NM

Since Greco's grandmother passed away, he's disappeared from our lives. It's been over a month now since that day, and not a single word from him. His absence left a void that everyone seemed to feel but no one dared to address outright.

"Guys! Check out Greco's interview on the Sports Channel!" one of my classmates suddenly shouted, breaking the silence of our usual chatter.

In an instant, everyone scrambled to grab their phones, the excitement palpable in the air. I pretended to stay uninterested, but my fingers moved quickly to unlock my phone. Keeping to myself, I pulled up the live stream of his interview.

The moment his face appeared on the screen, my breath hitched. My eyes widened in shock. He looked... different. So different.

Greco had cut his hair short—a clean, sharp style that made him look far more mature than the boyish image he used to carry. His forehead, once hidden by his shaggy bangs, was now fully revealed, adding a striking clarity to his face. He looked polished, confident. His charisma shone through the screen, making my heart skip a beat against my will. He was undeniably handsome.

"Is it true that Fuse Ethan Park and Daze Park are your siblings?" the interviewer asked, her voice curious, laced with intrigue.

At the mention of their names, Greco smiled faintly, though there was something off about it. It wasn't the carefree grin I remembered, the one that used to light up his whole face. This smile was tight, calculated—like he was wearing a mask.

"Yes," he replied simply, his voice calm, yet detached.

Something stirred inside me. His tone, his demeanor—they didn't match the Greco I knew. He seemed... colder, distant, as though he'd built an invisible wall around himself. What happened to him? Was this change because of his grief? Or was it something else entirely?

The interviewer pressed further, her curiosity clearly piqued. "But why do you use Pellaria as your last name?" she asked.

Greco's smile didn't falter, but his eyes seemed to darken for a split second. "Actually," he said, his voice steady, "it's my second name."

"Woah. You're such a mysterious person, Greco," the interviewer said, leaning forward as if trying to uncover more of his secrets. "Let me ask you one last question. Greco, who are you really?"

The camera zoomed in on his face, capturing every detail of his expression. And then, he smirked—not the playful, mischievous kind I remembered, but a sharp, almost dangerous one. He leaned slightly forward, his gaze locking directly with the camera lens, as though he was speaking to each viewer personally.

"I'm Grecorson Pellaria Park," he declared, his voice carrying an edge of authority, "the owner of my deceased father's company, the Park Corporation."

The words hit like a bombshell, not just for the interviewer but for me. My grip on my phone tightened as my mind raced to process what I had just heard. Owner? His father's company? The Park Corporation?

I couldn't help but notice the shift in his presence as he said those words. He wasn't just a swimmer anymore, or the boy who used to flash carefree grins and make lame jokes to lighten the mood. He had stepped into a different role entirely—one that carried weight, power, and responsibility.

But behind all that, I saw something else: pain. It lingered in the corners of his carefully crafted mask, in the faint shadows of his sharp eyes. This wasn't just about his father's company or even his sudden rise to prominence. It was about something deeper, something he wasn't saying.

The interview ended, but my mind remained stuck on those final words. I replayed them over and over, hoping to find some clue, some crack in his armor. Who was this Greco now? Was he the same person we once knew, or had he buried that part of himself along with his grandmother?

I stared at the blank screen of my phone, an odd heaviness settling in my chest. Maybe, just maybe, the Greco I knew was still in there somewhere—hidden beneath the weight of his new title and the expectations that came with it. Or maybe... he was gone for good.

Fuse

"What the hell? How did that happen? We own Park Corporation. Not him!" I hissed through gritted teeth, my hands balled into tight fists as I paced back and forth.

"Fuse, calm down," Kuya Daze said firmly, gesturing for me to sit. Reluctantly, I dropped onto the sofa next to Mom, my pulse racing with anger. Mom sat stiffly, her face a mask of quiet fury, her clenched hands resting on her lap. The tension in the room was suffocating, and I could feel the heat rising in my chest with every passing second.

How could this happen? The company Mom had nurtured, protected, and grown over the years was suddenly in Greco's hands. Just like that, everything my mother had worked for was taken away.

"Two weeks ago, Greco came to see me," Kuya began, his voice calm but laced with exhaustion. "He showed me the documents and Dad's last will and testament. Everything Dad owned was passed on to Greco. Dad left it all to him."

