Chapter 2

He walked into the classroom, already spotting Mari with a scowl on her face as she stared against the blackboard. Her travel mug was put away in her locker, he figured. She usually scowled as she drank coffee, her eyes squinting at the front of the class. It was a usual look for her. There were no food or drinks were allowed in the science classrooms.

Kyouya turned to the blackboard to find a seating arrangement. Third row from the back near the windows. His eyes darted to his seatmate.

Mari Takuya.

The scowl made more sense now.

Kyouya made his way over to his side of the bench, coolly taking his seat without batting an eye. Mari could scowl, sulk, and give dirty looks at him if she chose to act like a child. The Ootori refused to fall to that level of immaturity.

Sure, Mari could sit beside the guy, right? She was here to learn, not to be infuriated by the jerk. Mari took a deep breath and paid attention to the class. She opened up her notebook and tried her best to take notes. She had to admit that the clacking of his keyboard made it more difficult to pay attention.

She took notes by hand that were legible, to say the least. She had a short form that Kyouya couldn't quite decipher. She wrote at a slight slant, her pen smearing against the side of her palm. They weren't the prettiest notes, that was for sure.

The Ootori organized his notes on his laptop by subject, date, and topic. Diagrams were often copied from the textbook and he preferred to gather the images through the electronic version of the textbook. Mari however, sketched the diagrams by hand. Kyouya rolled his eyes at her inefficiency.

She wanted to tell him to stop typing so damn loud. Their first assignment was a report that could be submitted individually, or with your seatmate as a partner. Most people opted to work in partners to split the workload. Kyouya and Mari didn't bother even discussing the possibility of working together.

They shared calculus next. Kyouya hadn't realized this pattern of her continuing studies in science and mathematics. It didn't suit her, he decided. With her piano playing, he would've expected her in world history, linguistics, or even social studies. Mari sat with the rest of the scholarship students when there was no seating arrangement.

"Did you hear about the dance?"

Kyouya eavesdropped on their conversation in the corner.

"What dance?"

"The annual dance! Sometimes I wish I could go but… I can't afford a nice dress. Or even the ticket. It's ridiculous, really."

Mari listened to her friends talk about the annual dance. She didn't care much for it, and never really did. But her younger cousin wanted her to go. Her aunt and uncle preferred that she had someone to go with, just in case.

Mari's cousin had a date to the dance but couldn't tell her parents about it. Her cousin pleaded for her to help and she only reluctantly agreed for the sake of being nice. She was her cousin after all.

"You won't be missing out on much," Mari reassured her friend.

"You think so?"

"Yeah," the Mari nodded with a smile. "You have more important things to worry about."

Mari's calculus quiz came back with an 87%. It was an acceptable grade, to be quite frank. Kyouya had a glimpse of her test score when she stuffed into her backpack. He raised an eyebrow. He beat her by 13% - quite the margin.

He triumphed in that thought.


"I don't need a chaperone," Raina grumbled. Mari's cousin was embarrassed that she had to be supervised to go to a school dance. "I'm sorry they made you do this."

Mari shrugged. "It's fine. I just have to make sure to take you home, right? I'll be in the 2nd Music Room. Text me when you're ready to leave and I'll make my way there."

"What?" Raina gasped. "You aren't going to go have fun?"

Mari laughed. "You have fun, Raina. I'll be there if you need me." She dropped her cousin off at the bustling ballroom and made her way to her usual music room in the darkness. Only her heels filled the silence. Walking through the multiple wings of the school already made her ankles cry in pain.

Mari took the key out of her black clutch and unlocked the music room. There was something very eerie about playing in the moonlight. Her gown was one of the many that she had stocked in the back of her closet for performances and competitions. Tonight she wore an emerald green gown, a sweetheart neckline with a simple diamond pendant attached to a silver chain that adorned her collarbones. Her hair was always in a bun, only this time – she made the effort to tame the fly-away strands of hair.

It was an outfit that won her the national title, she remembered. Mari went on to place 3rd on an international level. This year, she hoped to win first place at both competitions.

Her fingers glided over the keys. She listened to the perfectly tuned notes. She spent her whole life perfecting this craft. It was enjoyable – sure, and fulfilling to the degree that she was awarded for her hard work in the form of lowly fame in the community of classical music and prize money.

