The cafeteria was loud as always — trays clattering, chairs screeching, the smell of fried food clinging stubbornly to the air.
Fayne sat tucked into a corner booth with Mira and Leah, her legs crossed neatly under the table, hands wrapped around a mug of herbal tea she'd smuggled from home.
Mira was halfway through animatedly retelling something about her math teacher's meltdown, Leah nodding along and chiming in with quieter remarks. Fayne's gaze, however, wandered.
Across the room, Raxian and his crew had claimed their usual table like a small kingdom. Jake's voice carried over the din, arms waving wildly as he reenacted some in-game play. Tess sat with arms folded, unimpressed but listening. Marcus had that lazy grin he wore when he was quietly plotting something.
They were already talking about the tournament. Everyone was.
The school tournaments were a big deal — the time of year the whole student body seemed to care about League of Legends. Posters were already up in the halls, sleek neon designs flashing the academy's crest alongside championship cups.
Fayne never quite understood the hype.
League wasn't just a game anymore — it was culture. Fashion lines, celebrity teams, global festivals. Even people who never touched the game still listened to K/DA or debated which Heartsteel member was the hottest.
Mira, for example.
"Kayn's number one," Mira declared, scrolling her phone. "Obviously."
Leah hummed thoughtfully. "Ezreal's cuter."
Fayne blinked. "You made a ranking list?"
"Of course I did," Mira said proudly. "It's called taste."
Fayne hid a small smile behind her mug. Her gaze drifted across the cafeteria again — but one seat, as usual, was empty.
Sable's.
She was in their class, but Fayne couldn't recall ever seeing her during lunch. No matter the day, no matter the crowd, that girl always vanished the second the bell rang. Never with friends, never lingering. Just… gone.
Fayne had wondered before where she went. A quiet curiosity — nothing more — but it lingered.
That was when her phone buzzed.
Milo: how's signups looking this year
She arched a brow. They didn't text often, not unless he needed something.Milo had been like that since they were kids — blunt, withdrawn, living inside glowing screens. A high school dropout turned full-time League coach, he spent his days tutoring players online, tracking the competitive scene like a stock market.
Fayne:they opened a few days ago
Fayne: half the cafeteria's already talking about it
Milo: figuredMilo: any actual talent in your school yet or still the same 3 people
Fayne: probably still the same 3Fayne: Raxian's signing up again. most likely
Milo: hm. good hands. he's solid
Fayne hesitated, thumb hovering. Then typed:
Fayne: there's someone new, though. sable. transfer student. people say she's good.
A pause. The typing bubble flickered on and off.
Milo: sable…Milo: …huh. feels like i've heard that name before.
Fayne: maybe online?
Milo: maybe. can't place it.
Fayne watched the screen a second longer, then set the phone down beside her tea.
Across the table, Mira was still mid-rant about her heartsteel hotness ranking list, Leah nodding thoughtfully. But Fayne's gaze had drifted again — toward the door, where Sable should've been.
Fayne: btw.
Fayne: agnes is performing in valmere this weekend.
Fayne: ballet.
Fayne: thought i'd ask if you wanted to tag along
There was a pause.
Across from her, Mira leaned over, sharp-eyed. "Are you texting Milo?"
Fayne blinked. "…Yes."
"Wait," Leah said, frowning. "You mean Agnes's show? You're inviting Milo to a ballet?"
Mira snorted. "Do you honestly think that guy cares about ballet? He probably hasn't left his room in a month."
"Two months," Leah corrected.
Before Fayne could answer, her phone buzzed again.
Milo: sure
Milo: what time
Fayne blinked.
Leah blinked.
"…He said yes?" Fayne murmured.
"You're joking," Mira gasped, snatching at her phone before Leah elbowed her back. "He actually said yes?"
Leah looked equally stunned. "Huh. I didn't think he… did things."
"He doesn't," Mira said, eyes wide with intrigue. "This is historic. We're going to meet the elusive Milo."
Fayne sipped her tea, gaze drifting back toward Raxian's table. She didn't reply, but her lips curved in the faintest, quietest smile.
---
The train hummed softly beneath their feet, the early morning light slipping across the seats as Fayne sat quietly, hands folded in her lap, while Mira scrolled through her phone and Leah gazed out the window.