Kuya sighed deeply, rubbing his temples as if the memory itself was draining him. "Greco never told us before. He kept it hidden and let us benefit from the company as if it were ours."

My fist slammed into the armrest. "He obviously wants revenge," I spat, my voice trembling with barely restrained anger.

Mom's composure finally cracked. "The audacity of that boy!" she shouted, her voice shaking with rage. "He doesn't deserve a single thing from Henry! I'm the wife—I'm the one who should have inherited everything! How could Henry do this to me?!"

Her outburst sent a wave of silence through the room. Even Kuya seemed momentarily stunned. But then, his expression hardened, and he turned to face her directly.

"Do you really think that way?" he asked sharply, his tone cutting through the tension. "He's our family, Mom. Like it or not."

"Why are you defending that—" I stood, my voice rising as anger consumed me. "You know he's the reason why Dad died!"

Kuya stood, too, his eyes locked onto mine. "I never blamed Greco for Dad's death," he said with a conviction that made me falter. "And neither should you. Greco doesn't deserve the hate, Fuse. He's been through enough. He's still our family!"

His words hit me like a slap. I turned away, unable to meet his eyes. My fists tightened again, my knuckles white. Family. Kuya always threw that word around when it came to Greco. But to me, it was meaningless now.

When it came to Greco, Kuya's heart always softened. It always had, even when we were kids. Greco was his favorite, wasn't he? No matter what happened, Kuya would always defend him. Always side with him.

Meanwhile, Mom sat frozen in her anger, staring ahead as though lost in thought. Her words from earlier lingered in my mind, feeding the fire inside me.

How could Dad leave the company to Greco? After everything? After all the sacrifices Mom had made?

And why did Kuya have to defend him every single time? Greco wasn't just some victim of circumstance. He had taken everything—our company, our father's legacy, and any chance we had at closure.

Greco may have shared our blood, but right now, he felt like a stranger—a rival. Not family.

NM

I felt lifeless the entire day. Ally wasn't speaking to me after I humiliated Greco in the arena during their last competition.

I knew I had crossed the line, and guilt gnawed at me. But I hadn't seen or spoken to Greco since that day, so I didn't even know how to apologize.

Greco had been a good friend to me—better than I had ever deserved. And yet, what did I give him in return? Embarrassment in front of an entire arena.

For over a month, the memory of that day had haunted me. The look on his face, the silence that followed, and the weight of my own words—they all lingered in my mind, playing on an endless loop. But no matter how much I replayed it, I couldn't turn back time or undo what I'd done.

As I walked out of the school gates, the late afternoon sun cast long shadows on the road ahead. I was lost in my thoughts, barely paying attention as I stepped onto the pedestrian lane. Suddenly, the deafening roar of an engine pulled me back to reality.

A motorcycle screeched to a halt inches in front of me, nearly making me jump out of my skin.

"Goodness! Are you trying to kill me?!" I shouted, my irritation bubbling over as I glared at the rider. His face was hidden beneath a sleek black helmet, but that didn't stop me from unleashing my frustration.

Before I could say more, he removed his helmet, and I froze.

I swallowed hard. Twice. He was... ridiculously handsome. His sharp jawline, tousled hair, and piercing eyes made my breath hitch.

Stop it, NM. Focus.

No matter how good-looking he is, if he almost ran you over, you're still very much a victim here.

"There you are," he said with a playful smirk.

I glanced over my shoulder, half-expecting someone else to be standing behind me. No one was there. Slowly, I turned back to him, my brows furrowed in confusion.

"Uh... sorry, but... do I know you?" I asked hesitantly, my eyes narrowing as I tried to place his face.

He exuded a strange confidence, the kind that made it seem like he owned the space around him. But no matter how hard I racked my brain, I couldn't recall ever meeting him before.

Without answering, he dismounted his motorcycle and closed the distance between us. He extended his hand toward me.

"It's nice to finally meet you, NM," he said, his tone casual but tinged with familiarity.

I stared at his hand, unsure of what to do. I didn't know him. I was certain of that.

"I'm Tac," he said simply, his smirk never wavering.

For a moment, I was too stunned to respond. Tac? That name didn't ring any bells, but there was something about him—something I couldn't quite put my finger on.