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Alacrix wasn't stupid. He knew full well the injury on Putri's arm wasn't from a fall. He was familiar with Zea's ways—having grown up with her since childhood, the girl had a dangerously possessive streak.
That day, Alacrix deliberately wore the shirt Putri had washed. The scent of cheap but fresh detergent rose from the fabric, a stark contrast to the luxurious laundry fragrances he usually used. When break time came, he didn't head to the elite cafeteria. Instead, he walked toward the back garden of SMA Garuda (Garuda Senior High School)—a quiet spot that had become a favorite among scholarship students for eating their packed lunches.
Sure enough, he found Putri sitting under an old weeping willow tree, opening a plastic lunch box filled with rice, tempeh, and chili paste.
"Nice detergent smell. What brand do you use?" Alacrix's deep voice took Putri by surprise.
Putri nearly choked. "Kak Alacrix? Why are you here? Aren't you embarrassed to eat in a place like this?"
Alacrix sat down beside her without hesitation, making the girl instinctively shift away. "Embarrassed? This is my father's school—I can sit wherever I want." He glanced at Putri's arm, covered by her long-sleeved uniform.
"Show me your arm."
"It's nothing, just a small scrape—"
"Putri, don't make me ask twice," Alacrix cut in, his voice carrying the unyielding authority of a Student Council President.
Hesitantly, Putri rolled up her sleeve. Deep scratch marks and purple bruises marred her skin. Alacrix let out a low growl, then pulled a small tube of ointment from his pants pocket—as if he'd been carrying it since that morning.
"If Zea or anyone else bothers you again, come tell me," Alacrix said, gently applying the ointment to her wound.
Putri froze. They were so close she could smell the masculine scent of coffee and cologne on him. Her heart raced, and a strange new feeling began to settle in her chest.
"Why are you being so kind to me? We've only just met."
Alacrix looked deep into her eyes. "Maybe because you're the only person in this school brave enough to order me to wash my shirt."
Unbeknownst to them, on the second floor of the main building, Zea stood behind a large window watching everything. She saw how Alacrix—who had never even wanted to touch her hand—was now tending to the scholarship girl's wound with focused care.
"See that, Zea? Looks like Alacrix has found a new toy," one of Zea's friends whispered provocatively.
Zea crushed the water bottle in her hand until it deformed. "She's not a toy. She's a pest. And pests need to be rooted out completely."
That afternoon, as the school emptied out, Putri was heading home from the library when Zea and her group cornered her near the empty school restrooms.
"Well, well—our new genius was on a date under a tree?" Zea stepped into her space, her pretty face twisted into something demonic. "Did you think washing his shirt would make you queen here?"
Zea snatched Putri's backpack and emptied its contents onto the floor. Putri's neatly written notebooks scattered everywhere, and Zea stomped on one of them with her expensive shoes.
"Stay away from Alacrix. Tomorrow, it won't just be your books I step on—it'll be your life and your mother's," Zea snarled, her face inches from Putri's.