Nairo came home slamming the door hard enough to rattle the frame.
His school bag hit the floor untouched. Shoes half-kicked off. His chest rose and fell too fast—anger still buzzing under his skin like static.
His parents were in the living room
Uncle Takahashi, seated stiffly on the couch, glasses low on his nose, pretending to read.
Aunt Mary, standing near the window, folding laundry with precise, careful movements—too careful.
They both looked up at the same time.
"Nairo," his mother said. "You're home early."
"Why," he snapped, not even greeting them, "is she here?"
Silence.
His father adjusted his glasses. "Lower your voice."
"No," Nairo barked. "You invited Amanda to live here. Why?."
His mother exchanged a look with his father. "She's family."
" Family? She's not," Nairo shot back. "She's not like us."
"She lost her mother," his mother said sharply. "Mysteriously or not, that girl has been through enough."
Nairo laughed.
A harsh, humorless sound.
"You trust her blindly because she smiles and keeps quiet, or because of guilt" he said. "That's your mistake."
His father stood. "Watch your tone."
"She's not a nice kid," Nairo continued, pacing now. "She listens. She remembers. She asks questions without asking them out loud."
His mother frowned. "You're being paranoid."
"No," he said, voice rising, cracking through restraint. "I know her."
His father sighed. "We thought it would be good for her. She wanted to be close to family."
Nairo stopped pacing.
"What room," he asked slowly, "did you put her in."
Another pause.
His mother answered too quickly. "Marvello's room. She will be sleeping there."
The words hit like a slap.
Nairo froze.
"…What?"
"It's empty," she said defensively. "And it's bigger. Or do you want her?"
"That's even worse," Nairo shouted.
His father snapped, "Enough."
"No," Nairo roared. "Do you even hear yourselves?"
He ran a hand through his hair, pacing again, agitation spilling over.
"That room," he said, "is where she stayed. Where she heard things. Where she learned how this house works."
"She was a child," his mother said.
"So was Marvello," Nairo shot back. "And look how that turned out."
His father's face hardened. "Don't speak her name like that."
Nairo laughed again, sharp and edged.
"You put them in the same space," he said. "You think that's coincidence?"
His mother shook her head. "You're imagining patterns that don't exist."
"She's not innocent," Nairo said firmly. "She never was."
His father crossed his arms. "We're not moving her."
Nairo stopped pacing.
His voice dropped—dangerously calm.
"You've made a mistake."
His mother scoffed. "She's polite. Respectful. She calls us 'Mom' and 'Dad.'"
"That's exactly why you should be worried," Nairo said. "She doesn't do anything without a reason."
His father snapped, "This conversation is over."
Nairo stared at them both—really stared.
At the comfort in their posture.At the certainty in their faces.
They didn't know.
They didn't want to know.
"Don't say I didn't warn you," Nairo said quietly.
He turned and headed down the hall.
As he passed Marvello's room, the door was closed.
Light glowed faintly from underneath.
Nairo's jaw tightened.
This wasn't just about Amanda anymore.
This was about the house itself—about walls that had heard too muchand doors that were never meant to open again.
And his parents had just handed her the key.
--
The street outside the school was quieter than usual.
Late afternoon light spilled across the pavement, warm and gold, softening the sharp edges of the buildings. Students passed them in groups, laughter drifting away as footsteps faded.
Marvello walked in front.
Her backpack rested evenly against her shoulders, straps snug, hands relaxed at her sides. She didn't rush. She never did. Every step was measured, controlled, as if the world adjusted itself to her pace rather than the other way around.
Her hair moved lightly against her back when she walked, dark and smooth, catching the light just enough to remind anyone watching that she was beautiful—but not safely so.
Behind her walked Ji-Hyun.
He stayed close, almost unconsciously, like he was afraid the space between them might swallow him. His shoulders were narrow, posture slightly hunched, as if he was used to making himself smaller.