Mari wondered if she would have to spend the rest of her life to this art. It was lucrative enough that she could play concerts across the world as a professional pianist. Technically, she had already turned professional with her brief stint last summer with the Tokyo Orchestra. She played concerts with them twice a week, practicing daily with the orchestra on her concertos.

This could be her life, forever.

Mari didn't know how to feel about it. But for now, it was all she knew.

Her mentor was an old woman who had settled in Japan after being employed by varying orchestras as the principal pianist. She offered lessons to those who could afford it. Her rate was high, proportional to the experience and the skill she had garnered over decades of playing. But was Louise Wagner was a strict elderly woman that shooed off many of her students for her nitpicky method of teaching.

Mari had begun lessons with her at the age of 5. Within a year, she had Mari playing Czerny exercises for hours on end.

If you cannot perfect this by next week, you are not worthy to play the pieces of the greatest composers.

Mari didn't know what the woman meant by the greatest composers, but she knew that she had to learn the studies by the end of the week. There were only 7 letters to know. C-D-E-F-G-A-B. It couldn't be too difficult, right? She had the whole week. It was summer. Mari didn't have any other plans.

If you are as so much as a millisecond off beat, you are doing a disservice to this Beethoven masterpiece.

Mari did not understand the term disservice at the age of 8. But she did know that her mentor would not be happy if she kept relying on the metronome.

Play this fifty times over, Mari. Play it until you dream of the score in your sleep. Play it until your fingers twitch during the day. Play until your wrists have cramped and you cannot move them.

So she did. She followed the words of her coach to the tee. And each week turned into years, and she became Louise's sole student after a decade.

But with every single passing year, Louise watched Mari grow into the pianist that she had always wanted her to become. She was her star student. Mari was her pride and joy that she had molded.

Yes! Yes that's it, Mari. Let your fingers glide through that glissando – lightly, without too much pressure.

Louder! Let that fortissimo grow into an abyss. More power. I want to hear that melody ring in my ears.

Mari played like her teacher was right beside her. The pencil scratchings in her score were a mix of her own and her mentor's. It was a miracle that she could even read the notes that were embedded beneath the scribbles.

"We must turn you into someone who looks like a classical pianist, Mari."

"What do you mean?" The 12 year old asked.

"You cannot walk onto the stage with a scraggly sweater and sneakers, Mari. And your hair! Your hair is a mess."

Mari got used to the long gowns. The high heels. The beautifully polished person in the reflection of the piano. It was still her. Refined and sophisticated. She fit the mold of the rich. She was well-mannered, talented, and pretty when she wasn't in her usual comfortable outfit.

"You must dress to fit with the rest of the competitors, Mari. We must be on the same playing field. Nothing about you should stick out except for your exceptional skill in playing."

Sure enough, Mari looked like every other competitor there. Beautiful gown that was simple and never too glamorous. It was the music that required the attention, not the pianist.

"I wouldn't enter you in this competition if I didn't think you could win, Mari. And win you did. I'm proud of you. You've worked hard."

The 12 year old nodded. "Thank you for all your work."

"We have a long way to go. This is just the tip of the iceberg, Mari. We will go farther."

Mari sometimes couldn't believe that she had won two national titles at the age of 16. She stopped abruptly when she heard the door creak open. She turned her head to find someone standing in the shadows.

"Who is it?" she called out.

"I thought you had other things to worry about," the voice was familiar. She could hear the smirk in his voice. He was quoting what she said earlier in the week about the dance.

"I don't appreciate you interrupting my practice, Ootori-san," she shot back. "Don't you have a ridiculous plan to get some couple together at the dance? Something about Haruhi dressing like an actual girl for once."

She was met with silence.

"The walls are stupidly thin," Mari offered in explanation. "For a ridiculously rich school, they couldn't have sound-proofed the damn walls for a music room…" her voice trailed off into a murmur.

"Exactly," the Ootori shot back. "Your piano playing is distracting."

"Shouldn't you be at the dance?" Mari sharply accused. "With all your friends."

"I'd ask you the same thing," Kyouya reciprocated. "But you don't have any friends, do you?"

