𝓕𝓪𝓵𝓵𝓲𝓷𝓰 𝓵𝓲𝓴𝓮 𝓽𝓱𝓮 𝓼𝓽𝓪𝓻𝓼 ~ Hikaru Hizashi x oc ~ Beyblade Burst

Chapter 22

By Monday, the whispers started. Screens lit up. Students leaned into one another, phones held close, voices hushed but urgent.

Suisei felt it before she saw it—eyes darting toward her like knives, pity in some, disgust in others. When her phone buzzed, she almost couldn't look.

Prominent Widow Speaks: Husband's Death Was No Accident.

Her breath caught. Beneath the headline, her mother's cool face stared back, calm and composed for the cameras. The interview had been given to a reputable reporter—carefully, cleanly. Not an emotional outburst. A performance.

She'd told them everything. About the night, about the men. About Suisei.

But the words chosen...

"She was only a child, and children don't know the dangers they invite. But the truth is undeniable: my husband died protecting her, because she was followed. Because of her."

Suisei's hands trembled so violently the phone slipped from her grip.

Hikaru found her sitting on a bench outside, face pale.
"Suisei—"

"She told them," Suisei whispered, hollow. "She made it sound like I killed him."

Hikaru crouched down, meeting her eyes. "Then you tell the truth she never will. You were a child. You survived. That doesn't make you guilty."

Suisei lifted her gaze, the sky still pale and empty. Her chest ached, but somewhere under the weight of her mother's words, a spark of defiance burned.

"She thinks she can bury me with his death," she whispered. Her hands curled into fists. "But I'll show her. I'll show all of them. I won't stop until I drag the whole truth out."

Her father's last word echoed again: Run.
Only this time, she wasn't running away.

That afternoon, her phone buzzed again. This time, it wasn't a headline—it was her dance coach.

"Suisei," the woman's voice was brisk, rehearsed, too professional to be casual. "I've been getting calls. People are concerned about the news attached to your name. The board doesn't want the studio associated with... scandal. I'm afraid we can't allow you to perform on our stages for the time being."

The words hit harder than she expected. Dancing was supposed to be her escape, the one place where she wasn't suffocating under her past. And now even that was being stolen from her.

"I—please, I can still—" Suisei tried, her voice cracking.

"I'm sorry, Suisei. Truly. But this is bigger than me." Click.

The silence that followed was louder than the rejection itself.

By Tuesday, it reached the classrooms.

Whispers weren't enough anymore. Girls leaned against lockers, voices sharp enough for her to hear.
"She's cursed."
"Imagine being the reason your dad's dead."
"Do you think she'll bring that bad luck here?"

Someone "accidentally" bumped her shoulder too hard in the hallway. Another hissed murderer under their breath as she passed.

Suisei's chest burned, but she kept her head down. If she let herself cry here, they'd win.

It was only when she reached her desk that the voices rose, a group of girls snickering behind her. One leaned forward with a mock-sympathetic smile. "Hey Suisei... do you hear him when you sleep? Your dad?"

Before Suisei could react, a chair scraped loudly.

"Shut up."

Aiko stood, arms crossed, eyes blazing. Her green eyes flashed sharp as glass beneath her short black fringe. She was all sharp edges and defiance in her baggy pants and her usual shirt—the one stamped with a spider and those cryptic Japanese words: "The backwardness of hell is heaven, all falling under umber and jade."

Suisei's gaze flicked to the shirt, and for a fleeting moment, it felt like a message just for her—something that whispered, even when chaos spins around you, you can find your balance. Her friend wasn't just standing up to the bullies—Aiko's presence was a tether, grounding her in a way words alone never could.

Her voice cut through the classroom like steel. "You think you're brave ganging up on someone for something that happened when she was a kid? Pathetic."

The girls froze, glancing at one another nervously. It wasn't just the words—it was her. Everyone knew Aiko didn't just talk; if push came to shove, she'd beat the living shit out of them. They'd all seen it once or twice, or heard the stories. No one wanted to test that.

Shrinking back, muttering excuses, they slunk to their desks. Aiko dropped into her seat again, then reached across the desk to touch Suisei's hand.

"Don't listen to them," she said softly. "You were a child. It's not your fault."

For the first time in days, Suisei felt the tension in her chest ease just slightly. She managed a tiny nod, though her throat ached with the effort.

Aiko squeezed her hand tighter. "You're not alone. Not then, not now."