Back at home, the bakery was quieter than usual. The scent of fresh bread lingered in the air, but the warmth that usually filled the place felt distant.
Marinette walked up the stairs, her heart still heavy from everything that had happened at school. She paused at Gurvinder's door, the faint creak of the wooden floor beneath her feet the only sound in the hallway.
Slowly, she pushed the door open just a crack.
There he was—curled up on his small bed, his turban still neatly tied, his chest rising and falling with deep, steady breaths. For once, his face looked peaceful. The lines of exhaustion and pain that usually creased his brow were smoothed out, replaced by something fragile… something vulnerable.
Marinette leaned against the doorframe, watching him.
Her mind raced. He had protected her—again. He had snapped not for himself, but for her. For her family. And yet, here he was, alone in his room, bearing the weight of everything in silence.
She wanted to wake him up, to ask why he cared so much—to tell him he didn't have to carry everything alone.
But instead, she stepped back quietly, closing the door without a sound.
"Why do you always have to suffer alone, Gurvi?" she whispered to herself, her heart aching.
As she walked back to her own room, one thought wouldn't leave her mind.
She was going to find a way to break through those walls—no matter how long it took.
The air around the dinner table was thick with unspoken words. The clinking of utensils against plates was the only sound in the room. Marinette stole a glance at her parents—Tom was focused on his food, while Sabine occasionally looked toward the door, her lips pressed into a thin line.
Then, the front door creaked open.
Gurvinder walked in, his hair slightly damp from sweat, his turban tied fresh but hastily, a few loose strands escaping from the edges. His hoodie clung to him, his shoulders rising and falling with deep breaths as he tried to shake off the exhaustion. He was late—again.
"Sorry, I lost track of time," he muttered, slipping into his seat without looking at anyone.
Tom exhaled through his nose, not looking up. "You always do."
Sabine gently nudged a bowl toward him. "Eat before it gets cold."
He nodded silently, picking up his spoon and starting to eat.
Marinette watched him closely. His hands had a faint tremble, and there was a small bruise peeking out from the edge of his sleeve—evidence of another rough day at the gym. But what caught her attention the most was his eyes. They were distant, unfocused, as if he was still stuck somewhere else.
The tension at the table was almost suffocating. Marinette knew her parents were holding back from saying anything, but she also knew the weight of their thoughts.
Why was he pushing himself so hard? Why did he keep coming home so late?
And most importantly—why did it seem like he was fighting something much bigger than just an opponent in the gym?
Tom cleared his throat, breaking the silence. "So... how was your day, Gurvinder?" His tone was light, too light, like he was forcing the words out, trying to keep things normal.
Gurvinder didn't look up from his plate. He took a slow bite before answering. "Good. Trained hard. Learned a few new techniques." His voice was flat, uninterested.
Tom nodded, but there was something in his eyes—something deeper, something he wasn't saying. Marinette caught it instantly. He wasn't just making small talk. He was trying to ease into something bigger, something that had been sitting heavy on his mind.
Sabine, too, seemed aware. She glanced at Tom, her fingers tightening around her chopsticks. Marinette's grip on her fork stiffened.
Gurvinder noticed. His chewing slowed, his body subtly tensing.
"Why do you ask?" he finally said, his voice carrying a slight edge.
Tom set his utensils down carefully. "Just wondering. You've been pushing yourself a lot lately." He hesitated, choosing his next words carefully. "And after what happened at school today…"
Gurvinder's jaw clenched. His hand around his spoon curled slightly. "I handled it."
Marinette watched as Tom inhaled sharply, restraining himself. "That's not the point, Gurvinder."
"Then what is?" Gurvinder's eyes finally met Tom's. "That Chloe got what she deserved? That I finally shut her up before she could spew more garbage?" His voice was low, controlled, but there was fire underneath.
Tom sighed, rubbing his temples. "I'm not saying what she did was right. But you—" He stopped himself, exhaling through his nose. "You're not a kid on the streets anymore, Gurvinder. You can't just throw hands every time someone pushes you."
Gurvinder scoffed, shaking his head. "So what? I should've just stood there and let her call Marinette a whore? Let her insult you and Sabine? Let her act like I don't deserve to exist?"
Marinette's heart clenched. He wasn't mad about what Chloe said about him. He was mad about what she said about them.
Tom's expression softened, but he didn't back down. "You're right to be angry. But violence isn't always the answer."
Gurvinder let out a short laugh, void of humor. "You say that like this world plays fair." His voice had a quiet bitterness to it. "Like people like me get to just 'walk away' and be fine."
Silence.
Marinette could see it—Tom wanted to say more, but he didn't know how. Sabine looked at them both, torn between speaking and letting things cool down.
Gurvinder put his spoon down. "Thanks for dinner," he muttered before standing up.