Mari wanted to throw her shoe at him. She screeched the piano bench against the wooden floors, purposefully annoying him. Mari turned her body towards the door, crossing her legs. The slit in the gown revealed her bare legs and a pair of sharp stilettos.

"What do you want?" Mari huffed.

"Peace and quiet."

"Well you aren't getting that here. So go to the library," Mari wanted to smash her palms against the keys. Instead, she pointed her finger towards the direction of the library. It was west of the music rooms. If he wanted peace and quiet, he sure wouldn't be getting any of that now.

"Library is locked," he gritted. He had the key to the 3rd Music Room. And of course, Mari had the key to the 2nd Music Room. The Shadow King was still in his true form, lurking in the shadows.

"Are you telling me the smartest boy in our class can't learn to problem solve?" the musician's patience was waning extremely thin.

"Excuse me?" he roared. The Shadow King came out of the shadows and began walking towards the girl who only crossed her arms.

He looked down at her in the moonlight. The shadows from the light highlighted her sharp collarbones as her dress dipped down against her neckline. Her lips were painted a dark red, a sharp contrast to the emerald green. Her eyes were narrowed at him while her hair, for once, was not a rat's nest. Her pale legs peeked through the silk, with one foot firmly placed on the ground and the other comfortably crossed over her knee.

"You heard me," Mari spat at him.

"You're being exceptionally rude for a lady," the Ootori glared at her. For once, she actually looked like a lady.

"For a lady? What? So are we going to add sexist to the list of awful things about you?"

"Oh, do tell me about this list!" he dared.

Mari stomped and stood against him. He was a head taller than her, even when she was wearing heels. She drew in a deep breath.

"Well if we're going to start from the beginning," she met his eyes. "You're obnoxious. Narcissistic. A constant opportunist. A rich bastard who cares nothing mo—"

"Kyouya! There you are! Our plan was a success! Love triumphs all!" A voice interrupted her. "Oh. Mari-chan! What are you doing here?" Tamaki entered the 2nd music room. "What a pleasant surprise!"

Mari backed away from the Shadow King and turned to the blonde. "I'm waiting for my cousin."

"Raina?"

"Yes. Do you know what time it is?"

"A little past 10, mademoiselle," Tamaki answered. "The event just ended."

"I should go pick her up then. It was nice seeing you, Suoh-san."

Mari turned towards the piano and quickly gathered the book strewn across the surface. She would need them for tomorrow. It was the weekend. She had fitted in a solid 3 hours of practice. It was productive, at least.

"You look wonderful, Mari-chan," Tamaki noted. "It's too bad you weren't at the dance. Right, Kyouya?"

The Shadow King pursed his lips and only glared at her. She shot back the same ice cold expression.

"Good night," her voice curt. She quickly scurried off with her heels disappearing down the hall.

"What was that?" Tamaki asked his friend. "Didn't you find her pretty?"

"Petty is more like it," Kyouya grumbled, rolling his eyes.


"All of you should prepare for your dissections next week. Please become familiar with the anatomies and organ systems of the rat, frog, and fish."

Kyouya peered over to Mari who was flipping through her biology notes. Her awful drawings of the animals were terrible to follow. Kyouya copied and pasted an anatomical diagram into his notes on his laptop instead. It would be much more helpful.

"You will be dissecting in pairs, conveniently with the same person you share your bench with."

Mari let out a soft exhale. He was bearable to sit beside minus the occasional side eye of him judging the quality of her notes. Such a jerk. She thought to herself. They were messy and hell, they looked ugly 90% of the time but they worked fine for her. Mari got by without having the fancy laptop by her side.

"There will be a bell ringer test at the end of the week after you complete all dissections."

Mari noted that down. Kyouya did too. He gave her a glare, as if warning her not to ruin everything next week. She gave him an incredulous look, mouth gaping and eyes narrowed at him.

Are you kidding me?

He looked away and pointed his nose up towards the ceiling. Mari continued to furiously note down the words of their instructor.

Memorize: circulatory system, digestive sy—

The lead of her mechanical pencil broke. She tried again.

Memorize: circulatory system, digestive system, nerv—

Another crack. She gave up and grumbled. It was nearing the end of class anyway and their instructor had stopped speaking by now.

