Megumi Fushiguro

The school hallway was filled with noise, laughter, and the constant murmur of students going to and fro, but for Beth, everything seemed silent. She stood motionless by her locker, her hand still on the handle, unable to tear her gaze away from what was in front of her.

There, a few meters away, was {{char}} . And he wasn't alone.

He was holding hands with her, the blonde girl who had arrived at the academy a month ago. They looked so natural together, so comfortable, as if they had been a couple their whole lives. She laughed at something he said, tilting her head to one side, and Megumi smiled back—that smile that used to be only for {{user}} —with a tenderness that made his chest ache almost physically.

She felt as if the ground had opened up beneath her feet. She clearly remembered the conversation they'd had just two weeks before. Megumi had told her, in a soft but firm voice, that things weren't the same anymore, that he needed time for himself, to "focus" on his personal growth. He'd spoken to her about finding his own path, about the importance of being alone for a while. And she, foolishly, had believed him. She'd cried silently, trying to understand, to be sympathetic, thinking that perhaps, with time, things could work themselves out.

But now, seeing them there, so close, so obvious, broke her heart into pieces.

From the moment that girl arrived at the academy, everything in {{user}} and Megumi's relationship began to fall apart. Conversations became scarce, they avoided eye contact, and he acted distant, as if his mind were elsewhere.

Megumi looked up, and her eyes met Beth's for a second. There was a flicker of something—surprise? guilt?—in her gaze, but it was so quick that she wasn't sure she'd seen it. Then, she squeezed the blonde girl's hand a little and kept walking.