Chapter Text
For as long as you can remember, your life has been a stage.
Growing up, you had to act and perform in a certain way. It was a dance you've done for so long, so when you get on an actual stage, it feels like child's play in comparison.
When you were younger, the world was a small, polished place made of warm lights and grown-up voices who would always coax you. You were sheltered, carefully kept away from anything loud or ugly. You didn't question your parents' rules, or any adult's, for that matter. The idea of asking "why?" never dared leave your lips.
So, you always do as you're told. You keep a smile on your face. You never raise your voice. You don't get mad, you don't talk back, you do your homework, you study hard, you keep your nose out of trouble.
Be a lady. Be an angel. Be a doll.
That's just how the girls are in your family.
And as a doll, you're always performing. Your back straight, hands folded neatly in your lap, smiling on cue whenever someone looks your way.
You perform in front of your family, friends, and everyone.
You were the ideal daughter of a well-to-do family, attending a prestigious school, your life was a string of accomplishments and expectations, especially being the first girl born as the first child after three generations.
You never show just how much pressure there is to be part of the family, however. Being anything other than the perfect good girl in your family and among others was such a taboo. Your parents made sure to drill the rules into your bones, making it feel like God would strike you with lightning if you ever stepped out of line.
You took your family's rule and tradition to heart.
Being the perfect good girl has been a role given to you on a silver platter, so you graciously accepted it and performed it flawlessly.
No matter how much your feet hurt, no matter how tired you are, no matter how much broken glass you must step on or over, you don't stop dancing. You don't stop performing with that smile on your face.
Only when the curtain falls does your smile finally drop.
-🌟-
Crash.
The teacup shattered against the polished floor, causing you to jolt in your seat. The dark liquid spills near your black, elegant shoes.
"Ah, I-I'm so sorry." The waiter stammered and took a few hasty bows.
The adults around the table barely reacted to his apology. The most he got was a few stern looks.
"Hurry and clean it up; that was my daughter's drink." Your father snaps.
"Y-yes, sir." He bows once again and hurriedly leaves.
You hear your mother huff. "This place sure has downgraded." The other guests seem to have agreed.
'It was only an accident.' You don't say that, of course. Not with your parents present. You did have the decency to feel bad for the poor waiter.
You just keep quiet and eat your food while the adults continue their conversation, their voices blending into background music as you stay in character and patiently wait for your teacup.
You keep your back straight, eat carefully, and keep a neutral look.
"Your daughter is well-behaved." You hear one of the women speak to your mother.
You hear this often from many parents.
"I wish my daughter were like her. She's 14 now, and I think she's getting into her rebellious phase." The woman sighs disappointingly.
You take one glance at the table next to yours. That's where the kids were. You were sitting with the adults today because there were mainly boys at that table. Your parents have always been strict with you when it came to boys. Not that you blame them.
Boys scare you sometimes.
Your eyes landed on the 14-year-old that your mother's friend was talking about.
Like you, she has a similar upbringing, so you naturally thought you'd be friends with her.
Only, she didn't think the same way. You don't recall ever upsetting her, but she seemed to hold some kind of hatred for you.
"Why aren't you angry?!"
You clearly remembered the way she angrily spoke to you. She finally got the lead of last year's play. All you did was congratulate her, but she took offence at that.
You look back at your food.
'On second thought, maybe it's best if I didn't sit there.' You thought, a nervous but sheepish smile formed across your lips. At first, you wanted to sit with the other kids, cause it was natural to be with other kids in your age range, but you know being near her would make her uncomfortable, so you figured it was best to stay away.
Your mother smiles proudly. "Well, I never have to worry about my daughter doing that. My family knows how to discipline our children."
Your parents taught you well. The family rules, the discipline, the tutoring.
You have never given them a reason to worry.
When the waiter comes back, he brings you a new teacup while another cleans the broken teacup.
This time, he's much more careful while settling your cup. Too careful.
"I really am sorry." He says to you apologetically.
You secretly smiled at him. If you were to voice out your reassurance to him, your mother would just scold you for treating someone like that after their blunder.
His shoulders loosen, just a little, as if you've lifted a stone off his back.
"Excuse me, can I order the strawberry cake?" One woman from the table pipes up.
Your hand twitched against your fork.
"Ah, of course, ma'am." The waiter nods and leaves.
You briefly press your lips together as you remember the picture of the strawberry cake on the menu you saw earlier.
You had your chance to ask, but you knew your mother would have outright refused and scolded you for even asking.
You tried not to let the disappointment show on your face and instead focused on your half-eaten food.
"(Y/n)-chan." A gentleman from the table spoke up. "How is school going? I hear Kunugigaoka is rather difficult."
You smiled. "I'm enjoying it."
