North Wing Corridor — Mother Ceres School
The smell of the gym mixed sweat and cheap soap. The metallic sound of the rings echoed somewhere in the distance, mixed with the mantras some group was repeating in the room next door. Ana crossed the corridor with her impeccable posture, her legs still aching from ornamental diving practice. But she wasn't looking at anyone. Only at him.
Daime.
Leaning against a wall, with his wheelchair tipped back onto two wheels, balancing himself with his fingertips on the railing as if challenging gravity. His uniform open at the collar, his ID badge hanging crookedly from his chest.
He saw her, of course he did. And he smiled with that half-smile only he had, insolent, untouchable.
— Well, well... — he said softly as she passed nearby. — The damn queen of the platform still thinks she can fly...
Ana stopped. Her breathing still short from training. One side of her wanted to keep walking, not give him the satisfaction. But the other side — the one Mother Ceres hadn't managed to tame — turned on her heels and came back.
She leaned forward, her hands on his knees, their faces dangerously close.
— Just because you broke yourself doesn't mean the rest of the world has to crawl, Daime.
He laughed. A hoarse, cruel sound that filled the corridor.
— Ah, Ana... — he hissed, a wicked gleam in his eyes. — You still love me. Just admit it.
She straightened, her eyes burning.
— You still love me, Daime. — she shot back, coldly. — You just don't have the courage to say it.
For a moment he fell silent, his smile faltering, before turning his face toward the window. Outside, Mother Ceres' tower hovered over the city like a blind sentry.
— The only thing I love about this shit is the feeling of knowing I have nothing left to lose. — he murmured, too quietly for her to hear.
Ana let out a deep sigh, as if she carried in her breath all the years of fights and silence between them. Then she leaned in, very close to his ear, and whispered:
— You only pretend you don't feel anything, Daime. But it's worse. You feel everything.
And she walked away, leaving him alone in the corridor, still balancing the chair on two wheels, but not smiling this time.
(Daime's point of view)
The wheelchair's wheels made a dry crack against the floor. He still rocked back and forth, just so he wouldn't give in, just so he wouldn't look shaken. Just so he wouldn't admit that girl could still completely dismantle him with two well-placed sentences.
Ana disappeared at the end of the corridor. Shoulders stiff, back straight, as convinced as he had always been — and perhaps that was why they hated each other so much.
Daime closed his eyes for a moment, trying to see the emptiness behind his eyelids, but all he could see was that damn ornamental dive, those legs cutting through the air like blades, that way she used to laugh at him when she still loved him.
He muttered to himself:
— Go fuck yourself right in the middle of your asshole, Ana...
But his voice faltered. And it didn't sound like a curse. It sounded like a plea.
He let the wheelchair fall back onto all four wheels and took a deep breath, trying to push away the dull pain that always returned when he remembered the Flagball field in Arcadia, when he smelled the grass, when he heard the cheers of victory that had never been for him.
And that's when he saw him.
Theo.
Down in the courtyard, distant, alone, with that calm, almost neutral expression, as if no one — not even Mother Ceres — could pull the wrong reaction out of him.
Theo had his back to the tower, something about him suggesting defiance without fanfare, a silent contempt that Daime could never imitate.
And that ate away at him inside.
Daime couldn't hate Theo, no matter how much he wanted to. Because Theo had never pitied him. Never gave him that pitying look the others did. And he never threw back the insults Daime hurled at him, not even when they were too cruel.
In a way, that made Theo the only friend he could tolerate. The only one he respected, even though he would never admit it.
Daime adjusted himself in the chair, cleared his throat, and as he descended to the courtyard, repeated to himself:
— He just doesn't know it yet, but one day I'll break you too, Theo. Because everyone here breaks. Even you.
And he kept going, with that crooked smile that fooled no one, already planning what the next poisonous joke would be.
Because it hurt less when he turned everything into a joke.
Central Courtyard — Mother Ceres School
Ceres was already sitting on the bench, arms crossed over her knees, watching Theo with narrowed eyes.
He still had his back to the tower.
Still motionless.
Still in that heavy silence that seemed to mock the very ground he stood on.