Marinette watched as he walked to his room, his back straighter than usual, his steps firm—like he was holding himself together by sheer force.
The tension didn't fade even after he was gone. Tom leaned back in his chair, exhaling deeply. "That boy…" he muttered under his breath.
Sabine reached over and squeezed his hand. "Give him time," she said softly.
Marinette, however, wasn't sure time alone would be enough.
as they all got back into there rooms, marinette walked upstairs and knocked on his door only to find it open.
Marinette's breath hitched.
"Gurvinder?" she called out, stepping inside without thinking.
He was curled up on the floor, his arms wrapped tightly around his stomach, his body trembling. His breathing was heavy, ragged—like he was holding back a scream.
Her heart lurched.
She rushed to his side, dropping to her knees. "Gurvinder! What's wrong? Are you hurt?"
He barely lifted his head, his face contorted in pain. "I'm fine…" His voice was weak, strained, a complete contrast to his usual strong-willed tone.
"Liar." Marinette didn't hesitate. She grabbed his arm, trying to help him sit up, but the moment she touched him, he let out a pained gasp.
She pulled back immediately. "Gurvi, tell me what's wrong!"
He gritted his teeth, sweat forming on his forehead. "It's nothing… just—" His breath shuddered. "My stomach… it's been hurting for a while now…"
Marinette's eyes widened. "For how long?"
"…Since lunch," he admitted reluctantly.
"Since lunch?!" Her voice rose in disbelief. "Why didn't you say anything?"
He let out a weak chuckle. "Didn't wanna make a scene…"
Marinette could feel the frustration bubbling inside her, but she pushed it aside. He was in pain. That was more important.
She quickly scanned the room, thinking. "Did you eat something bad? Or—" Her eyes flickered to his gym bag in the corner. "…Did you skip meals again?"
Gurvinder didn't answer.
That was all she needed to know.
She exhaled sharply. "Gurvinder Singh, I swear—"
Another sharp groan cut her off. He clutched his stomach tighter, his body tensing.
Panic surged through her. She couldn't just let him suffer like this.
"Okay, that's it. You're going to the hospital."
"No." His response was immediate, forceful, even in his weakened state.
Marinette glared at him. "Gurvi, you can't even sit up properly—"
"I said no." He tried to push himself up, but his arms trembled, and he collapsed back onto the floor with a sharp inhale.
Marinette's resolve hardened. She didn't care how stubborn he was. He needed help.
She stood up. "Fine. If you won't go to the hospital, then I'm getting my parents."
"No—!" He reached out, grabbing her wrist before she could leave. His grip was weak, but the desperation in his eyes was strong. "Please… don't. They already have enough to deal with…"
Marinette's heart clenched. Even now, in pain, he was worried about them.
She sighed, kneeling beside him again. "Then let me help."
He hesitated, but the next wave of pain must've been too much because he gave in with a slight nod.
Without wasting time, Marinette helped him sit up, supporting his weight carefully. "Just breathe, okay?"
She wasn't sure what hurt more—seeing him like this, or knowing that he had been enduring it alone.
Marinette clenched her fists. She had held back long enough.
Gurvinder was in pain—real, undeniable pain. And yet, he still refused to ask for help, still carried everything on his shoulders as if he had to endure it alone. But why?
Her heart ached watching him struggle to even breathe properly, his arms trembling as he clutched his stomach. His skin was pale, his forehead damp with sweat.
This wasn't just exhaustion. This wasn't just hunger. This was beyond what he could handle.
She stood up abruptly.
"Marinette…" Gurvinder's voice was weak, but he still tried to stop her. "Don't."
She didn't even look at him. "No, Gurvi. I am telling them."
She stormed out of his room before he could argue, her feet carrying her down the stairs faster than she could think. Her heart pounded—not from nerves, but from frustration.
"Mom! Dad!" she called out.
Tom and Sabine, who were cleaning up the kitchen, turned to her in surprise.
"Marinette?" Sabine frowned. "What's wrong?"
She took a deep breath, her voice firm. "It's Gurvinder. He's—he's sick. He's in pain, and he's not okay."
Tom's expression darkened with concern. "Where is he?"
"In his room," Marinette answered quickly. "He won't admit it, but I think it's bad. He can barely sit up. We have to do something."
Without another word, Tom was already moving. Sabine followed close behind, and Marinette led them back upstairs, her chest tight.
When they reached Gurvinder's room, he was still on the floor, exactly where she had left him. But the moment he saw Tom and Sabine behind her, his eyes widened slightly.
"Gurvinder," Tom said, his deep voice gentle but firm, "let us help you, son."
Gurvinder looked away, his jaw tightening. "…I'm fine."
Sabine knelt beside him, placing a hand on his forehead. The worry in her eyes was immediate. "You have a fever."