Mira wore a flowy cream blouse tucked into a high-waisted skirt, her hair braided with delicate gold clips — effortlessly stylish, like always. Leah had gone for soft tones, a pale blue cardigan over a simple sundress, understated but neat. Fayne kept it the simplest: a muted gray sweater layered over a marine blue skirt, hair brushed smooth and pinned back with her usual clip. Comfortable. Unfussy.
Mira looked up from her screen, grin already forming. "Still can't believe we're actually meeting the Milo."
Leah laughed softly. "You talk like he's a celebrity."
"He is," Mira said, wagging her phone. "I've only ever heard his voice through Fayne's calls — mysterious prodigy coach, seen by none, spotted by few."
Fayne blinked, lips curving faintly. "You're being dramatic."
"Accurate," Mira corrected. "I had a whole list of questions ready, but I might just freeze. What do you even say to someone who can analyze a match in thirty seconds?"
Leah tilted her head. "Maybe start with 'hi.'"
Mira groaned. "Too obvious."
Fayne hid a small laugh behind her hand, then glanced toward the passing view — the countryside giving way to Valmere's skyline in the distance. The city always looked alive, even in morning haze: banners strung over streets, glass towers catching the sun, bursts of color from old brick districts below.
Leah followed her gaze. "Been a while since we saw Agnes, huh?"
"Too long," Mira said, suddenly quieter. "She's been so busy with practice — I'm surprised she even had time to invite us."
"She sounded excited," Fayne murmured. "Said it's a big show this time — local company, new choreography."
Leah smiled faintly. "Makes sense. Valmere's always been her world."
Mira leaned back, grin returning. "Well, we're crashing her stage either way. Ballet or not, I'm giving her the biggest hug."
"And Milo," Leah teased.
Mira pointed. "After the ballerina. Priorities."
Fayne shook her head, amused, as the train curved toward the city — their reflections sliding over glass, three girls headed toward a weekend that already felt a little unreal.
---
By the time they arrived in Valmere, the city was awake and glowing — soft morning bustle, café doors swinging open, the faint smell of roasted beans and wet cobblestone air.
Waiting at the platform were Agnes and Paul.
Paul leaned casually on the railing, dressed almost exactly like the photo Fayne had seen before: flat cap tilted slightly back, dark hoodie layered over a plain shirt — that laid-back older-brother vibe she remembered. His dark eyes brightened when he spotted them, and he waved with an easy grin.
Agnes, standing beside him, looked like she'd stepped out of a magazine without meaning to. Even in tailored slacks, a pale cream blouse, and soft ballet flats, she carried herself like a spotlight was following her. Her long brown hair was swept over one shoulder, emerald eyes bright and warm.
"Wow," Mira breathed, stepping off the train. "Agnes, you're seriously glowing. Where did you even get that outfit?"
Agnes blinked, then smiled politely. "Oh — it's nothing special. Just a little store here in Valmere."
"That settles it," Mira declared. "We have to go shopping here someday."
Agnes laughed softly, light and perfect. Even Leah smiled a little at that.
Paul straightened as they reached them. "Hey. Glad you made it. The station café has good croissants if you want to grab something before heading to the theatre."
"Maybe after," Leah said. "We're too excited to sit still."
Agnes tilted her head, scanning behind them. "So… where's this Milo I've heard about?"
As if summoned, he appeared a minute later — hood up, hands in pockets, hair still tousled from rushing. Milo wasn't known for punctuality — or showing up to anything in person — and it showed. He slowed when he saw the group, hesitated half a second like he was calculating an escape route, then drifted to Fayne's side.
Fayne smiled, her voice gentle but familiar. "Hey. You made it."
"Wouldn't ditch you," he murmured back — quiet, but certain.
The others exchanged quick glances; that tone wasn't new between them. Childhood friends, clearly — the kind that didn't need many words.
Mira recovered first, grinning. "So this is the famous League coach, huh? Glad to finally meet you."
Milo glanced at her, expression unreadable behind his glasses, and gave the tiniest nod. "Right. Nice to meet you."
Paul offered him a friendly smile, tone warm. "Glad you could come. Fayne doesn't invite just anyone."
