Jay‑jay
The assignment was simple.
The atmosphere? Not even close.
HVIS and London were supposed to be "building cultural bridges." All I saw were burned ones.
Sixteen boys. Sixteen reminders of a life I'd buried.
Every time I stepped into that classroom, the air thickened — too many ghosts, too many eyes that used to feel like home.
They all looked different now.
Matured, maybe. Older, definitely. But still Section E.
Yuri still leaned back in his chair like he owned the place.
Mayo still whispered jokes when the teachers weren't looking.
Eren and Edrix still argued over everything.
Rory and Drew still laughed at all the wrong times.
Felix, Calix, and Denzel pretended they didn't care but kept glancing my way anyway.
Blaster occasionally cracked a grin like he wanted me to smile back.
Josh busied himself with notes — always quiet, always reliable.
And then came Ci‑N.
My old best friend.
He wouldn't stop trying to meet my eyes. I avoided his.
If I looked too long, I'd remember everything — the jokes, the late‑night talks, the one person who always believed I could fix anything.
Now, he was one of the reasons I'd broken beyond repair.
Keifer
I thought Jay‑jay's silence would make it easier.
It didn't.
She didn't yell, didn't cry, didn't throw a punch like the old days. She was just... quiet. The kind of quiet that makes every action feel wrong.
The boys could feel it too.
During break, no one laughed. No teasing. No chaos.
Just silence.
Mayo broke it first. "She really hates us, huh?"
Felix kicked at a chair. "Can you blame her?"
Rory sighed. "Still, man... it's weird."
Eren stared at me across the table. "You set the tone, Keif. You said those words."
David finally spoke up, calm but sharp. "Enough."
Everyone turned toward him. David didn't talk often, but when he did, the room listened.
"She has every reason to hate us," he said quietly. "You all remember how we treated her — part of the plan, part of the act. We laughed while she trusted us. We broke her."
Mayo swallowed hard. "We didn't mean to—"
"Intent doesn't erase damage," David continued. "She thought we were family. We made her feel like an assignment."
The silence after that sank deep.
Ci‑N closed his eyes. "I was her best friend, Dave. She told me things she never told anyone, and I still stood by while they used her."
His voice cracked in the middle. Everyone looked down.
"Do you think she'll ever forgive us?" Blaster asked quietly.
David shook his head. "I don't think forgiveness is what she wants. She just wants distance."
And right then, watching Ci‑N wipe his eyes and the rest avoid mine, I realized none of us had really moved on.
We'd grown up, sure — but we were still the boys who lost their gem.
Jay‑jay
I was supposed to lead the London side of the group meeting. Instead, I just kept staring out of the window. The laughter of Section E carried through it — faint, cracked, empty.
Mia sighed beside me. "You're quiet today. That's not like you."
"Some places don't deserve words," I replied.
Eli peeked over my shoulder. "You know, they don't look evil. Just... guilty."
I didn't answer.
Because guilt didn't matter now.
They'd called me their gem.
And then they'd dirtied the shine.
So I focused on paperwork until the bell rang — because if I looked back again, I might have remembered what it felt like to be loved by people who destroyed you anyway.
Keifer
That night, we all stayed late to clean up after class.
No one asked us to. It just felt wrong to leave.
Eman stacked chairs while muttering, "Feels like detention again."
Kit gave a small laugh, but it was hollow.
Ci‑N sat at Jay‑jay's old desk, tracing her initials once scratched into the wood.
His voice shook. "She used to sit right here. Can you believe it? I can still hear her stupid food rants."
His eyes glistened. He covered his face, shoulders trembling.
Nobody moved. Not even me.
"She hates us now," he whispered. "And I think we deserve it."
David placed a hand on his shoulder. "Maybe. But that doesn't stop us from still caring."
For the first time in years, Section E went home quietly.
No jokes, no shouting, no music. Just sixteen boys walking through corridors that suddenly felt too big for the ghosts they'd made.
Jay‑jay
When I walked through those same hallways the next morning, I half‑expected the noise again.
Instead, I found silence — a silence so heavy it made me pause.
I didn't know — couldn't see — that in every classroom behind me, sixteen boys still carried a single truth between them:
Their gem had turned to ice.
And they were the reason why.