Mao: The Quite One

Mao was everywhere—and yet, more and more, he walked alone.

The title of "Number One" no longer shocked anyone. He had now won another regional award—The National Young Achiever's Medal for academic excellence, presented in a hall filled with dignitaries and brilliant minds.

Pictures of him flooded school newsletters. His face was known across campuses he hadn't even visited.

But the higher he rose, the quieter his world became.

The group of five that once studied together had slowly drifted apart. Not out of resentment—but distance. Interests changed. Priorities shifted. Even the boy he had once made a pact with to rise to the top rarely spoke anymore.

And Arisa…

Arisa changed too.

At first, Mao didn't notice. She was still affectionate, still supportive in public. But something about her eyes began to dull when she looked at him—like she was staring at a statue instead of someone living.

He started walking home alone more often.

Started eating lunch alone sometimes, too.

Then, the whispers came.

First from classmates. Then from teachers who hesitated. Finally, from someone he trusted:

> "I saw her. Arisa. She was with a guy from another school."

Mao didn't want to believe it.

But late one afternoon, as he took a shortcut through a side street on the way to the train, he saw her himself.

Arisa.

Smiling.

Leaning into someone else.

Laughing like she hadn't with him in weeks.

She didn't see Mao. Or maybe she did—and looked away on purpose.

He didn't stop walking.

He didn't confront her.

He didn't say a word.

---

That night, Mao sat in his room, his award still on the desk.

He looked at it for a long time.

It was beautiful.

Precise.

Flawless.

Just like his record.

Just like his silence.