Milo just hummed — not dismissive, just shy — and stayed close to Fayne as they started walking. She didn't seem to mind.
Behind them, Mira nudged Leah with a conspiratorial whisper. "Tell me they're not adorable."
Leah smiled faintly. "They've been like that since forever."
Mira's gaze slid forward again — this time to Paul, who was listening intently as Agnes described rehearsal schedules. "And what about those two?" she murmured. "I swear, he looks at her like she hung the moon."
Leah shot her a warning look. "Mira…"
"What? I'm just observing."
Up ahead, Paul chuckled at something Agnes said, his gaze lingering half a heartbeat too long before he looked away — and luckily, no one seemed to notice.
---
The performance hall stood like a glass lantern at the heart of Valmere's arts district, soft golden light spilling across polished steps. Inside, the theatre smelled faintly of varnish and fresh linen curtains, the murmur of conversations settling as people took their seats.
Paul led the way confidently, flashing a slip of paper to an usher. "Reserved," he said — and sure enough, they were guided down to a perfect row just off-center, close enough to see the stage clearly without craning their necks.
"Wow," Leah whispered, lowering into her seat. "These are amazing."
"Perks of knowing people," Paul said, trying to sound casual — though his gaze lingered, unguarded, on the stage wings.
Mira caught it, arching an eyebrow. "Uh-huh. Knowing people. Sure."
Paul looked away quickly, pretending to study the program instead. "Just saying."
The lights dimmed.
Soft music swelled as the curtains drew back, revealing the first group of dancers in pale, fluttering costumes. They moved with smooth precision, the rhythm gentle at first, gradually building. One performer after another took the stage in pairs, then trios — each routine polished and elegant.
And then, Agnes stepped into the light.
For a second, the group went still.
She moved like water — graceful, fluid, as if the music was flowing through her instead of around her. Each spin seemed to hang weightless in the air, each landing so effortless it almost didn't seem real. The room collectively held its breath as she danced across the stage, emerald eyes bright, expression serene yet burning with focus.
Even Mira and Leah, who had been whispering little comments to each other throughout the earlier acts, fell completely silent.
"…Okay," Mira breathed eventually, "she's actually… incredible."
"Like out of a film," Leah murmured.
Paul's fingers tightened imperceptibly around the armrest — the smallest tell. His eyes never left the stage, not even for a blink.Mira noticed. Her smirk softened into something knowing, a quiet, teasing glance before she turned back to the performance.
Even Fayne — who rarely looked visibly impressed by anything — tilted her head ever so slightly, pale eyes tracking Agnes with quiet focus.
Beside her, Milo simply muttered, "…Huh," almost under his breath. It was hard to tell if he meant it as praise, but he didn't look away until the applause hit.
---
After the performance, they spilled back out into the night air, the city lights glinting off damp cobblestones. Agnes walked in the middle of the group, a simple black coat thrown over her dress, cheeks still flushed from the effort.
"You were amazing," Mira gushed immediately. "Like, actually — my jaw dropped."
Agnes laughed softly, shaking her head. "You're exaggerating."
"She's not," Paul said, voice low but sure. He smiled down at her, eyes bright with quiet admiration. "You were brilliant."
Agnes glanced away, a faint color rising in her cheeks. "Thank you. That means a lot."
Mira nudged Paul's arm, grin sharp. "See? Wasn't she great?"
He blinked, caught mid-thought. "Yeah," he said simply. "She really was."
Mira raised an eyebrow, but let it slide, her smile turning just a touch knowing.
Agnes clasped her hands together. "Well. Since you came all this way… dessert's on me. There's a patisserie down the street that stays open late."
Milo frowned lightly. "You don't have to do that."
"Come on," Leah chimed in, tone gentle. "We're also celebrating meeting you for the first time."
Milo blinked. "Was our first meeting really that special?"
"Of course it is," Agnes said without missing a beat, her smile warm and certain. "Every new face is."
For a moment, Milo just looked at her — then huffed out a quiet laugh, the corner of his mouth curving. "Alright. Dessert it is."
Mira clapped her hands. "See? Ballet and pastries. Perfect night."
The group fell into step together, their laughter threading softly through the hum of Valmere's streets as they followed the glow of the patisserie lights.