̷L̷̷i̷a̷̷r̷.
Kunugigaoka isn't for everyone. It's a fairly new school compared to the many others in the city, but it quickly became one of the most prestigious schools in the country and for good reasons.
Kunugigaoka built its reputation on sacrifice and strength. If your grades slip, you get exiled. They send you up to the school in the mountains, far from the main campus, where all the "failures" go. Down there, people talk about those students like they're contagious. It's normal to sneer at them, to mock them, to pretend they were never really part of Kunugigaoka to begin with.
It motivates the rest of the students to do better.
You would be treated as an outcast otherwise. And being an outcast is not an option for a doll like you.
You don't complain, though. You never do.
You do your homework, study hard, attend to your clubs, do ballet, volunteer, and help other students with their work.
And you do it without breaking a sweat.
That's how you were raised.
"With grades like yours, you'll be at the top of Kunugigaoka in no time," one of the men chuckles. "Your parents must be so proud."
"Top of the year? I'd say top of the school," another adds. "Universities will be fighting over her."
"Ah, if only more kids were like you."
Every compliment lands on your shoulders instead of in your chest. Top of the year. Top of the school. Prestigious university. A shining example to everyone.
They're smiling as they stack expectations on top of you, one by one, like books on a shelf that's already full. Your jaw aches from smiling.
You pressed your lips together as you felt your throat clogging up.
Their praises started to blur against the background music until all you heard was a buzzing sound.
You were getting an odd and unfamiliar feeling in your chest.
It was heavy and welcoming.
Like it was squeezing the life out of you.
"(Y/n)?"
The sound of your mother's voice drew you abruptly out of your daze.
You snapped your eyes to your mother.
Her brows were furrowed together, staring at you with mild confusion.
Your teacup was halfway up to your mouth, and you were just sitting there like a statue for a good minute.
"What's wrong?" Your mother asks. "Is the tea not to your liking?"
You haven't even tried the tea yet.
Like a computer, you rebooted and smiled at your mother. "No."
You slowly set your tea cup down. Only now have you realized that there was a small crack on the edge.
"I think I need some air," you said pleasantly as you gently pushed your chair back.
"Don't wander off." Your father tells you.
"I won't, Father," you said.
You walk out to the terrace. The door closes behind you, muting the clink of cutlery and polite laughter.
The air was cold against your skin, but welcoming. The suffocation you felt earlier was slowly vanishing.
You softly inhaled the clean air, allowing it to clear the weight in your lungs. The weight you felt earlier, after all those praises, has been lifted.
'I guess I just needed some air.' You conclude.
You stretched your arms like a cat.
When you flopped your arms down, you let out a small whine.
"I wanted strawberry cake, too." You mumble to no one, cheeks puffing in a pout. A look you would never dare show in front of your family.
Especially if it's something like strawberry cake.
You don't allow yourself to pout for too long. There are no eyes out here, but your parents' strict lessons couldn't fade from your mind even now.
Still, you feel better having no eyes on you.
The thought of going back did cross your mind, but the night sky looked so pretty tonight. The terrace was large, giving you plenty of room to breathe.
It wouldn't hurt to stay here a bit longer.
You lean your elbows on the cool metal railing, following the snake of headlights along the street below.
Your eyes admire the starry night sky. The same night sky you admire from your own balcony window.
So peaceful. So quiet.
Then something breaks the scenery.
A flash of red in the front of the building, just down below. Not a sign. Not a car light.
Hair.
Red and bright. Impossible to miss.
Your heart skips a beat. For a dizzy second, you think you're watching a scene from a movie, not real life.
The boy straightens slowly. His knuckles glisten with red in the streetlight. He wipes at his nose with the back of his wrist, smearing the blood across his skin.
And in front of the bloody boy was an unconscious figure, lying on the pavement.
When he was about to take a step away from the body, he froze, noticing your shadow.
He looks up, and his golden eyes catch yours.
While your body flinches, he barely reacts. As if he didn't care that there was a witness.
For the first time in your life, you felt something in you light up.
You've never seen a boy like him before. His shirt was a little untidy, posture relaxed, blood still staining his skin as if he couldn't care less. He looks completely out of place against the polished world you know... and yet, you couldn't look away.
Involuntarily, your foot slides back, tempted to run away from this alleged crime scene. You had a troubling feeling that you weren't supposed to be seeing this.
However, the same foot that took a step back came back.
You don't know the full story, and it's not like you to assume the worst in someone. What if this boy was just defending himself? The person who was unconscious does appear to be bigger.
In that case, should you help him?
You gently bit your lower lip. No. Don't do that. You remember what your mother told you. Don't get involved with people like him.
But you did eventually.
In two years, he'd be the one to burn down your perfect stage.