Ana entered from the opposite side of the courtyard, her hair still damp from diving practice. Her heart had been pounding in her chest since her encounter with Daime in the corridor — that damn boy could still sour her mood like no one else. She spotted Ceres and Theo in the distance, but didn't have the strength to go over to them. She preferred to stop in the shadow of a pillar, just to regain her composure.
Then the metallic sound of wheels interrupted the tension in the air.
— Well, well... — Daime said, with that crooked smile, appearing in the distance. — Would you look at that, the whole royalty is gathered together?
Ceres looked at him with a mixture of impatience and alarm. She didn't like the way Daime watched Theo — there was something too much in that provocation, a tone that wasn't just mockery.
Ana shrank farther into the shadow, but she couldn't take her eyes off him. Not him. Never him.
Theo, however, didn't turn around. He didn't even raise his head. As if Daime didn't exist.
That made Daime's smile tremble for an instant. But he recovered his mask and rolled a few more meters forward, without stopping:
— Aren't you going to say good morning, Your Highness? Or are you too busy ignoring the tower again?
Nothing.
Theo remained motionless, and that indifference was the worst affront Daime could receive.
He stopped the chair, turned slightly on the wheels, and snapped his fingers, now staring at Ceres with that sadistic gleam:
— He thinks you don't break, you know? — he said, almost in a whisper, as if revealing a dirty secret. — He thinks he's made of different stuff. But I'll tell you something, darling: everyone here breaks. Even him.
Ceres' eyes flashed, and she opened her mouth to answer, but Daime was already turning the chair away, singing one of the school's old marches, out of tune and mocking.
Ana followed him with her eyes, bit her lip, and on an impulse began walking after him down the corridor, swallowing her pride just to hear him laugh one more time.
Ceres stayed behind, her eyes returning to Theo, now even more intrigued by his calculated indifference. As if inside that head, a silent war was taking place, a war no one but himself could win.
And there, in the distance, the tower imposed itself over all of them, watching, relentless, devouring each of them little by little, in its own way.
South Corridor — Mother Ceres School
Ana quickened her pace so she wouldn't lose him.
The squeak of the wheels against the smooth floor echoed through the empty corridor.
He seemed to know she was following him.
Of course he knew.
When she finally spoke, her voice was firmer than she felt inside:
— Don't you ever get tired of being a son of a bitch?
Daime stopped the chair right in the middle of the corridor, but didn't turn around. He only raised his chin, the smile still on his face:
— And don't you ever get tired of following me?
Ana felt her blood boil. She clenched her fists and moved a little closer, stopping beside him. He glanced at her from the corner of his eye, eyebrows raised, challenging, and that filthy mouth she hated as much as she needed it.
— You have no right to talk about him like that — she fired back, referring to Theo. — He never did anything to you.
Daime laughed, a dry, poisonous laugh.
— He never did anything to me... — he repeated, ironically. — That's what you don't understand, Ana. He doesn't have to do anything to me. That's what kills me.
She fell silent for a moment. He rested his elbows on his knees, leaned forward, hands clasped, as if confessing a crime:
— He never looked at me with pity. Never. Not even once. And yet... he looks at me as if I'm nothing.
— You're nothing — she shot back without thinking. — You are... you are...
But she couldn't finish. Because, despite the words, deep down she still saw the Daime who made her laugh until she couldn't breathe, who challenged her at everything, who kissed her as if there were no tomorrow.
He noticed her hesitation and smiled bitterly.
— Yeah. I was too good for you, right? And now I'm just a piece of meat sitting in a chair.
— Don't say that... — Ana whispered, taking a step forward. — You know you're not just that.
He raised his eyes to her, finally without smiling, finally without that sadistic mask, but with an even greater hatred — for her, for himself, for what they still felt for each other.
— Then stop following me — he spat softly. — Stop looking at me as if I'm still that guy. He died on the field in Arcadia. He died and he's not coming back.
She opened her mouth to answer, but nothing came out.
Daime pushed himself forward in the chair and began moving away, murmuring over his shoulder:
— And, fuck, Ana... don't forget what I told you last time. Go fuck yourself right in the middle of your asshole.
