The Academy's Terminally Ill Side Character

On the way back from my meeting with Professor Lena, I passed by a group of students gathered near the side corridor—probably from a different class, judging by their faces.

They were sitting in a loose circle, chatting and laughing, their energy loud and careless.

At first, I didn't pay them much attention.

Just a bunch of extras messing around with their lunchboxes.

But then I heard it.

"Even convenience store food's better than this."

"Yeah, cafeteria's got better meals than this stuff."

I paused.

Not because of the insult—they were free to complain about whatever mystery dish they were dissecting—but because the container one of them was holding looked... familiar.

A black lacquered bento box with a gold trim and a subtle cherry blossom pattern on the lid.

My eyes narrowed.

That was—

That looked like Keira's.

I wouldn't normally remember something like that, but earlier that morning, Keira had gone out of her way to show it off in the common room, bragging about how she'd woken up early to make it herself. She even mentioned wrapping the chopsticks by hand.

I hadn't thought much of it at the time—Keira being Keira. But now...

I took a few steps closer.

The bento box was already half-empty, the food mostly gone.

One of the girls was poking the remnants with her fork, laughing like she'd just finished performing stand-up.

Then I heard another voice, one that made my stomach twist a little.

"Hey, isn't she crying?"

"Honestly, so what if she is?" another girl replied with a scoff. "She followed Leo around for months, and when that didn't work, she jumped to Ryen. Pathetic."

"And now she's crying over a missing lunch?" said a third, rolling her eyes. "God, grow up."

"If it mattered that much, she could just go buy food from the cafeteria. It's not that deep."

The laughter that followed was light, careless.

But it left a bitter taste in my mouth.

So it was her lunchbox.

I let out a quiet sigh and ran a hand through my hair.

If I'd come by just a few minutes earlier, maybe I could've stopped this. Said something. Stepped in.

But the food was already eaten. The damage was done. All that was left were smug looks and a few crumpled napkins.

And somewhere back in our classroom... Keira was crying.

I clenched my jaw.

It wasn't about the food.

It never was.

It was about someone trying—really trying—to take a step forward, only to get dragged two steps back by people who didn't want to let the past die.

I didn't say anything to the girls.

Not yet.

I stood there a moment longer, watching them laugh with mouths full of someone else's effort.

Someone else's lunch.

Keira's.

Just like that, it was gone.

By "gone," I mean reduced to half-hearted bites and a few petty jokes. A meal that took time and care turned into fuel for mockery.

"This tastes weird," one of the girls said, frowning at the last bite.

"Let's stop eating this. It's trash anyway."

"Yeah. No idea how anyone could eat this."

Without a second thought, they dumped the remaining bits into the flower bed nearby—bits of rice and star-shaped carrots scattered among the leaves. The empty box clattered next to it, landing with a dull thud against the soil.

I stared at the scene in silence.

It wasn't just the food. It was how they did it. Like it meant nothing.

These girls… they had no clue how much effort went into making that lunch. Or if they did, they didn't care.

And the flower bed? Someone tended to that. Someone woke up early each morning to water it, prune it, keep it healthy. What would happen when the food started to rot, when the bugs came?

It was thoughtless. Cruel in the kind of lazy, casual way that left a bad taste in your mouth.

I stood there, stuck between decisions. Should I tell Keira? Pretend I never saw it? Let her keep her pride intact?

But that thought didn't last long.

Because just then, I saw her.

Keira.

She was running toward us from the far end of the path, her legs stiff, her expression pale. She must've passed by them. Must've seen something.

Her eyes were wide, but unfocused—like she wasn't even sure where she was going, just that she had to move. Her breath came in short bursts, and her hands were clenched so tight I could see her knuckles from here.

She was shaking.

"Ah…"

The word slipped from my mouth before I could stop it.

There was no dignity in the way she ran—no effort to look composed. She just looked frightened. Hurt. Vulnerable in a way I'd never seen before.

And still… she was moving forward.

She stumbled to a stop a few feet from the flower bed, her gaze landing directly on the crumpled container tossed haphazardly onto the soil.

Her breath hitched.

For a moment, she didn't speak. Didn't cry.

She just stood there, frozen—her eyes locked on what was left of her hard work, her pride, her morning.

Then slowly, her shoulders began to shake.

One hand rose to cover her mouth, but it couldn't hide the choked sob that escaped. Not completely.

The girls noticed her then.

One of them flinched.

The other two turned, awkward and surprised, like they hadn't expected to be caught even though they'd made no effort to hide.

"Oh… uh… hey," one of them said with a half-smile, as if this could somehow be smoothed over. "Didn't know you were around."

Keira didn't answer.

She just stared.

Her eyes flicked to the container, then back to the girls.

Her lip trembled, but she held it in.

I stepped forward without thinking.

"You dropped something," I said, my voice sharper than I expected.

The girls blinked at me, confused.

I pointed to the container in the dirt.

"Shouldn't litter."

There was a beat of silence—just long enough for the tension to hum.

"Oh," one of them said slowly. "Right. Sorry. We were just—uh…"

She didn't finish the sentence. There wasn't a good end to it.

I bent down and picked up the box. It was light—mostly empty now—but the faint scent of soy sauce and sesame oil still lingered in it. The kind of scent that clings to a memory.

I turned to Keira and gently held it out.

She didn't take it right away.

Her eyes moved to mine, searching for something—maybe answers, maybe permission to fall apart.

Then, quietly, she reached for the box, her fingers brushing against mine.

"I—" she started, her voice barely above a whisper. "I made that this morning…"

I nodded. "I know."

"I thought it would be nice. I just wanted to—" Her voice cracked, and she pressed the lid shut, clutching it to her chest like it was the only thing keeping her grounded.

"They said I… I switched sides. That I gave up on Leo and… latched onto Ryen."

Her eyes were glassy now. Angry. Embarrassed. Tired.

"I just wanted to do something nice for once."

The girls were watching, shifting awkwardly. One of them looked down at her feet. The other two whispered something to each other and began to slink away, like the scene wasn't theirs to be part of anymore.

I didn't stop them.

They weren't the priority right now.

Keira was.

"You did," I said gently. "You did something nice."

She looked up at me, confused.

"They just didn't deserve it."

Her throat worked to swallow down the emotion. She took a shaky breath, then another.

"I don't want to cry in front of them," she whispered.

"Then don't."

I reached out and touched her shoulder—light, but steady.

"Let's go."

She nodded.

Not because she was okay.

But because she wasn't.

And she didn't want to be here anymore.

So we walked away—together—her hand still clutching the box like a small piece of herself she was trying to hold onto.

And this time, she didn't look back.