Gurvinder flinched under her touch but didn't move away. His body was betraying him—his stubbornness losing against the obvious pain.
Tom sighed. "That's it. You're going to the doctor."
"No, I—"
"It's not a choice," Sabine cut in, her tone kind but unwavering. "You're part of this family now, and we take care of each other."
Gurvinder's lips parted slightly, as if the words had struck him deeper than the pain itself. He looked at them, then at Marinette, who stood with her arms crossed, her eyes filled with both anger and concern.
He exhaled shakily, his body giving up before his pride did.
"…Okay."
As Marinette's eyes drifted downward, she froze.
A small, dark red spot stained the lower front of Gurvinder's hoodie. Her breath caught in her throat.
"Wait… is that—" she whispered.
She didn't wait for an answer. Her hands shot forward, grabbing the hem of his hoodie.
"Take it off."
Gurvinder flinched. "It's nothing, Mari."
"Take it off!" she snapped, her voice trembling with both rage and fear.
Tom and Sabine exchanged a worried glance but stepped closer to help. Gurvinder weakly tried to resist, but he was too drained to fight back. His arms were sluggish, his body worn down.
After a moment of struggle, they managed to pull the hoodie over his head.
Marinette's breath hitched. Her stomach twisted violently.
There, across his torso, was a fresh, raw whip mark, still bleeding. The skin was torn, swollen, and angry red against the countless faded scars that littered his entire body. Old wounds. New wounds. Bruises that hadn't healed.
Tom and Sabine gasped in horror.
"Oh my god," Sabine whispered, a hand flying to her mouth.
Marinette couldn't speak.
She had known. She had known his uncle was hurting him. She had seen the scars before. She had suspected. She had worried. She had hesitated.
And now, here he was. Beaten, bloodied, and exhausted.
Because she had been too afraid to ask.
Because she had been too late.
Her hands clenched into fists. Her nails dug into her palms, her body trembling with rage—not at Gurvinder, not at herself, but at the monster who had done this to him.
She should've stopped it. She should've done something.
As Ladybug, she had fought countless villains. She had saved strangers from danger, beaten down enemies stronger than her. But she had let this happen—right in front of her.
She should have destroyed his uncle.
Her vision blurred as tears welled up in her eyes. She turned sharply, bolting out of the room before anyone could stop her.
She needed to breathe.
She needed to fix this.
Marinette stood outside his room, her back pressed against the wall, her fists clenched. Her vision was blurry, her heart hammering in her chest.
She could still see it—that fresh wound, the scars, the bruises that screamed of his suffering. She could still hear his weak, pained groans.
Inside, Tom was already calling a doctor. His voice was tight, controlled—but she could tell he was furious. Sabine knelt beside Gurvinder, her voice soft, gentle, trying to get him to speak.
But he wouldn't.
He was still curled up, arms wrapped around himself, silent tears streaking down his face. His breath came out in short, shuddering gasps.
Then, finally, he whispered, "I'll… I'll only talk to Marinette about it."
Sabine looked up, startled, before glancing toward the door where Marinette stood.
Marinette inhaled sharply, wiped her tears with the sleeve of her hoodie, and turned back into the room.
She had no idea what he was going to say.
But she was ready to listen.
Tom and Sabine left the room reluctantly, their faces etched with worry, but they knew Gurvinder had made up his mind—he would only talk to Marinette.
As soon as the door clicked shut, his soft, pained whimpers filled the air. It was heartbreaking. He sounded just like that helpless little puppy he had tried so desperately to save.
Marinette knelt beside him, watching as his trembling, desperate hands reached for hers, gripping them tightly as if she was the only thing anchoring him to reality.
Tears streamed down his face, his body shuddering with every breath. For the first time, Marinette felt it—he was trusting her, fully.
But was it trust… or just desperation?
He opened his mouth to speak, his voice cracked, broken, but before he could force himself to relive whatever horrors he had been holding in, she squeezed his hands gently and stopped him.
"Not now," she whispered, her voice soft but firm. "I'll listen to everything, I promise. But first, let's wait for the doctor, okay?"
His lips quivered, and for a moment, he hesitated. Then, exhausted and hurting, he nodded weakly, his grip on her hands loosening just slightly.
She stayed by his side, not letting go.
Gurvinder's breath hitched, his grip on Marinette's hands tightening. His body trembled as fresh tears rolled down his face, mixing with the sweat and pain that clung to him. His voice broke, raw and desperate.
"I… I'm in pain, Marinette," he whimpered, his eyes pleading with her. "Please… save me."
His words shattered something inside her. She had never heard him sound like this—so vulnerable, so lost. He wasn't just talking about the physical pain. It was deeper than that. It was everything—the beatings, the struggles, the silent suffering he had endured alone for so long.
