"Who did this?! Confess immediately!" the teacher shouts, his voice booming like a clap of thunder in the dead silence. He rushes to help pull the bucket off the rector's head, whose face slowly flushes with rage.
I freeze, but Katrin, noticing I am about to stand up, suddenly grabs my hand.
"Don't. Don't stand up. Let them think it's anyone but you…" she whispers anxiously, her eyes full of desperation.
But I can't stop anymore. My heart pounds so hard it feels like it is about to burst out of my chest. The tension inside me is almost physical — pressing against my ribs, turning my fear into determination.
"It was me…" I say aloud, and the words hang in the air like heavy stones.
The room falls silent. Even those who were laughing just moments before freeze. Someone gives a nervous chuckle, but it dies at once, as if everyone realizes this is something more than just a prank. I feel Katrin's gaze pierce into me — not with anger, but with concern. Something in her tightens, and I feel it.
"Sit down, don't be an idiot…" she whispers, squeezing my hand, her fingers cold with fear. But I am already standing, unable to go back.
"It was me," I repeat — this time clearly, loudly, with a resolve that fills me with a strange kind of strength.
The teacher spins toward me, his face twisting with fury, as if he has just realized that everything until now is about to become his personal disaster.
"Sit down, Max. We all know it was Katrin, not you," he snaps, his voice sharp and angry, with a fire in his eyes he can't hide.
It seems he still holds a grudge against her. When he glances at Katrin again, something dark flickers in his gaze — not just irritation, but a deep, settled resentment that has long since become part of how he sees her. He tries not to show it, but he can't stand her.
His look, though aimed at me, seems to say: You, Max, end up in this situation. But she's the reason you fall. And I see it. He tries to mask his malice, but every detail — his tone, his rigid voice — betrays that he simply can't forgive Katrin.
To him, she is always guilty. Even though I make the mistake this time, she still stands at the center of his accusations. It is unfair. It makes me angry. And perhaps because of that anger, my feelings toward him shift — from the respect I once have to irritation and resentment.
"Everyone will confirm — it was me. Because it's the truth," I say, my words sounding like a verdict, and I see the teacher fall silent.
"Both of you. To my office!" the rector roars to the whole room. Feeling the eyes on us, we follow him — just like that day when we first met. Back then, she was the guilty one. Today, it is me.
This is a moment. A moment when I might forever change the dynamic between Katrin and me. But I don't regret it. How long can one keep being the "good boy"? Today, I am myself — no matter the consequences.
We sit down. Waiting.
The man is wet and irritable, like a bedraggled cat soaked through with cold, and his nervous tension fills the room, ready to explode at any moment. He dries himself, lips pressed into a thin line, and I see his fingers trembling with anger. While he tries to pull himself together, Katrin hisses at me through clenched teeth, her voice low and sharp:
"Having fun now?!"
I can't hold back a smirk. Everything feels absurd, and despite it all, a strange lightness settles over me.
"I just follow in your footsteps."
Her eyes flash, she looks away with disdain — but there is a faint note of worry in her voice.
"Idiot…"
The rector returns, heavy footsteps thudding against the floor, his presence pressing down on the air as he sits across from us. His gaze carries a mix of exhaustion and disappointment.
"Who did it? Be honest."
"I did," I answer again. Even though I don't want to keep going, I know this moment is changing everything.
"Max… why? You're a normal guy. A model student. I'd understand if Katrin had done it… but you?" His words are like knives sliding across my skin, quickening my heartbeat and blanking my thoughts. He doesn't understand — can't.
"I just feel like it."
"Everyone notices you two are involved. Is she influencing you like this?" He nods toward Katrin as if she were a piece of furniture, not a person. I feel her shoulders tense, feel how close she is to snapping — but she stays silent.
"What? No! She actually tries to talk me out of it. I am in that kind of mood, and I want to do it."
He won't let up. His gaze sharpens, his voice presses harder.
"You've been doing worse in class, your grades drop. And the hospital — care to explain how you end up there? Or does she drag you into a bad crowd?"
"Stop it," I say firmly, though inside my emotions rage, my chest tight as if gripped by an invisible hand. "Don't talk about my girlfriend like that. She's not to blame for either of those things. I'm sorry for the prank. I won't do it again."
Silence. It stretches like an eternity. My head spins, words refuse to come. He looks at me with incomprehension, then finally sighs, as if letting go of everything that has been building.
"I see there's no point in talking. Fine, go back to class."
We leave the office. Fury pulses in my chest, trapped like air squeezed in an empty bottle. Its heat presses inside me, wave after wave. I walk the corridor without noticing what is around me. I don't remember how I get there — only that suddenly I am beside her, grabbing Rebel Girl's hand and pulling her toward the restroom, not wanting to think about anything else.
In the dim hallway with flickering lights, I press her against the door and kiss her. At first she pushes me away, resisting, but then her body softens and she gives in. Our lips meet with such force it feels like we are trying to comfort each other through that kiss, erasing everything that has come before. Inside me, the storm begins to quiet, though the feelings still cling.
"You're an idiot. I tell you you shouldn't have… I have immunity, but you don't." Her words are quiet, barely audible, yet carry that same fragile insistence she always has.
Rebel Girl's fingers absentmindedly comb through my hair, as if trying to calm me — and herself. Her touch, light and rhythmic, tries to erase the tension left in me.
"I barely hold myself back from punching him. For you." My voice trembles; the anger still lingers, the sense of injustice refuses to let go.
She looks at me silently, her gaze softening but still careful. Katrin exhales heavily, as if the weight has been on her shoulders from the start. When she speaks, it is as though she tries to tell me something important.
"You have to understand — you need to behave, to study, so you can have a good future. I want that for you." Her voice is quiet but laced with pain, as if she already knows what lies ahead might be different from what we both want. She speaks of the future — but in her eyes, I see fear. Fear that it could be destroyed.
I look into her eyes, searching for what they are trying to tell me — for the meaning hidden behind that gaze. There is something there I can't grasp right now, yet I know it matters. She stands before me like an open book, and still, I can't read her to the end.
"And you?" I ask, the anxiety that has been with me from the start growing heavier, pressing hard against my heart.
"I'll be with you. Where else would I go?" Her words sound like a promise, but in them I catch the faintest hesitation — as if she isn't entirely sure how it will all turn out. Still, in that moment, I believe her. I believe her completely.
That day marks the beginning of the end. If I hadn't pulled that stupid stunt… maybe things would turn out differently. Maybe we would spend those years together — with time for everything: for us, for our plans, for life. But there is no going back. We lose the moment, and with every step, every choice, we lead each other further and further away from what we could have been.