His glasses—too big for his face—kept slipping down his nose. He pushed them up with the tip of his finger, then immediately dropped his hand again, shy about the gesture. When he looked down, his long lashes cast soft shadows against his cheeks. His lips were pink, naturally so, pressed together nervously as he walked.
He looked fragile.
Breakable.
The kind of boy people mistook for weak because they didn't know how much quiet endurance lived inside him.
Amanda trailed just behind him.
She walked differently—lighter, almost playful. She skipped once, spun half a step to avoid a crack in the pavement, blonde hair bouncing freely around her shoulders. There was brightness in her movement, but her eyes stayed sharp, observant.
She smiled—not warm, not cruel.
Curious.
"So," Amanda said, tilting her head slightly, eyes on Ji-Hyun's back. "Why is he with us?"
Ji-Hyun stiffened immediately.
Marvello didn't turn around. "Because I'm taking him home."
"You always do?" Amanda asked.
"Yes."
Amanda hummed softly, stepping closer. "Interesting."
Ji-Hyun's fingers curled around his bag strap. He glanced back for half a second, then quickly looked down again when Amanda met his eyes. His glasses slipped again, and this time he didn't fix them right away.
Amanda noticed.
She arched a brow. "What's his name?"
Marvello finally slowed.
She turned just enough to look over her shoulder. "Ji-Hyun."
Amanda repeated it once, tasting the sound. "Ji-Hyun."
Ji-Hyun flinched slightly at hearing his name from a stranger.
Amanda's gaze softened—not in pity, but in assessment. "Why is he hurt?"
Marvello stopped walking.
Ji-Hyun stopped too, almost bumping into her back. He froze, panicked for a second, then stepped back quickly, cheeks heating.
Marvello spoke calmly. "Naoki."
Amanda's smile disappeared.
"He hurt him," Marvello continued. "Because I stopped him from hurting someone else."
Amanda's eyes sharpened instantly. Something cold slid into place behind them.
She looked Ji-Hyun up and down again—this time slower, more deliberate.
Then she smiled.
"Oh," she said lightly. "So you're staying with us."
Ji-Hyun blinked. "I—I'm just walking home…"
Amanda crouched slightly so she was closer to his eye level, hands resting loosely on her knees. Her voice softened, but the intent behind it hardened.
"That means you're under protection," she said. "Congratulations."
Ji-Hyun's eyes widened. He looked helplessly at Marvello.
Marvello exhaled quietly. "Amanda."
Amanda straightened, eyebrow lifting. "What?"
"Don't scare him."
Amanda tilted her head. "I'm not scary."
Marvello looked at her flatly. "You enjoy being misunderstood."
Amanda laughed softly. "Fair."
Then, more seriously, she glanced back at Ji-Hyun. "Why him?" she asked Marvello. "Why protect him so fiercely?"
Marvello stepped closer to Ji-Hyun—not touching him, but close enough that her presence shielded him naturally.
Her voice dropped.
"Because people like him don't survive alone."
Amanda studied her.
Then she smiled again—this time slow, deliberate.
"…Okay," she said. "I see it now."
She turned fully toward Ji-Hyun and extended her hand.
"I'm Amanda," she said. "You don't have to be scared of me."
Ji-Hyun hesitated.
His hand shook slightly as he reached out. His fingers barely touched hers, then pulled back too fast, embarrassed.
"I—I'm Ji-Hyun," he said quietly.
Amanda didn't tease him.
Instead, she straightened and said, very calmly, "You're my little brother now."
Ji-Hyun froze.
"What?"
Amanda glanced at Marvello. "You don't mind."
Marvello didn't answer immediately.
Then she nodded once. "At all."
Ji-Hyun swallowed, overwhelmed, heart pounding—not from fear, but from something unfamiliar.
Safety.
They started walking again.
Marvello in front. Ji-Hyun protected between them. Amanda behind—watching the world like it dared something foolish.
And for the first time since everything went wrong, Ji-Hyun felt like getting home wasn't something he had to survive alone.