Marinette felt her own tears threatening to spill, but she held them back. He didn't need her to cry right now. He needed her to be there.
She clutched his hands tighter, nodding firmly. "I will, Gurvi," she whispered. "I promise… I won't let you suffer alone anymore."
He let out a shaky breath, his body still trembling, but for the first time, there was a flicker of relief in his eyes. Someone had finally heard him.
The doctor arrived quickly, and the moment he saw Gurvinder's condition, his face darkened with concern. Marinette and her parents stood nearby, watching anxiously as the doctor carefully examined his wounds.
"This… this is severe," the doctor muttered, his voice filled with disbelief. He gently touched the fresh whip marks, causing Gurvinder to wince slightly in his half-conscious state. "How long has this been happening?"
Marinette clenched her fists, her jaw tightening. "Too long," she whispered.
Tom and Sabine exchanged worried glances but said nothing. The doctor sighed and proceeded with the treatment, carefully cleaning the wounds, applying antiseptics, and dressing the worst of them. Gurvinder barely reacted, too exhausted to resist.
Then came the injections—pain relief and anti-infection. As soon as the painkiller took effect, Gurvinder's tense body finally began to relax. His breathing evened out, and the trembling in his limbs started to subside.
Marinette sat beside him, watching as his face softened, the exhaustion overpowering the pain. Slowly, his eyes fluttered shut, and for the first time in what felt like forever, he drifted into sleep—deep, undisturbed, and free of suffering, even if just for a little while.
The room fell into silence. Marinette let out a shaky breath, her hands still gripping his under the blankets. She wasn't going anywhere. Not tonight.
After ensuring Gurvinder was stable, the doctor stepped out of the room, signaling Tom and Sabine to follow him. Marinette hesitated before standing up, unwilling to leave Gurvinder alone, but she needed to hear what the doctor had to say.
In the hallway, the doctor exhaled heavily, rubbing his forehead before speaking. "These wounds… they're not recent." His voice was low, serious. "Some of them are fresh, yes, but the scarring on his body tells me this has been happening for months—maybe even years."
Sabine covered her mouth in horror, her eyes glistening with unshed tears. Tom clenched his fists, anger simmering beneath his usually calm demeanor.
"This isn't just an incident," the doctor continued. "It's long-term abuse. The whip marks, the bruises, the strain on his muscles… He's been pushing himself past his limits, forcing his body to keep going despite the damage." He shook his head. "Whoever did this to him… they didn't just hurt him. They broke him over and over again."
Marinette felt like she couldn't breathe. She had known—deep down, she had known something was terribly wrong. She had seen the signs, the exhaustion, the bruises, the way he flinched at sudden movements. And yet, she had hesitated. She had been too scared to ask.
"What do we do?" Tom's voice was tight, controlled, but there was a dangerous edge to it.
The doctor sighed. "For now, he needs rest. He's exhausted both physically and mentally. The painkillers will help, but he also needs proper nutrition and care. And more than that…" He looked at them seriously. "He needs safety. If he goes back to whoever did this to him, it'll only get worse."
Marinette's nails dug into her palms. There was no way she was letting that happen.
Not now.
Not ever.
Marinette sat on the edge of Gurvinder's bed, watching his chest rise and fall in slow, steady breaths. His face was finally relaxed, free from the tension and pain that had been haunting him for so long. But even in sleep, his fingers occasionally twitched, and his brow furrowed like he was reliving something in his dreams.
She couldn't take it anymore.
Carefully, she climbed onto the bed beside him, curling up next to him. She wasn't thinking about what anyone would say, wasn't thinking about the consequences. Right now, all that mattered was that he knew he wasn't alone.
As she settled close, she felt the warmth of his body, the slow rhythm of his breathing. He shifted slightly, as if sensing her presence, and in his unconscious state, his fingers weakly grasped at the fabric of her sleeve, like a silent plea to not leave him.
Her heart clenched.
"I'm here," she whispered softly, her forehead lightly resting against his shoulder. "I promise, I'm here."
For the first time in what felt like forever, Marinette didn't care about anything else—just this moment.
Downstairs, the atmosphere was heavy. Tom sat with his arms crossed, his usual warm expression replaced by deep concern. Sabine had her hands wrapped around a cup of tea, but she hadn't taken a sip. They were both processing everything—the scars, the pain, the silence Gurvinder had endured for so long.
"This isn't just discipline," Tom finally said, his voice tight with controlled anger. "This is abuse."
Sabine nodded, her eyes glistening. "And we let it happen under our roof without even realizing..."
Just then, soft footsteps approached. Marinette walked down the stairs, her arms wrapped around herself. She looked exhausted, but her expression was determined.
They both turned to her.
"I need to tell you everything," she said, her voice barely above a whisper.