"Is there any other setting on your keyboard that isn't mid-19th century typewriter?" Mari angrily whispered.

The Ootori narrowed his eyes at her.

"Do you have a setting in your brain that lets you take notes more efficiently?"

Mari dropped her jaw. He didn't just say that.

Kyouya smirked in retaliation, likening the fact that he had rendered Mari speechless. The girl sighed and angrily shut her notebook.


Mari looked down at her phone as she sat on the piano bench. It happened every once in a while, when her lessons would be cancelled for no apparent reason. She was left sitting at the bench, sighing as she practiced as she usually would.

Only now, she played however she wanted to without the guidance of Louise. An extra long pause for effect, more staccato on the notes she found to bring out the melody, and she used the pedal to her heart's content. Mari played freely for the first time in months.

She usually practiced under rigid rules. Back straight, fingernails clipped to the shortest length for her manicured fingers to look presentable, and her posture as still as possible. She was never a beat off, never a crescendo too large or small, never a moment where she diverged from the score.

Life was simpler when there were rules to follow.

But Mari quite frankly, hated rules. Hated how etiquette required her to use multiple sets of cutlery when she could just eat the entire damn meal with her fork. She hated how dancing was all choreographed steps that only made stepping on toes more frequent than not. She hated how lined paper required writing to be within lines – hell, Mari often wrote on the lines just to prove a point.

She rebelled in the smallest of ways, in however she could. Screw wearing uniforms at school. Screw the idea that the rich couldn't mingle with the commoners – who, she quickly learned, had more common sense than the rich bastards who had been living in a bubble their whole lives.

Her anger powered her through the next few pieces that she had played over and over and over again.

You're always pushing at the edge, Mari! Slow down. Play softer. Respect the score, the composer, the rules. What are you doing?!

Mari stopped halfway through the piece and slammed her fingers against the keys. Why did she always have to hear how she should have been playing instead of how she wanted to play? It was always Louise's voice at the back of her mind, conditioning her to play the way that had won her competitions and titles that put her on a pedestal in the world of classical music.

She was alone in this empty mansion. She was the middle child with all the freedom in the world. But Mari chose to spend her weekends perfecting a craft that was outdated and hardly respected beyond the old and rich.

Mari narrowed her eyes at the thought of her piano teacher. She itched to know where the hell Louise was. Hell, the family paid for her to teach her and she would disappear every once in a while for the past decade. It didn't make sense for Mari to sit around like an idiot, like an obedient student that she always had been.

Mari only realized that showing up unannounced would have been rude. It was uncalled for. It wasn't how she was raised. Louise lived in a small home in the city. Mari called her mentor beforehand, hoping for an answer.

There was none.

Mari contemplated leaving. But she had already made it so far. She slung her backpack over her shoulder – it was packed with her piano scores, a pencil case, her wallet, phone, and keys. Her sneakers were scuffed with grass stains, Hana always cut through the Ouran courtyard as a shortcut instead of using the paved paths.

Her hand reached for the gate. Her thin wrist slid through the gaps of the iron bars and unlocked it from the inside. Well, at least it's a safe neighbourhood, Mari thought to herself.

Mari walked up the steps to the door of the home and sighed. She rang the doorbell again. The teenager paced up and down the pews of the porch, looking around – wondering if Louise's neighbours thought of her as an intruder.

Well, she technically was intruding. Some shady ass teenager just casually waiting for a woman who she wasn't even sure was home.

Mari knocked on the door this time. "Wagner-san," she softly called out. "It's Mari."

It was silly, now that she thought about it. What was the point of making the trek all the way into the city? She could have used this time to study for her biology dissections. She could have been getting ahead on her English readings. Mari kicked herself. It was a stupid decision. But something didn't make sense.

Why, after all these years, did Mari choose to find out what made her mentor disappear every once in a while? She turned around to leave before she heard some shuffling at the other side of the door. The lock twisted to reveal a woman with bags under her swollen eyes, hair mussed up as if she had been pulling them out of her scalp, and her expression was of one that Mari couldn't even describe.

"What… are you doing here?" Louise croaked. She had been crying.

"I… I—" Mari blinked. She had never seen her mentor looking like this before. Forlorn and depressed. Her body looking so frail that she could fall apart at any second. "I wanted to know if you were okay."

