alright, I guess—"
Zanka's shot up. "Who do you think you are?" His voice was sharp, cutting through the room. "Just declining like that? You could at least consider it, you piece of shit. You know what? I don't need your help. You're just some stupid guy." He turned to stomp off, fists clenched.
Enjin's eyes widened. He shot up and grabbed Zanka by the arm, yanking him back before he could make it two steps. "I'm so sorry," Enjin said quickly, forcing a smile as he turned to Jabber and Cthoni. "He didn't mean that. He's jus stressed. The competitio I'm so sorry, really, I apologize—"
Cthoni sighed, waving a hand. "It's fine. Jabber usually never plays for anyone. Don't take it to heart."
Enjin looked up, relief flooding his expression. He nodded, still holding Zanka's arm.
Zanka was still pissed, his jaw tight, but he mumbled something that could have been an apology under his breath.
Riyo and Rudo watched with interest. Fu and Momoa watched too but with a different kind of attention. They'd never seen anyone raise their voice at Jabber before. Everyone was always so deep in his ass, always praising him, never cursing at him cut they wanted his help.
Fu exchanged a worried glance with Cthoni. They were both bracing for Jabber to snap. To lash out. To do something wild.
But Jabber just grinned. A genuine grin. Wide. Bright. It stretched across his face, and a light blush crept onto his cheeks.
Zanka stared in shock. Rudo tilted his head, confused. Enjin stared openly, his mouth slightly open. Cthoni stared just as openly, her brow furrowed. Fu sighed in relief then stared in shock. Momoa froze.
And Riyo slowly pulled her phone out again. ‘This face. This exact face. It would sell for so much money. Even split in half with Jabber.’
Enjin's hand shot out and pushed her phone back down without even looking at her.
"I like you, Mr. Bad Attitude." Jabber's lazy slouch straightened. His eyes gleamed with something sharp, something amused. He leaned forward, elbows resting on his knees, fully locked in now.
Zanka's eye twitched. He wanted to snap again. Wanted to tell this arrogant bastard exactly what he thought of him. But he bit his tongue.
"Now I'm interested." Jabber's voice was lighter than before, almost playful. "How about we play together tomorrow?"
Zanka's eyes widened. His heart, which had been pounding with anger, stuttered into something else entirely. ‘Did he just—' "Yeah," Zanka said, the word coming out faster than he intended. He cleared his throat, trying to sound composed. "Yeah. That sounds good."
Cthoni stared. Her brow furrowed, confusion flickering across her face. She glanced at Fu, who looked just as lost.
Enjin stared in open shock. His mouth opened, closed, then opened again. He'd been ready to leave, ready to accept defeat, ready to figure out another plan. And now this?
Riyo's hand moved instinctively toward her phone. ‘This moment. This exact moment. I need to capture it.’
Enjin finally lost it. His hand shot out and snatched the phone right out of her grip.
"Hey—!"
"No."
Riyo gaped at him, but Enjin was already pocketing the phone, his expression leaving no room for argument.
Jabber stood up, stretching his arms above his head with a long, exaggerated groan. His shirt rode up just slightly, revealing a sliver of toned stomach before he dropped his arms.
Riyo felt her heart break just a Picture of a little bit of his stomache could get her so much money and now she had no chance to get it…
"Alright. I'm going to bed now." Jabber said.
Cthoni waved a hand without looking at him, too tired to argue. "Go."
Jabber flashed one last grin at Zanka before he turned and walked down the hall. His footsteps were slow, unhurried, until a door clicked shut and the apartment fell quiet.
Enjin let out a breath he didn't realize he'd been holding. He turned to Cthoni, his expression apologetic. "I apologize again for what Zanka said. He really didn't mean—"
Cthoni cut him off with a wave. "It's fine."
Enjin hesitated. Then, carefully, he asked, "Actually, now I'm curious. Who's Jabber's teacher?"
Cthoni let out a sigh. "He doesn't have one. Every single teacher at his old school gave up on him. Said he was too chaotic. Too unpredictable. Wouldn't follow instructions, wouldn't play what they asked, would improvise in the middle of a lesson just to mess with them."
Enjin rubbed his chin, thoughtful. "Well... I could teach him a little. If you want." He shrugged, modest. "I'm not a professional, but I teach Zanka, Riyo, Rudo, and a few other kids at school. I'm a teacher, so..."
Cthoni studied him for a long moment. Then she nodded slowly. "Sure. You can try. If he already agreed to practice with someone together, maybe you can actually get through to him. Stranger things have happened."
Enjin smiled. "Good. Then tomorrow, when they practice, I'll try to help out."
Cthoni nodded. "Alright."
The conversation wound down after that. Goodbyes were exchanged brief, polite. Riyo tried to grab her phone back from Enjin and failed. Rudo gave a short nod to no one in particular. Zanka lingered for just a second, glancing down the hall where Jabber had disappeared.
‘Tomorrow.’