She sat down across from them, gripping the fabric of her pajama pants nervously. And then, she told them everything. About the bruises she had noticed weeks ago, the exhaustion in his body, the tremble in his steps, how she had ignored the signs, unsure if she had the right to ask.
"And his uncle…" she hesitated, her fists clenching. "He's been hurting him every day. Beating him, whipping him. That's where all those scars come from."
Sabine gasped, covering her mouth in horror. Tom's face darkened, his grip tightening on the edge of the table.
"He never said a word," Marinette continued, her voice breaking. "He just kept going—working, training, studying—like nothing was wrong. And I… I should've pushed him to talk sooner."
Tom exhaled sharply, his hands forming fists. "We're not letting him go back there. Ever."
Sabine nodded, wiping away a tear. "We need to do something. We can't just let this continue."
Marinette looked between them, her chest tightening. "I… I want to help him. I don't know how, but I have to."
Tom reached over, placing a reassuring hand on hers. "We'll figure it out, sweetheart. As a family."
Marinette swallowed hard, nodding. But deep down, she knew—this wasn't going to be easy.
marinette asked her parents if she could sleep with him.tonight
Tom and Sabine exchanged glances, their expressions filled with concern. Sabine hesitated for a moment before speaking gently, "Marinette, sweetheart… we understand you want to be there for him, but—"
"I need to," Marinette interrupted, her voice firm yet pleading. "He asked me to save him. He's never asked for help before. He finally let me in, and I can't just leave him alone tonight."
Sabine looked at Tom, who sighed deeply before nodding. "Alright," he said. "But if he wakes up and wants space, respect that, okay?"
Marinette nodded quickly, not wasting another second. She hurried back upstairs, slipping into his room quietly.
Gurvinder was still fast asleep, his face finally peaceful after everything. The painkillers had worked, but his breathing was soft, exhausted. Marinette carefully sat beside him on the floor, watching him for a moment before slowly curling up next to him.
"I'm here," she whispered, more to herself than to him. "And I'm not leaving."
She didn't care what anyone thought. Tonight, she was staying by his side.
As she lay beside him, silent tears rolled down her cheeks, disappearing into the pillow. It didn't matter that she had known him for only a few months. It didn't matter that he was just a worker living under their roof.
No.
He wasn't just anyone.
He was someone special.
Someone who had suffered alone for too long.
Someone who had smiled through unbearable pain.
Someone who had shielded her mother with his own body without hesitation.
Her fingers gently rested on his arm, feeling the warmth of his skin, the slight tremble in his exhausted body. His breathing was steady now, no longer labored with pain.
She didn't know when her eyes finally closed, but for the first time in a long time, she forgot about everything else.
Tonight, nothing else mattered.
Tonight, she was there for him.
Marinette slowly blinked awake, the soft morning light slipping through the curtains. As her vision adjusted, she saw Gurvinder sitting up beside her, his back resting against the headboard, his hands clasped together on his lap.
He was silent, just watching her stir awake, his usual witty remarks absent. There was no teasing smirk, no playful sarcasm—just quiet contemplation in his dark eyes.
"Morning," she mumbled, her voice still laced with sleep.
"Morning, Maricon," he replied softly, but there was no usual mischief in his tone.
Marinette sat up, rubbing her eyes. "How are you feeling?"
He took a deep breath before responding. "Better... I think," he said, his fingers grazing over the bandage on his stomach.
A heavy silence settled between them. She could tell he had a lot on his mind, but he wasn't saying anything.
She hesitated before asking, "Did you sleep well?"
He finally looked at her. "Yeah. Better than I have in a long time."
That made her heart ache.
For him, just a single night of peaceful sleep was a rare thing.
"i want to talk marinette can i" asked gurvinder.
Marinette sat up straighter, her full attention on him now. She could see it—the hesitation in his eyes, the weight in his voice.
"Of course, Gurvi," she said gently. "You can tell me anything."
He exhaled, rubbing his hands together as if trying to steady himself. "I don't know where to start…" His voice was quieter than usual. "I just… I've never really talked about any of this before."
Marinette waited patiently, offering him the space he needed. She wasn't going to push him, not when he was finally opening up on his own.
After a long pause, he finally spoke again, his voice raw. "Do you think… some people are just born unlucky?"
Marinette took a deep breath, carefully choosing her words. "I don't think anyone is born unlucky, Gurvi," she said softly. "Life… it throws things at us, sometimes unfair things, sometimes things we don't deserve. But that doesn't mean you're unlucky. It means you're strong for still standing after everything."
Gurvinder let out a hollow chuckle, shaking his head. "Strong, huh?" He looked down at his hands. "Strong people don't break down like I did last night. Strong people don't… beg to be saved." His voice cracked slightly.