"I'm… fine." It was obviously a lie.

"Can I come in?" Mari cautiously asked.


Mari took the scalpel in her hands and began making the cuts through the fish.

"It's below the stomach," the Ootori pointed out.

"And the cut is below the stomach," Mari shot back.

"Well, no—"

Mari wanted to throw the scalpel at him so the Ootori could to it himself. But instead, the boy took the scalpel out of her hands without even asking.

"Smooth cuts," Mari critiqued. "Did you have too much caffeine? Your hands are shaky."

"They're fine," the Ootori's tone was sharp. He had to admit, his cuts were a little more rigid. Her slim fingers had much more control than he did. But Kyouya was never going to admit that.

He handed the scalpel back to her wordlessly, and when he didn't feel the tug of her fingers in taking back the knife he looked up. She was distracted, with her eyes still on the fish but in a daze.

"If you aren't going to pay attention then you might as well sit down and let me do it all," the Ootori scoffed.

"Shut up," she grabbed the scalpel away from him and huffed. She continued with the next step, flipping open the body of the animal.


Mari walked into home. Not a single thing was out of place. Every single piano record, score, and pencil was organized in its rightful place. A grand piano took up most of the living space. Tissues were strewn on the couch. A blanket was strewn on the edge of the leather seat, half spewed onto the cold wooden floors.

"What's wrong?" Mari whispered, almost afraid to ask.

She was met with a waterfall of tears. Mari's legs were frozen, still in shock to see her mentor so frail and broken. She slowly crouched down to Louise's eye level, patting her mentor's shoulder. Mari waited until Louise could finally gather the words to speak.

"I… I have these days where… I can't control my emotions." The woman's head was down, her eyes glued to the ground, her voice weak.

"O…okay," Mari blinked.

"It lasts a few days, sometimes a week…"

Mari sat on the floor, taking off her backpack.

"I'm… going to get some water for you."

Louise sniffled and nodded.


Kyouya watched as Mari pried the skeleton off the muscles of the body. Her touch was delicate, her cuts precise. Her fingers moved at the utmost speed, under the watchful eye of the Ootori.

"I hope you're taking notes and pictures of this dissection," she reminded.

"I am," he told her. "I'm filling out the worksheet to hand in for us."

"You better," Mari grumbled. "Let me look over that."

Her eyes scanned over his neat handwriting. Her gloved fingers were still handling fish guts but her brain was slowly trying to make sense of the completed deliverable.

"Wait, is that right? Question 5."

"Of course it's right," the Ootori narrowed his eyes.

Mari looked back at the dissected fish parts in front of her.

"The ovary isn't the stomach, Ootori-san." Mari demonstrated this by making a small incision into the sac and revealing the eggs of the fish.

The Ootori pursed his lips.

"God, did you write it in pen?" Mari rolled her eyes.

"I have white-out," he gritted his teeth.

"Just cross it out and write ovary."

"No, that looks—"
"Ugly?"

"Unprofessional," he corrected. "It should look flawless."


She walked into the kitchen, looking in the cabinets to find a glass. All of the plates, cutlery sets, and cups were an off-white ceramic. Everything in this home was matched to the tee. Mari wondered what kind of dedication it would have taken for her mentor to go through the trouble of doing such a thing, and if it even mattered all that much to begin with.

Mari walked into the living room again to find Louise slumped on the couch, tears flooding down her face with her eyes closed.

"I'm sorry," she croaked. "I… I didn't think anyone would come visit. Or care, really."

"It's okay," Mari kept her voice down. Her slim fingers handed over the mug carefully. "Do you need anything else?"

Louise shook her head.

"Go," she shooed away her student. "I'm a burden. Go home."

"No, it's… it's okay," Mari sat on the love seat beside the couch. "I can stay."


Mari stared at him for a second, judging Kyouya for how anal he could be about one little detail. The Ootori could tell from the look on her face and he rolled his eyes.

"Some people say I have OCD," the Ootori muttered. It was mostly the Host Club that said so. He was a perfectionist. He had high standards. Kyouya could care less about people's judgement when he excelled all expectations. He was better.