---
The patisserie was small but glowing, filled with the smell of chocolate and caramel. They squeezed around a corner table, elbows brushing, voices low but lively as plates arrived — perfect little éclairs, fruit tarts glistening under sugar glaze, croissants dusted like snow.
Mira was halfway through a lemon tart when she eyed Milo's plate. "Be honest — when's the last time you ate something that wasn't instant noodles?"
Milo didn't even blink. "Tuesday."
Leah frowned lightly. "Tuesday this week or last week?"
He paused. "…Define week."
The table burst into laughter. Even Fayne's lips curved slightly as she set down her fork.
"We're doing a real meal next time," Paul said, pointing at him with his fork. "Sit-down restaurant. Actual nutrition."
Milo made a quiet noise of protest, but the group ignored him.
"Seriously," Mira said. "We're adopting you for one night. No screens. No coaching. Just food."
He glanced sidelong at Fayne, who only sipped her tea and offered a faint shrug — permission, or maybe amusement. "…Fine," he said at last.
"Great," Paul said, satisfied. "It's a deal."
Mira leaned in on her elbows, eyes curious. "So, how long have you been coaching, anyway?"
"Couple years," Milo said, tone matter-of-fact. "Started small. Now it's… full-time, I guess."
"Full-time?" Leah blinked. "That's really impressive."
He shrugged like it wasn't. "Pays rent."
Mira tilted her head, still smiling. "And you and Fayne — childhood friends, right?"
Milo hesitated, glancing briefly at Fayne. She gave a small nod, unbothered. "Since forever," she said simply. "Our moms were part of the same book club, brought us along."
"Huh," Mira said softly. "That's kinda sweet."
Another lull followed — the kind that came when everyone wanted to ask more but didn't know where to start. Milo shifted, looking faintly cornered under all the attention, and Leah picked up on it immediately.
"Hey," she said, gently steering the energy back up. "How about a group photo? To remember tonight."
Milo blinked. "Really?"
"Why not?" Leah smiled. "You don't show up for just any occasion, do you? That makes this special. And Agnes's performance was amazing — seems worth a memory."
Agnes blushed, ducking her head. "You're too kind."
Paul caught the color in her cheeks and smiled quietly into his coffee.
By the time they stepped back out into the cool Valmere air, the streets were quiet and golden under the lamps. They stopped at the corner beneath one — warm light spilling over them — as Mira held up her phone.
"Alright, everyone squish in," she said.
They crowded close, shoulders bumping, smiles soft and real.The shutter clicked.
And for once, Milo didn't look like he wanted to be anywhere else.
---
The station had quieted now, the hum of the day fading into the hush of late evening.A cool breeze drifted down the platform as the train doors slid shut behind Fayne, Mira, and Leah, who waved from the windows as the carriage began to roll.
"Bye!" Mira called out, pressing a hand to the glass.
"Text me when you get home!" Agnes answered, smiling as their faces slipped past and out of sight.
And then, just like that, the noise was gone. Only the three of them remained — Agnes, Paul, and Milo — standing beneath the dim, gold glow of the platform lights.
Paul shoved his hands into his hoodie pockets, glancing sideways at Milo. "So… where do you live, anyway?"
Milo pushed his glasses up slightly. "North Valmere. Near the art museum."
Paul blinked. "Wait, seriously? That's like two stops from me."
"Oh." Milo hesitated, then gave a small shrug. "Convenient."
"Yeah," Paul said, grinning. "Guess I'm walking you partway, then."
Milo opened his mouth, maybe to protest — then exhaled, deciding it wasn't worth the effort. "…Fine."
Agnes laughed softly, slipping her hands into her coat pockets as she fell into step between them."Good," she said. "Then let's all walk together."
---
The streets were calm at this hour, washed in the amber glow of old streetlamps. Their footsteps echoed softly against the cobblestones as the city stretched quiet around them.
Milo was the one to speak first.
"So," he began, hands still tucked in his pockets, "since you already know half my life story now… what about you two?"
Agnes blinked, a little surprised. "Us?"
"Yeah," he said. "How long have you known each other?"
Paul chuckled. "Since we were kids. Same neighborhood, same school. We've been stuck with each other ever since."