Marinette's heart ached at his words. She reached out, gently placing her hand over his. "Being strong doesn't mean you never break down. It means you keep going, even after you do." She squeezed his hand. "You've been carrying all of this alone for so long, Gurvi. You don't have to anymore."
He stayed silent, staring at their hands. "I don't know how to do that," he admitted. "Letting people in… it feels like weakness."
"It's not," she whispered. "It's what makes us human."
Gurvinder took a deep breath, his fingers gripping the edge of the blanket as he finally let the truth slip past his lips. "I'm… an illegal immigrant, Marinette." His voice was barely above a whisper, but the weight of his words felt like they could shatter the room.
Marinette's eyes widened, her breath catching in her throat. "What…?" she whispered, not out of disgust, not out of judgment, but pure shock.
"My uncle brought me here," he continued, his gaze fixed on the floor, unable to meet her eyes. "Back in India, I trained in MMA since childhood. After my family died, he was the only one left. He saw my talent and brought me here through the dunki process. No papers. No legal status. Just… smuggled in."
She felt a chill run down her spine. "Dunki process," she repeated, the reality settling in.
Gurvi nodded, his jaw tightening. "He doesn't pay me. He barely gives me food. But he uses me—my fights, my wins—to promote his MMA club. He promised me if I kept going, if I fought for a few more years, he'd get me permanent residence. And I believed him. I had no choice but to believe him."
Marinette's heart clenched. "Why didn't you tell me this before?" she asked, her voice trembling. "Why did you go through all this alone?"
For the first time, Gurvinder looked up at her, his eyes glassy with unshed tears. "Because I was scared," he admitted. "Scared of what you'd think of me after knowing the truth. Would you look at me with disgust like others do? Would your parents throw me out? Would my classmates, my teachers… would they all start seeing me as just some illegal instead of a person?"
Marinette felt her chest tighten at his words.
"I didn't want to lose you," he confessed, his voice cracking. "I… I couldn't risk it."
Marinette sat there, staring at him, her mind racing. She had faced countless villains, defeated akumas with Chat Noir by her side, stood against Hawkmoth's twisted schemes—but this? This wasn't something she could fight with a yo-yo and quick thinking.
This was real.
This was his life.
The weight of it settled on her chest, making it hard to breathe. The bruises on his body, the scars, the exhaustion in his eyes, the way he forced a smile every day—it all made sense now. He wasn't just hardworking. He wasn't just disciplined. He was surviving.
She swallowed hard, trying to push down the lump in her throat. "Gurvi…" Her voice was barely above a whisper. What could she even say? That she was sorry? That she wished things were different? That she wanted to help?
Would any of that even be enough?
Her hands trembled as she reached out, hesitating before resting them gently on his. He flinched slightly but didn't pull away.
"I don't… I don't know what to say," she admitted, her voice cracking. "This… this is too much."
Gurvinder let out a dry, humorless chuckle. "Yeah… welcome to my life." He looked down, his fingers curling around hers instinctively, seeking warmth, seeking something to hold onto. "I know it's a lot, Marinette. That's why I never wanted to tell you. I didn't want you to look at me like… like this."
"Like what?" she asked, tilting her head.
"Like you feel sorry for me," he muttered. "Like I'm some helpless victim." His grip tightened. "I don't want your pity, Marinette."
She shook her head. "It's not pity," she whispered. "It's… it's anger. It's frustration. It's—" She swallowed again. "It's unfair, Gurvi. You deserve better than this."
His lips parted slightly, like he wanted to say something, but no words came out. For the first time in a long time, he felt seen—not as an immigrant, not as a fighter, not as someone struggling to survive—but as Gurvinder.
And that scared him more than anything else.
Marinette took a deep breath before stepping out of Gurvinder's room. Her heart pounded in her chest as she walked down the stairs, her mind still spinning from everything he had just told her.
She found Tom and Sabine sitting at the dining table, their faces still clouded with worry from last night. They looked up as she entered, concern deepening when they saw the look on her face.
"Marinette?" Sabine asked gently. "What's wrong?"
Marinette hesitated for a moment, trying to find the right words. How was she supposed to explain everything? How could she make them understand what he had been going through, what he had been hiding all this time?
She took a shaky breath and finally spoke.
"I know why Gurvinder has been… like this," she said. "Why he's always exhausted, why he never complains, why he never asks for help."
Tom and Sabine exchanged a glance, waiting for her to continue.
"He's an illegal immigrant," she said quietly. "His uncle brought him here through the dunki process. He fights in MMA for his uncle's club because his uncle promised him a permanent residence in Paris. But… he doesn't pay him. He doesn't even feed him properly. And—" her voice cracked, "—he abuses him. Every single day."