Ana remained standing in the corridor, her hands trembling at her sides. A stubborn tear threatened to fall, but she swallowed it, as she swallowed everything in that city.
Because she was still his.
Even if he no longer wanted to belong to anyone.
And far down the corridor, in the metallic echo of the wheels, she heard his laughter again.
Pool Gymnasium — Two Years Ago
It was late, almost night. The gymnasium was empty, with only the echo of water dripping into the empty ornamental diving tank.
Ana and Daime were sitting on the cold floor, leaning against the wall that smelled of chlorine and dust.
He had his legs stretched out, hands behind his head, laughing to himself.
— You won't be able to do it, Ana. You'll get stuck right in the middle. I bet you will — he teased, with that presumptuous tone only he had.
Ana looked down at him, still standing, arms crossed, defiant.
— How much do you want to bet?
He swore and laughed.
— I'll bet a kiss. A kiss, if you can tell the whole joke without turning red as a tomato.
Ana took a deep breath, fixed her hair, and tried:
— Okay... fine... so... there were three guys... a Silencer, a soldier... and...
And then she froze. In the middle of the second sentence, she stumbled over the obscene words, because the joke was really too dirty for her.
She started laughing nervously.
Daime burst out laughing, so loudly that his laughter echoed through the gymnasium. He turned toward her, slapping his thigh hard:
— I told you! I fucking told you! You can't handle anything!
Ana, red with embarrassment, pushed him, pretending to be indignant.
— Idiot.
He laughed even harder, falling backward, doubled over with laughter, almost slipping on the smooth floor. For a moment, his laughter was so free that she laughed along with him.
In that moment, it was just Ana and Daime, wrong, daring, certain of their own mistake and certain that they liked provoking each other.
When his laughter died down, he became serious for a moment, looking at the gymnasium ceiling.
His voice came out quieter:
— You know... I've never lied to anyone here. Never had to.
Ana sat beside him, her knees touching his. She answered firmly, without looking at him:
— Only to yourself. You lie to yourself all the time.
He looked away, and for a moment his smile disappeared.
It was only for a moment, but she saw the crack in his pride.
— That was a good one — he admitted, with a crooked half-smile. — It hurt.
She rested her head on his shoulder and said almost in a whisper:
— One day you'll have to stop hiding behind those jokes and that stupid pride. You have a heart, Daime.
He let out a muffled laugh.
— A heart? Yeah, I do. I just don't know if I want to waste it on you.
She closed her eyes and stayed quiet, because, even when he hurt her, he only knew how to be honest.
And even so, she still loved exactly that about him: the way he was always himself.
Even if it hurt more than any wrong dive she had ever made.
Later, when he left the gymnasium, walking alone with that careless stride and his hands shoved into his jacket pockets, Ana stayed behind, alone, listening to his footsteps echo through the gymnasium.
She didn't know it would be the last time she would hear that sound.
The last time he would leave there whole.
After the accident, he was never the same again.
And neither were they.
School Corridor — Present
The corridor was almost empty at that hour, with only the distant sound of classes and a few hurried footsteps far away. Ana leaned against the wall, arms crossed, watching him pass.
Daime pushed his own wheelchair with the same nonchalance he had in his eyes. As always, a sarcastic half-smile at the corner of his mouth, as if nothing affected him.
But she knew that wasn't really so.
When he passed her, pretending to ignore her, Ana called softly:
— Daime.
He stopped. Turned the chair slightly to face her.
— If you're going to apologize for yesterday, don't bother. I know you can't resist me — he said, his voice full of mockery.
Ana raised her chin, firm. She approached slowly until she was standing in front of him, resting her hands on the back of the chair, forcing him to look up.
— I can't resist you? — she repeated dryly. — You're the one who can't even face yourself.
His smile faltered for a moment.
— You lie to yourself, Daime — Ana continued, without looking away. — Just like you've always lied. Back in the gymnasium, that night... remember? You said you'd never lied to anyone. And I said you lied to yourself.
He fell silent, staring at her with hard eyes. But she noticed: it hurt. Again.
Ana took a deep breath and whispered just for him:
— Your wheels aren't you, Daime. This pose isn't you either. You have a heart. I know you do. You just don't have the courage to use it with me.