Agnes smiled. "We both go to Valmere Grand Academy — it's mostly performing arts. Ballet, theatre, music."
"Figures," Milo said. "You fit the part."
Agnes tilted her head, amused. "What about you? Did you go to school here too?"
He hesitated, gaze drifting toward the quiet shopfronts. "Supposed to," he admitted. "Valmere Imperial Academy."
Paul gave a low whistle. "That's the private one, right? Super academic?"
"Yeah." Milo's tone stayed even. "Prestigious, structured, all that. My parents thought I'd end up there. I did, technically. Just… didn't stay."
Agnes exchanged a glance with Paul. "Fayne did say you were sharp."
He gave a small shrug. "Maybe. I just didn't care about the rest of it. Classes, rankings, whatever. All I really wanted was to play League."
"League?" Paul asked, curious. "What's so special about that game, anyway?"
Milo was quiet for a moment, eyes lowered, the faint light catching in his glasses."…It felt like an escape," he said finally. "Like a place I actually understood."
Neither of them spoke after that — not out of discomfort, but something closer to respect. The only sound was the steady rhythm of their footsteps, three shadows stretching across the lamplit street.
---
(In his mind, the memory surfaced — soft and vivid, like a dream.)
He'd been six, maybe seven. The muffled hum of his mother's book club downstairs, the faint clink of porcelain teacups, and his heart pounding in his chest as he booted up the battered laptop he wasn't supposed to have.
A gift from Alexandra. His sister. She'd saved for months, built it herself out of secondhand parts. "For your world," she'd told him. Back then, he didn't know what she meant — only that it was the first thing that ever felt like his.
He'd been hiding upstairs, curtains drawn, the glow of the screen painting his face in flickering light.
That was when the knock came. Soft. Hesitant.
He froze.
No one was supposed to know he was up here.
The door creaked open anyway. A small head peeked through — pale hair clipped neatly, quiet eyes curious but not nosy. Fayne.
He didn't say come in. She just… did.
She crossed the room on careful feet and stopped beside him, gaze fixed on the screen.
"What's that called?" she asked, voice barely above a whisper.
"League," Milo muttered, half-expecting her to wander off.
But she didn't.
She climbed onto the chair's edge, knees tucked in, and watched. Quiet. Still. For hours.
At one point, she murmured, almost to herself, "Raxian plays that too."
That caught him off guard.
"...Who's Raxian?" he asked.
She nodded once, still staring ahead. "A friend."
The name meant nothing then. Just another piece of her strange, thoughtful world. But the calm certainty in her tone — the way she said it like it was obvious he should know — had stayed.
She hadn't tried to play. Hadn't tried to fill the silence. She just… stayed.
And maybe that was why he let her.
Because back then, League had been all he had — his escape from a house that felt like a checklist he'd never finish. His mother's voice always somewhere behind him, sharp with expectations he couldn't meet.
"Focus, Milo. You're gifted — don't waste it."
But all he wanted was to play.
And when Alexandra caught him once — not to scold, but to smile — she just said, "Then play."
She'd been his first ally. His bridge to something freer. The one who later called in every favor she could to help him move out. Fifteen years old, signing papers under her friend's father's name, his hands shaking — but free.
If not for her, he might've still been there. Drowning in expectations.
Instead, he had League. And Fayne. And silence that wasn't lonely anymore.
---
They slowed as they reached a small street corner. The night air had cooled even further, soft and still.
"Well," Paul said, offering a faint smile, "guess this is where we part ways."
"Yeah." Milo adjusted his bag strap on his shoulder.
"It was really nice meeting you," Paul said. "And hey—about what I said earlier. I meant it. We should all hang out again sometime."
Milo blinked at him. For someone who didn't usually bother with social plans… the idea didn't sound as unbearable as he'd expected."…Maybe," he admitted.
Paul grinned. "I'll take it. See you around, Milo."
"See you," Milo said quietly.
He turned down his street as Paul and Agnes continued onward, their voices fading into the quiet night. The lamplight stretched long across the pavement, brushing the edges of his shadow. For the first time in a long while, the walk home didn't feel heavy — just quiet. Still.And not entirely lonely.