It began with a whisper.
A few students near the lockers paused to stare. Not for long, not all at once. Just enough for Elise to feel it.
That tiny shift in the air.
The awareness.
The discomfort.
She stepped through the hallway like a ghost no one wanted to touch. No one called her name anymore.
No one flattered her outfit, even though she'd spent extra time that morning. Her makeup was flawless. Her shoes pristine.
But all it took was one thing.
One flash drive.
One accident.
Or maybe, not an accident at all.
She found out in the most humiliating way.
It was mid-period when a soft knock at the door interrupted Calculus. Mr. Gellan looked up, then waved the hall monitor in. He leaned down, whispered something, then turned to Elise.
"Miss Derant. You're needed at the office."
A few students chuckled quietly.
She stood, back straight, forced a smirk. "Did someone finally turn in a fake complaint again? Let me guess—jealousy?"
No one answered.
She strutted out of class.
Ten minutes later, she was running.
Tears threatened her perfect lashes. Her mouth was dry. Her chest ached like her ribs were caging in.
Because they showed her.
The admin found a USB tucked neatly inside her bag.
The folder was labeled: "Queen's Throne."
Inside it—images.
Videos.
Explicit content. Her face. Her voice. Her room.
All of it from years ago. Private, shameful things. Maybe stupid decisions made in the dark, but never meant for anyone to see.
And yet, they were there.
Sorted by date.
Curated like a museum of humiliation.
She couldn't even speak.
"Did you make these yourself?" the counselor asked, voice neutral, professional.
Elise couldn't answer.
They let her leave early.
But by lunch, it was too late.
The students had seen it.
Everyone had.
No one said anything directly—but Elise could feel the shift. The murmurs that died when she passed.
The boys with phones angled just slightly sideways. The girls who covered their mouths to hide laughter.
She heard her own name behind the bathroom door, followed by stifled giggles.
And then—just to twist the knife deeper—she walked past the courtyard, and saw them.
Lira.
And him.
The boy. Still as unreadable as ever.
But now he had a name.
"…Ren, right?" a girl was saying.
"Mhm," Lira answered with a laugh. "He's kind of annoying but—yeah. That's him."
Elise froze behind the hedge.
"Wait, wait. Ren as in Mewtuber Ren?" another voice squealed. "Like the Ren? With the voice reveals and ARGs and creepy edits and—that guy?!"
Lira nodded with a shrug. "He likes staying anonymous. Doesn't really care about numbers."
"Dude, he has five million subs! He's like a horror genius. And he's just—with you?!"
Ren scratched the back of his neck. "We've known each other since we were kids. She's stuck with me, unfortunately."
More laughter.
Real laughter.
Warmth.
Friendship.
Elise couldn't breathe.
Five million.
He wasn't just some freak lurking in the shadows. He was famous. Beloved. Talented. Respected.
And he'd been ruining her life with that same smirk the entire time.
Worse—he wasn't even doing it alone.
Lira had been helping him.
Plotting. Planning.
Uncoiling years of pain, one thread at a time.
Elise turned and stormed off, fingernails digging into her palm.
Her chest burned with something deeper than rage—panic. The kind that comes when you realize the damage is already done.
She went home early that day.
She checked her phone. Twenty missed calls from her mother. Two from her agent.
An email from the brand sponsor she was supposed to collab with: Partnership Cancelled.
There was no apology.
Only a line:
"Inappropriate conduct in conflict with our company's values."
The post hadn't even gone viral.
It didn't have to.
All it took was for the school to know.
For her name to drop in reputation just enough.
For the internet to sniff blood.
She sat alone in her room, trembling, staring at her own reflection.
She didn't see a queen anymore.
She saw a girl unraveling thread by thread.
A girl who couldn't even remember who she used to be before she put the crown on.
…
"You don't have to keep smiling, you know."
Lira glanced sideways. Ren had that crooked half-smirk on again, the one that could be read as either teasing or deeply perceptive, depending on his tone.
She let out a soft breath. "I'm not smiling."
"You are. A little." He raised his camera, clicked. "Caught in 4K."
Lira swatted his shoulder. "Delete that."
"Nope."
They sat on the rooftop of the old art building, the one barely used anymore. It had become their place.
Where no one interrupted. Where no echoes of past whispers clawed at her.
Here, the wind was clean. The sky endless.
And for the first time in years, Lira breathed without flinching.
"Ren," she said after a moment, voice low. "Are we doing the right thing?"
He didn't answer immediately. He leaned back against the concrete wall, gaze following a drifting cloud like he had all the time in the world.
"'Right' is subjective," he murmured. "But justice? That feels real."
"She's suffering."
"She's lived comfortably on other people's suffering. This isn't punishment, Lira. This is truth with the filter removed."
Lira looked at her hands. They didn't tremble like before.
"I don't want to become like her."
"You won't." His voice sharpened, losing its lazy cadence. "Because you're not acting out of ego. You're reclaiming your story."
She nodded slowly.
"Besides," Ren added, smirking again, "we've barely started."
Lira shot him a look. "Barely?"
He chuckled. "Elise is used to control. Breaking that will take more than a few expelled pets and a leaked scandal. She needs to see herself fall. To watch her world refuse to follow her anymore."
Lira shivered at how calm he sounded. Not cruel—coldly surgical.
Ren always did things with precision.
He'd been the weird, brilliant kid with a camcorder since they were ten. Always filming, always editing.
Now he had a legion of fans who devoured every eerie ARG video, every narrative-layered horror clip.
But none of them knew why he started.
Only Lira knew.
Because she'd been there…
…
She was the one who'd stopped coming to school for weeks. The one who smiled less and shrank more.
The one Elise had singled out—first subtly, then without shame.
Ren had reached out back then. A quiet message. Just two words:
—Still here.
And now?
He was still here.
But he didn't just want to help her heal.
He wanted to make sure Elise never hurt anyone again.
…
Meanwhile, Elise stared at her father across the mahogany desk.
His office smelled like cold metal and power. The windows overlooked the city. His tie was blood-red.
"You're being hysterical," he said, not even looking up from his tablet.
"I'm being ruined," she snapped, slamming her palms against the table. "You said this school would always be mine! That I wouldn't have to fear anyone!"
Her father exhaled. "We're investigating the digital breach. The IT team is tracking IPs. But Elise—"
She froze.
His tone had shifted.
Cold. Professional.
Cautious.
"What?" she asked.
He looked at her, finally.
"There's chatter. About legal action. From the families of your expelled friends. About… things you said. Things you sent."
"They're fake!"
He didn't respond.
A silence stretched. Then he added, "I can't protect you if there's video evidence. Audio. Accounts tied to your name."
Her stomach dropped.
She shook her head, backing away.
"Daddy, no—"
"Elise," he said, cutting her off. "You've burned too many bridges. This isn't about schoolyard politics anymore. The board is considering a disciplinary hearing. You need to step back. Stay silent."
"I won't be silenced!"
"You will," he said, voice hard now. "Because I said so. Do not embarrass this family further."
She left the office hollow.
That night, she sat in the dark, scrolling through clips on her phone.
There he was again.
Ren.
She found his Mewtube channel by accident—or maybe by design.
It had surfaced on her feed. Trending. Popular. Obscure horror series, uncanny effects, a style that made her skin crawl.
But the last video was different.
A single black screen.
No title. No tags. No music.
Just one line in white serif font:
—Everyone wears a mask. I'm just peeling one off.
Her stomach turned.
Elise suddenly realized:
He wasn't warning her.
He was inviting her.
To fight.
To fall.
And her confrontation with Ren wasn't just inevitable—it was already happening.
She just hadn't stepped into the spotlight yet.