He took a deep breath, looked away for a moment, as if fighting to keep the mask from falling.
Then he laughed, low and bitter:
— You always knew how to get to me, didn't you? Always.
Ana slowly released the back of the chair, but didn't break eye contact.
— Because I still remember who you were. And you... still are. You just need to stop hiding behind all this shit.
Daime simply looked at her for a few seconds, serious, his fingers tightening around the wheel rims. Finally, he sighed and leaned back, forcing a smile that didn't reach his eyes.
— Go fuck yourself right in the middle of your asshole, Ana.
She smiled faintly, satisfied, because for a moment she felt that the real Daime was still there, behind all the rust.
He turned the chair and left down the corridor, the tires squeaking against the polished floor.
And, even hurt, even tired, Ana remained standing there, staring at his back, certain that it was still worth trying.
When the sound of his wheels disappeared at the end of the corridor, Ana stayed there, leaning against the wall, feeling her legs tremble slightly.
She closed her eyes and let the memory come.
It was a hot afternoon, two years before the accident. The school field was boiling with Flagball practice, and Daime, of course, was at the center of everything. He always played as if it were a spectacle just for him — fast, impetuous, that magnetic arrogance everyone hated and, at the same time, admired.
On that play, he went too far. He shoved a teammate from behind, stole the flag, scored the point, and raised his arms as if he were a crowned king.
The crowd exploded, but the referee blew the whistle for a foul. The boy who had been shoved was left on the ground, his mouth bleeding.
Ana, who was standing on the sideline, shouted:
— Great champion, huh, Daime?! You win by shouting because you don't know how to win fair!
He turned toward her, eyes flashing, fists clenched. At the time, she thought he would throw an insult back.
But no.
Instead, Daime looked at the boy lying on the ground... then at his own hand, dirty with dust... and, as if coming to his senses, lowered his head.
He walked over to the referee, raised both hands, and said loudly:
— My foul. Take the point away.
The entire field fell silent. Even the teachers stopped.
He crouched down, helped his teammate up, and murmured something Ana couldn't hear.
And then he looked at her, across the field. Only at her.
In that moment, in the heat of the field and the dust, she understood.
Behind all the pose, behind all the sharp tongue... Daime had a heart. A heart that, even without knowing how, already beat for her.
She opened her eyes back in the corridor. A heavy sigh escaped her lips.
“Why can't you be that guy anymore, Daime?” she thought. “Or are you still that guy, and just hiding from me?”
Ana pushed away from the wall and walked slowly, silently repeating the words she had said to him minutes earlier:
“You have a heart. You just don't want to use it with me.”
And, no matter how much it hurt, she promised herself: she still wasn't going to give up proving she was right.
Daime — Alone, on the Empty Field
He went straight to the field after leaving Ana in the corridor. He didn't know why. He only knew that he needed to... feel that new synthetic field.
The same ground where everything began.
And where everything ended.
He stopped in the center of the field, the cold lights buzzing overhead. The paint of the lines already worn away by time, by shoes, by the crushed dreams of others before him.
He ran a hand over his face and sat on the ground, letting his back fall against the cold synthetic grass.
He closed his eyes.
And there they were again: the voices. The shouts. The crowd calling his name.
The taste of victory in his mouth. Pride throbbing in his chest.
And the dry sound of bone breaking when everything was gone.
He laughed alone. A bitter laugh, without any joy.
She was still right, the damn girl.
“You have a heart. You just don't want to use it with me.”
Maybe because every time he used it, someone tore another piece of it away.
Daime took a deep breath and opened his eyes to the sky.
There, on that dirty field, he remembered the look on her face that day at Flagball, when he apologized in front of everyone.
She looked at him as if she were seeing a man, not a boy.
That... hurt more than any blow.
Because that was love too, he knew. And he didn't know what to do with that. Never had.
He stayed there a while longer, hearing only the silence echo around him. Until he leaned forward, rested his elbows on his knees, and whispered only to himself:
— Two years. Two years and Mother Ceres will swallow us all, one by one. Until then, my dear, get used to that pain inside you. It only gets worse.
And he let his head fall forward, with a sad smile on his face, as if he had already accepted the verdict.