Sabine gasped, her hands covering her mouth. Tom's face darkened, his fists clenching on the table.
"He never told us," Marinette continued, tears stinging her eyes. "Because he was scared. Scared that if we found out, we'd throw him out. That everyone would start looking at him like he's disgusting, like he doesn't belong."
There was silence. A deep, heavy silence that filled the room like a suffocating fog.
Then, Tom stood up, his jaw clenched. "Where is he?"
Marinette wiped her eyes. "In his room. He's resting."
Sabine reached over and squeezed Marinette's hand. "We would never throw him out," she whispered, her voice trembling. "He's family now."
Marinette let out a shaky breath of relief. But deep down, she knew this wasn't over.
Gurvinder needed more than just a place to stay.
He needed a way out.
Marinette felt her legs weaken beneath her, and before she knew it, she dropped to her knees. Her hands trembled as she clutched her chest, as if trying to hold in the overwhelming flood of emotions that crashed through her. Tears spilled freely down her cheeks, but she didn't care anymore.
She had spent all this time convincing herself that she was only worried about him because she was kind, because she felt bad for him, because she wanted to help. But it wasn't just that.
It was never just that.
"I…" Her voice came out in a broken whisper as she stared at the wooden floor beneath her. "I don't think I was just caring for him out of pity…" Her breath hitched. "I think… I think I—"
Her parents watched in stunned silence as she let out a choked sob, realization hitting her like a storm.
"I love him," she finally confessed, her voice cracking as the words left her lips. "I love Gurvinder."
She let out a shaky breath, her fingers digging into the fabric of her pajama pants. "I should've known from the start. The way he talks, the way he always has that little smirk when he teases me, the way he works so hard without ever asking for anything in return. I—I remember the first day he came to school. How he was so… different from everyone else. His wit, his discipline, his work ethic…" She let out a broken laugh. "His heart."
Memories flashed through her mind—his tired yet determined smile as he lifted heavy flour bags, the way his hands moved when he kneaded the dough, the way he always made sure customers left the bakery with a warm goodbye, even when he was exhausted. The way his lips curled into that rare, genuine smile when he saved that puppy in the rain, not caring about himself. The way he defended her today, without hesitation, as if she was more important to him than his own dignity.
All this time, she had been fooling herself.
She loved the boy who walked into her life one random school day. The boy who challenged her, who confused her, who frustrated her, but most of all, the boy who made her feel something she never had before.
And now, he was lying upstairs, broken, beaten, yet still holding on.
And she had to be there for him.
She wiped her tears and slowly got up, determination settling into her bones. She turned to her parents, her voice steadier now.
"I need to go to him."
Tom and Sabine didn't say anything at first. They just looked at their daughter, at the raw emotions spilling out of her, at the way her hands clenched as if she was holding onto something fragile and desperate.
Then, in the next second, they pulled her into their arms.
Marinette let out a shaky breath as she felt her mother's warmth, her father's strong embrace. She gripped their clothes tightly, her body still trembling from the weight of her own confession.
"We'll try, sweetheart," Sabine whispered, stroking her daughter's hair. "We'll do everything we can to help him."
Tom let out a heavy sigh, his voice thick with emotion. "We'll look into getting his legal guardianship, into making sure he's safe here. He's already a part of this family, Marinette."
Marinette pulled back slightly, her eyes wide. "Y-You mean it?"
Sabine cupped her daughter's face, wiping away the tears that still clung to her cheeks. "Of course, dear. You love him, don't you?"
Marinette swallowed hard but nodded. "More than anything."
Tom gave her shoulder a reassuring squeeze. "Then we won't let him suffer alone anymore."
Marinette let out a breath she didn't realize she was holding. Hope filled her chest, mingling with the fear and love and everything else swirling inside her.
She wasn't sure what the future held, but she knew one thing—Gurvinder wouldn't have to fight this battle alone anymore.
Marinette hurried up the stairs, nearly stumbling in her rush. Her heart pounded against her chest, excitement and relief surging through her veins. She pushed open the door to Gurvinder's room, ready to tell him everything—but then she stopped.
Gurvinder was already up, standing in front of the small mirror, carefully tying his turban. His hands were steady, his expression unreadable as he adjusted the folds with practiced precision. He was already dressed for work, his sleeves rolled up, his posture straight despite everything he had been through.
Marinette's breath hitched. He was still pushing himself. Even after everything, after last night, after finally opening up to her, he was still trying to carry everything alone.
She stepped inside, closing the door behind her softly. "Gurvi," she said gently.
He glanced at her through the mirror, offering a small smile. "Morning, Maricon. What's up?"
Her throat tightened. How could he act like nothing happened? Like he wasn't just lying on this very floor last night, crying in pain, asking her to save him?
She took a deep breath and walked up to him. "You're still going to work?"