"You have no idea what OCD actually looks like," Mari sharply told him. OCD was debilitating. Mari learned over the weekend that mental illness was something that she would ever dismiss. "Being a perfectionist is different…" she murmured.

"Thanks," the Ootori smirked.

"Wasn't a compliment. It's a flaw of yours, if you didn't realize," the girl rolled her eyes.

Mari took off her gloves and grabbed their worksheet. She crossed out the mistake and wrote in the correct answer. It didn't matter how the worksheet looked, so long as the answers were correct and their grades were acceptable. Mari ruined his perfect little paper and threw it back at him.

"Live a little, won't you?" Mari suggested.

"I refuse to live sloppily like you," the Ootori frowned at their ruined worksheet. This was far from presentable now.

Mari groaned. "Whatever. I'll do the worksheet next time. You dissect."

"I'd rather you not," the Ootori rolled his eyes. "I don't trust you."


She sat there for hours with her mentor. The whole afternoon gone. The sun set quickly and suddenly Mari was sitting in the dark, watching her mentor swing back and forth between crying and having bouts of sobriety to handle a conversation with her.

"Have you… talked to anyone about this?" Mari wasn't sure if this was too personal to delve into.

"I have medication," Louise's voice was even for the first time in hours.

"Where is it?" Mari got up to retrieve it.

"I've already taken them." Her mentor sighed, closing her eyes and trying to massage them. They were dried out from all the tears that had flooded over her cheeks in the past few hours.

"Oh…" the student sat back down, unsure of how to help or what to do.

Mari curled her legs into the seat, waiting for her Louise to return back to normal – if at all possible today. She grew comfortable, sitting and looking around her surroundings.

"It's bipolar disorder," Louise explained with her fingers against the temples of her head. "The highs are high and the lows are… very, very low. Abysmal, actually. Add in OCD on the regular days and…" the woman sighed.

"Were you triggered by… anything?" Mari wondered.

"Sometimes. Not always," her mentor answered.

"Do you… get suicidal?"

"Yes."

Mari let that sink in before taking a deep breath. She would be lying if that statement didn't terrify her.

"Can I do anything to help you?"

"No. Not really, Mari."

"Oh," the disappointment in her student's voice was hard to miss. Mari was at a loss of words, never have dealt with such a scenario in her entire life. "Do you still want me to stay? I… I can do that for you."

There was no answer.

Mari stayed anyway.


The young pianist found it difficult to focus.

"Will you be alright?"

"Yes, Mari. The feeling comes and goes."

Mari looked at the piano score again. Her eyes drawn to the red markings that her teacher wrote in while the pencil marks were her own. It made sense to her – all the chaos beneath the writing, the scribbling, the reminders. But what happened over the weekend weighed on her more so than she liked.

She had known Louise for over an entire decade and not knowing such an integral part of her life was still a shock. Mari sighed and dialed a number on her phone.

The number you have reached is unavailab—

Of course her mother wouldn't pick up the phone. Mari doubted that she knew anything about her teacher's mental struggles to begin with.

Mari closed the score perched on top of the piano. She would be yelled at for not being able to memorize the Mendelssohn piece on the weekend, but she wasn't in any mood to practice for now anyway. She listened to the noise of the Host Club filter through the thin walls instead. Distinct voices of laughter was always heard, with footsteps of running and some muffled yelling.

They always seemed to have fun. A part of Mari was envious. It wasn't that Mari hadn't had friends of her own – but all of them had to commute far and across the city, and keeping up with the Ouran curriculum was hard enough as is.

Mari sighed.

I believe your friends wouldn't appreciate you lying to their face about your family background.

God, she hated his voice. He spoke like a robot. He never stopped to irritate her in every way possible.

In any case, it wasn't that she lied. Not directly. But it still made her feel uncomfortable. Her friends shared their lunches with her. They shared answers on quiz questions and helped each other on assignments. They laughed at the antics of the rich. Mari never felt like she didn't belong.

Yet Kyouya made her seem like she was living a lie and she couldn't help but to wonder, if she had been on the other side of the music room with the Host Club – if her place was just to be another socialite, since being an heiress wasn't an option.

Mari packed up her bag and exited the music room, refusing to listen to the shenanigans of the Host Club any longer.


