Azayama Kazuko had long held a grudge against Yukiho Doi.

Yukiho hadn’t been at Wright Academy since kindergarten—she’d transferred in second grade.

Azayama had been her classmate back then.

Yukiho’s arrival triggered Azayama’s instinctive distrust of outsiders.

She’d always believed Yukiho was putting on airs.

But reality contradicted her: Yukiho moved with grace, treated everyone kindly, and topped every exam.

A perfect student in every way.

She looked every inch the refined young lady raised in an elite household.

Classmates quickly warmed to her.

Soon, her popularity spread across grades—even lower-years had her fangirls and fanboys.

Everyone adored Yukiho, except rare cases like Azayama.

After class reshuffling, Azayama bonded with Sato Yoko over their shared dislike of Yukiho.

Yoko’s resentment stemmed from jealousy of Yukiho’s beauty and talent.

Azayama’s reasons ran deeper.

Last week, Yoko met a boy from another school asking about Yukiho.

He claimed to be her first-grade classmate. Spotting someone who resembled her near Wright, he’d grown curious.

Under Yoko’s probing, he revealed Yukiho’s family had been poor back then—scraping together tuition fees.

Something happened, and Yukiho transferred schools abruptly.

Armed with this explosive gossip, Yoko pounced on her rival’s secret.

How could a girl who barely afforded tuition suddenly enroll at Wright? There had to be a scandal.

With Yukiho’s stunning looks, Yoko guessed she’d been taken in as a child bride by some wealthy family.

Azayama readily believed it.

Blunt by nature, Yoko began spreading the rumor wildly.

Few believed her—especially former classmates.

If Yukiho came from poverty, what did that make them, who paled beside her?

Yoko became the school’s laughingstock overnight.

Then came the unthinkable: Sato Yoko jumped off the school roof.

A girl like her would drive others to suicide—not leap herself.

Azayama insisted Yukiho had murdered her.

But she had no proof.

The school suppressed the incident swiftly.

Only students whispered about the suicide; no news leaked outside.

Azayama wished it had been Yukiho who jumped that day.

Why did she get so close to Inori-chan?

In kindergarten, newly separated from her parents, Azayama would hide in corners crying.

She’d never forget that day.

Inori found her, gently wiped her tears, fed her candy, and whispered, "Don’t cry. I’m here."

Azayama had met an angel.

From then on, she followed Inori everywhere.

Even in different classes, she’d rush to Inori’s classroom between lessons.

All for a glance, a smile from her angel.

How could Yukiho—a latecomer—surpass their years-long bond in mere months?

Seeing them walk together made Azayama grind her teeth in envy.

Resting in the infirmary from heatstroke today, she’d bumped into Yukiho again.

Watching her fawn over a junior like some caring senpai made Azayama’s skin crawl.

She’d already told Inori about Yukiho’s shady past.

Yet Inori had only smiled, patted her hand, and said, "I know. Don’t worry about Doi-san."

Afterward, Yukiho and Inori grew even closer—walking home together daily.

The memory made Azayama’s jaw tighten.

Then she recalled Inori’s gentle expression—and her rage cooled.

*Of course. My angel’s heart is too pure to reject even the lowliest.*

Her eyes narrowed at Yukiho’s companion.

*That junior… wasn’t she with Inori-chan this morning?*

Azayama’s glare sharpened.

*A scholarship student? How dare she steal Inori-chan’s attention?*

If not for babysitting her, Inori-chan wouldn’t have nearly been hurt by that madman!

*Birds of a feather flock together. No wonder these two pests get along.*

After Yoko’s fate, Azayama dared not spread rumors like her friend.

*What if I’m next? Silenced like poor Yoko?*

Spotting Yukiho’s bandaged hand, Azayama snorted.

*Just a scratch. Needs a hand-holder to visit the infirmary? Pathetic.*

*Why does Inori-chan cherish this fake?*

*She’s tricked my angel!*

Yukiho, oblivious to the venom, greeted her warmly.

"Azayama-san. Long time no see."

The words hit like punching a pillow.

Azayama stood abruptly, snorted again, and stormed out.

Yueci Porcelain watched her retreat, then turned to Yukiho with raised brows.

*So the perfect Doi-san has enemies too.*

Yukiho sighed softly, shoulders slumping.

"Is it my fault…?"

"Why does Azayama-san hate me so much…?"

Tears glistened in her eyes—pitifully vulnerable.

Yueci fumbled for words.

"You’re wonderful—"

"Don’t blame yourself—"

Yukiho’s face brightened like dawn breaking.

"Thank you, Yueci-san."

"It’s comforting to have you."

Yueci flushed, turning away awkwardly.

Unseen by her, Yukiho’s eyes flashed with cunning.

Then she glanced at Azayama’s abandoned seat—her gaze turning icy.