He chuckled lightly. "Of course. Bakery's not gonna run itself, you know?"
Marinette clenched her fists. "Gurvi, stop."
He blinked at her, confused. "Stop what?"
"Stop acting like you're fine when you're not!" she snapped. "You don't have to keep proving yourself every second of the day. You don't have to keep acting like nothing can touch you!"
His smile faltered. He turned away from the mirror, fully facing her now. "Mari…"
She swallowed, forcing herself to calm down. "My parents—they want to help you," she said, her voice trembling slightly. "They want to try to get your legal guardianship. To make sure you're safe here. You don't have to fight this alone anymore."
Gurvinder's eyes widened, his hands still mid-motion from fixing his turban. His lips parted slightly, as if he wanted to say something but couldn't find the words.
Marinette reached forward, taking his hands in hers. "Please," she whispered. "Let us help you."
Gurvinder sat down on the edge of his bed, his hands resting on his knees, his gaze fixed on the floor. His mind was racing.
Her words… they should've felt like a relief. But instead, they made his chest tighten, made his stomach churn with unease. Why? Why him? Out of thousands like him—boys and girls suffering on the streets, people struggling just to survive—why was she doing all of this for him?
He finally lifted his eyes to her, his voice quiet but firm. "Why?" he asked. "Why me, Marinette? Out of everyone suffering in this world… why are you doing so much for a nobody like me?"
Marinette felt her breath hitch.
A nobody.
He really thought of himself like that?
She shook her head, stepping closer. "You're not a nobody, Gurvinder."
He scoffed, looking away. "Then what am I?" His voice was bitter. "An illegal immigrant? A fighter who gets beaten down just to keep a roof over his head? A stray your family took in out of pity?"
Her heart clenched at his words. She dropped down to her knees in front of him, reaching for his hands again, but he didn't move. His eyes stayed locked on the floor.
"You're not just some stray, Gurvi," she whispered. "You're… you."
He finally looked at her, confusion flickering in his tired eyes.
She took a deep breath. "I don't care about the thousands of people out there because I didn't meet them. I met you. You were the one who walked into my life, the one who made me laugh with your stupid jokes, who worked harder than anyone I've ever known. The one who saved a puppy in the rain even when you were terrified of storms." Her voice cracked. "The one who made me realize I care about someone more than I ever thought I could."
Gurvinder stared at her, his breath caught in his throat.
Marinette bit her lip, her fingers tightening around his. "So don't ask me why, okay? Because I don't need a reason to care about you."
Silence filled the room.
For the first time in a long time, Gurvinder didn't know what to say.
Gurvinder let out a shaky breath, his shoulders slumping as he stared at their joined hands. His grip on her fingers tightened slightly before he finally spoke, his voice barely above a whisper.
"I… I don't have the strength to fight him, Marinette," he admitted. His throat felt dry, his chest heavy. "Not like this. Not in a courtroom, with papers and lawyers and… rules."
He clenched his jaw, his hands trembling. "I know how to fight in a ring. I know how to take punches, how to throw them back. But this?" His voice cracked as he looked up at her, his eyes filled with exhaustion and something deeper—fear. "I don't know how to fight this kind of battle. I've never known how."
Marinette's heart ached at his confession. She had never seen him like this. Gurvinder—the boy who faced everything with a smirk, who stood tall even when the world knocked him down—was scared. And he was tired.
She reached up, cupping his face gently. "You don't have to fight this alone," she whispered. "You have me. You have my parents. We'll fight for you."
He closed his eyes, leaning slightly into her touch, his breath unsteady. "But what if I lose?"
Marinette's fingers brushed against his cheek, her determination unwavering. "Then we'll fight again. And again. Until you win."
Gurvinder opened his eyes, searching hers, and for the first time in a long time… he wanted to believe her.
Gurvinder hesitated for a moment before finally asking, his voice barely above a whisper, "Can I… hug you?"
Marinette didn't even think twice. She wrapped her arms around him, pulling him close. He tensed at first, almost as if he wasn't used to the warmth, the comfort of someone holding him like this. But then, slowly, his arms circled around her, gripping her like she was the only solid thing in his world.
His breath was shaky against her shoulder. "I'll fight him," he murmured, his voice laced with quiet determination. "I'll fight him for you."
Marinette tightened her hold, her fingers clutching at his back.
"But…" he pulled back just enough to look her in the eyes, his expression serious, almost pleading. "Be ready to lose me forever if I lose."
Her heart clenched at his words. The thought of him being taken away, of him disappearing from her life, sent a sharp pain through her chest. But she refused to let fear stop her now.
"No," she whispered, shaking her head. "You won't lose. I won't let you."
Gurvinder stared at her for a long moment, his eyes searching hers. And for the first time, he allowed himself to hope.