Suddenly, his ears caught a small sound. It was like a whimper, followed by a loud thud. His instincts made him turn his head toward the field.
There, from where they sat, he could see a small crowd starting to gather. Through the gaps between the people. He caught a quick glimpse of a girl sitting on the ground, holding her knee.
"Hey, what’s going on over there?" Bara also turned, squinting his eyes in an attempt to identify the scene. But from their bench, things were still a bit blurry. Even the silhouette of the person on the ground wasn’t clearly visible.
"Looks like she fell..." Alaric muttered, standing slightly to get a better look.
The crowd at the edge of the field grew, with voices from students mixed in so surprised, so trying to help. So were shouting for water, and others complained about a basketball that had flown too close to where students usually walked.
Alaric and Bara picked up their pace. From afar, the situation had seed unclear. But now, as they got closer to the scene, Alaric could make out the anxious expressions on several students’ faces.
He didn’t know yet what had really happened. But perhaps the energy and emotion from those around him was contagious. It made his own mood shift into concern, even if he still didn’t know who the girl on the ground was
The crowd by the edge of the field began to part as Alaric and Bara approached. From just a few ters away, he could finally see clearly, and his eyes widened in shock.
It wasn’t just one person who had fallen. There were two.
Both of them sat on the slightly dusty ground, wincing in pain as they held their ankles. One of them made Alaric’s breath catch for a mont. "Clarissa."
The world around him suddenly seed to slow down. His body moved before his brain could fully process it. His legs carried him forward, pushing through the remaining crowd still gawking at the incident.
He crouched in front of Clarissa, his right hand reaching out instinctively.
"Co on, here," he said quickly, his tone flat but urgent, as if trying to make sure she got up imdiately.
Clarissa froze. Her eyes looked at his outstretched hand, then shifted to Alaric’s face. Focused, intense. For a split second, her mind was flooded with one question: "Is this really Alaric trying to help ?"
In her hesitation, she didn’t move. She didn’t take his hand.
She waited too long. Suddenly, another hand reached in from the side and grabbed Alaric’s instead. "Thanks, Ric," ca a cheerful, sweet voice. Ciara, the girl who had fallen with Clarissa, was now gripping Alaric’s hand tightly, even leaning into him as if for support.
Alaric glanced at her, confused. "Wait, I ant to help Clarissa... Why is this girl acting like she’s the one I offered it to?" His gaze quickly returned to Clarissa, who was already trying to stand on her own, her movents stiff. She winced, clutching her ankle, likely sprained.
Before Alaric could do anything else, a tall, well-built guy ca running over. "Clar! You okay?" he asked, and without waiting for a reply, he imdiately put an arm around her shoulders to support her.
"Co on, I’ll take you to the nurse’s office," he said, helping her shift her weight.
Clarissa nodded slightly, accepting the help. But her eyes... every so often, they flicked toward Alaric. Quick, fleeting glances, like she was trying to check sothing without being caught doing it.
Alaric noticed. A strange feeling stirred in his chest. He wanted to step forward, to say sothing. But in his head, a quiet voice whispered, "It’s different now, Ric. Things aren’t the sa. You and her are just... friends."
Ciara was still holding onto his arm and let out a dramatic sigh. "Ric, take to the nurse too. I think I twisted my ankle," she said as she leaned into him without hesitation.
Alaric sighed. "Fine," he muttered under his breath. He walked, half carrying Ciara who clung to him shalessly, while from the corner of his eye, he watched Clarissa limp away, flanked by her friend, heading in the opposite direction.
In his heart, he could only sigh softly and think, "What a ss this is."
Still, his steps remained steady as he made his way to the nurse’s office, locking all those mixed feelings in the back of his mind.
Alaric pushed open the door with his shoulder, Ciara still half-leaning on him. The room slled faintly of antiseptic, with pale white lights glowing from the ceiling above. He guided Ciara to one of the empty beds and looked at her briefly.
"There. I brought you here. Now stay put," he said flatly, clearly wanting to end this interaction as quickly as possible.
Ciara imdiately pouted, her eyes wide with protest. "Hey, you can’t just leave like this. Look, I’m hurt. See?" she said, lifting her foot a little to show a barely visible scratch, but her expression made it seem like she’d just survived a war. "It really hurts, you know..."
Alaric narrowed his eyes, trying to suppress the urge to snap. "Ciara..." His tone held a clear warning.
But Ciara just lowered her head, still holding onto his arm like she didn’t want to let go. "Stay with for a bit, Ric. Please..."
Alaric looked at her grip, then gently but firmly pulled his arm away. "I’ve got things to do," he said simply. He turned toward the corner of the room, where a student from the school dical team was organizing a first-aid kit at the nurse’s desk.
"Hey," Alaric said, giving Ciara a light pat on the shoulder and nodding toward the student. "Take care of her, yeah? She’s got a scratch."
The PMR student nodded and stood up, and Alaric walked out without waiting for any more objections. Behind him, Ciara could only pout, her eyes following his back until he disappeared through the door.
Once out in the hallway, Alaric’s steps instinctively slowed. Coming from the opposite direction, just outside the nurse’s office, he saw Clarissa. She was walking slowly, her arm still around the sa tall guy. Her face looked a little pale, but a small smile lit up when the guy beside her spoke.
Alaric paused for just a fraction of a second, his eyes fixed on her. A strange tug pulled at his chest, a feeling he’d tried so hard to bury but it was still there. His hand almost moved, wanting to wave or say sothing, but logic kicked in fast.
"Don’t, Ric."
Without changing his expression, he gave one quick glance and kept walking. His eyes lowered to the floor, as if that would help push the feeling back down.
"I can’t let this grow again. I’m not going through that twice. The pain back then was enough."
Outside, the air felt a bit warr, but Alaric’s heart remained cold. He knew that if he gave even the smallest space, those feelings would co back. And this ti... he couldn’t afford to lose focus on what really mattered.
...
In a spacious office with dark, gleaming marble floors, tall windows allowed the late afternoon sunlight to pour in. Casting reflections across the surface of a large, immaculate wooden desk. The entire setting emphasized an aura of luxury and unbounded power.
At the center of the room sat a man in a high-backed, wheeled chair, designed to accommodate his fra with both comfort and command. A single shift of his weight sent the chair gliding, almost dancing to his will. It was a subtle yet unmistakable symbol — everything in the world seed to move at his command.
The man was the CEO of Iyluma, one of the wealthiest conglorates in Europe, whose na frequently appeared in international dia. He was visiting the country where Alaric lived, seeking firsthand insight into companies with strong potential in creative technology and innovation.
Standing beside him was soone he had trusted for years. A sharply dressed man with a firm posture, serving as the bridge between the CEO and the outside world. He was known for delivering data and reports with unmatched precision.
"Boss," his right-hand man spoke with a calm tone, laced with a confident intention to make a suggestion.
"Our company is currently scouting for new investnt opportunities, sothing that truly aligns with our passion and values. Several top companies in this country are already on our radar, including Craftpartner. They’re among the best in the category of young, high-growth companies."
Erelon leaned forward slightly, his eyes scanning the tablet screen in his assistant’s hand. "Craftpartner?" he repeated, his voice marked by a slow, deliberate European accent. "Show a snapshot of their performance. What’s their reputation and growth track like?"
His confidant pulling up growth charts and partnership reports connected to Alaric’s company. "Quite impressive, Boss. They’ve secured so strategic partnerships that have proven profitable, with growth hitting 200 percent."
"However, the company is still young. Only two years in. And its leader, Alaric, is also relatively young. From an experience standpoint, market trust can still be a concern."
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