Kyouya looked outside the Victorian windows and huffed at the sight of pouring rain. It would be a hassle to walk outside to wait for his ride home now. The Shadow King carefully packed his laptop into a waterproof case, and into his briefcase that contained only the essentials: keys, wallet, phone, a padfolio, and a small pencil case.

He knew that Mari had left earlier than he did, noting the lack of piano playing through the walls. Good riddance, he thought to himself. It was hard enough spending his day as her lab partner, much less having to deal with her outside of class.

Kyouya made his way towards the alcove of the school entrance, hoping to shield himself from the pouring rain. A quiet melody echoed through the halls, and before he knew it, his legs stopped right in their tracks.

With only sugar-coated words and phrases,

Talking seems to have lost its taste.

I just don't find such things intriguing.

It was a sweet voice. It carried a quiet melody, in the midst of a bit of humming. Kyouya poked his head around the corner to find someone sitting against the pillar, head bobbing to the beat and their earbuds in.

Just because everything is falling apart,

Doesn't make our lives any more dispensable.

The voice grew louder, the pitch steady. Their long black hair swayed with the wind of the rain. She was uniform-less.

Oh. Kyouya realized. It was Mari. How could someone so vile have such a beautiful voice? He shrugged. It made logical sense: she was a musician and she was easily trained to be in tune. It became a lot less impressive now, given Mari's profession. Kyouya rolled his eyes, but he still wouldn't reveal his presence behind her.

Mari flinched out of fear and let a low pitched growl. She could have sworn she saw a figure walk down the hall in her peripheral vision but she didn't expect it to be the goddamn Ootori standing there like a stalker. Mari narrowed her eyes and glared at her classmate.

"What the hell?" She snatched the earbuds out of her ear. "You couldn't have at least said hi?" She was furious.

"You were occupied," The Ootori didn't lose his cool and instead, perched up his glasses.

She rolled her eyes at him. "God, you're such a prick."

"Excuse me?" Kyouya found this offensive – hell, he was just standing there! What could he have possibly done to irritate her?

"Sneaking up on people and not even bothering to apologize," she grumbled.

"I believe I should be the one who is owed an apology," the Ootori pointed out. "I was just called a prick, after all."

She scoffed. "I don't appreciate being snuck up upon, okay? It's creepy. I don't care if they call you the Shadow King – lurking in the shadows is weird."

"Hanging with commoners is also weird," he shot back.

"My friends are much more normal than yours," Mari defended. "Why do you hate commoners so much? Haruhi is a commoner."

"You're trying to be something you are not," Kyouya rolled his eyes, noting her baggy hoodie and jeans. Her sneakers had grass stains on them and her hair was tied in a low ponytail, already loosening to create a messy rat's nest that sat atop of her head. She looked like a homeless person.

Mari frowned and narrowed her eyes. "What is it with the rich and all of this classism? Do you not realize how ignorant you all sound when you look down upon anyone less than the 1%?"

The Ootori raised his eyebrow at Mari, unamused by her naivete.

"Lineage comes first, wealth a close second," Kyouya quoted. "For you to be mingling with those with lower linea—"

"They are not lower by any means!" Mari argued.

"Well, I suppose that is true," the Ootori shrugged. "Your family's pedigree is much closer to the commons than us."

Mari blinked at the audacity of the boy who stood before her.

"I can't believe I'm having this conversation with you," she huffed. "It's like talking to a wall."

Kyouya rolled his eyes. "I would say the same."

Only the pitter pattering of the rain filled the tension between the two students. Mari crossed her arms and shook her head.

"Unbearable," she whispered to herself.

"The feeling is mutual," the Ootori shot back.

"How could you be so…" Mari tilted her head, almost in awe. "How can the rich be so dense to the rest of the world? And so stubborn in their ways…"

"No one asked you to be a social justice warrior," the Ootori rolled his eyes. "This is just how the world works."

Mari opened her mouth and shut it immediately.

"You… really suck," she huffed and crossed her arms.

"Very mature of you," the Ootori smirked, knowing fully well that he won this argument. She was naïve. The Ootori was a realist. And Mari was just another rich girl, pretending she knew everything about the world when she didn't.


A/N: A true throwback is Utada Hikaru's song: "Flavour of Life" (the Ballad version) featured in this chapter.