Under the uncomfortably bright sunlight, Clover absent-mindedly toed the grass, crushing it beneath her sneakers. She usually avoided parks, but she found this one particularly amusing: there were lots of clovers around. Thousands of little green leaves, swaying ever so slightly in the gentle brushes of wind, staring up at her and reminding her of who she was.

Clover. Luck.

The reason why she’d made it this far. The luck to have a healthy body. The luck to have a loving family. The luck that she could rest on a park bench instead of wet cardboard in the slums, and the luck that she grew up with everything she needed and wanted, and was now the top student at her school.

She wondered if it could run out.

Clover peeled herself off her seat, feeling that she’d waddled in her thoughts for long enough. No use sulking over it; when the day comes that she is no longer lucky, she’d have to prepare herself.

Heading off in the direction of the back parking lot, she wandered across campus as she fought off a strange, hopeless fog gathering in her mind.

She rounded the corner, and her breath caught in her throat.

Three boys around her age were locked in a two-on-one fight. One wore the same school insignia as the one on her shirt, although the embroidery showed that he was from the art department. She had no clue about the others. They threw ugly punches and brutal kicks, strikes flying left and right, knocking into each other with a sick viciousness that drew grunts and cries with every blow.

Alarmed and frightened, Clover opened her mouth to shout–

Suddenly, her schoolmate was knocked square in the jaw.

Already green and blue with bruises, the boy flopped like a wet towel upon impact. His curtain of bangs brushed across his eyes, almost sleepily if it weren’t for the sudden thud as he collapsed onto the ground.

The other two brawlers looked at each other. Then up.

Immediately, Clover’s arms tightened as she felt the sharp pangs of their resentful stares, leftover anger clearly pulsing in their bulging forehead veins.

Oh no, she was not supposed to be involved.

In one smooth motion, Clover shoved her hand into her tote bag. Three fingers wrapped around her pepper spray, and the other two nimbly started a video recording on her phone.

“What are you lookin’ at?” The taller of the two conscious snarled at her, the yellow of his teeth painfully obvious from a few yards away.

Clover steadied her voice before she spoke. “Nothing. I’m just passing by.” Her heart pounded unsteadily at the thought of a possible fight, her hand silently popping off the spray bottle’s cap.

“Then mind your business.” His spit almost landed on her exposed arm.

With a colorful string of curses under his breath, the blond-haired teen strode away, his sweat-soaked back enough of a warning to keep her mouth shut.

The other guy glared at her for a solid ten seconds. Then turned away.

As soon as he spun on his heels, Clover hurriedly fished out her phone and zoomed in on the blood caking their fists.

She pointed the camera at the unconscious boy on the ground as well before stopping the recording with a tap.

Better safe than sorry. Always.

Crisis averted and evidence collected, she gingerly uploaded a copy of the video to her cloud drive. She threw one more cautious glance over her shoulder, then carefully knelt down to the conscious boy, taking the pepper spray out of her bag and setting it on the concrete.

Airway, breathing, circulation.

Clover’s experienced fingers checked efficiently across his upper body, although her lips were pressed tight with anxiety. The genuine blood dappling his nose confused her— it looked more real than the textbook illustrations for first aid certification, and she shuddered, more out of fascination than of fear. Med school suddenly seemed less like a distant dream.

Sparkling green eyes flickered open, and Clover snatched her hands away from his face.

“Ugh…” He groaned, unintelligible noises emerging from his throat as he struggled to sit up. With Clover’s wary hand supporting his back, he managed to pull himself together.

His eyes fell upon the pepper spray.

“Wow. Uh… that would’ve been spicy,” he said, rather cheerfully.

Clover gawked. Maybe the other guys beat him up for a reason.

“Y’know, those two weren’t too tough. It was… it was kinda fun fighting them, actually. I could probably win if I took them one by one.” The corners of his lips curled into a smile despite the red still staining its edges. “Thanks.”

Clover wasn’t impressed in the least. “You’re lucky it wasn’t a severe head trauma.”

“All’s well that ends well, hehe. I’m Damien, by the way,” he said, extending a hand. She noted that it was covered in various bandages.

“My name is Clover.” She didn’t bother hiding her disdain. “Actions have consequences, and you might not be this lucky next time. That’s all I have to say.”

“Then… then join me next time! Doesn’t that sound fun? We could be such a good duo, the soldier and the medic. I think-”

Did he hit his head too hard?

“No.”

Medic. Clover sighed at the thought of her mountainous load of biology homework, the bare minimum of her future as a doctor.

“By the way.” She looked Damien in the eye. “Don’t hit with the tip of your elbow. Use your forearm or tricep side of your arm, close to the elbow.”

The boy visibly perked up, a smug look already covering his face (although his bloody nose made him look half mad). “Is that advice I hear? I thought you were gonna start lecturing me for sure!”

Well, she was lecturing him. Just not in the conventional way.

“That’s just a logical observation. Don’t think too hard about it.”

To her annoyance, Damien beamed. “But you chose to help. That means you care about me!”

“I didn’t actually help, you woke up on your own.” She knew from endless studies that brief unconsciousness was common for light injuries. “I’m not playing hero.”

Before Damien could argue against her again, Clover whipped out her phone and held it levelly to his face. “Also, I have video footage of my involvement in the conflict. If you want to escalate this, I can and I will.”

Obediently, he shut his mouth.

A long sigh rose out of the deepest core of her chest, full of exhaustion and maybe something more. Clover gave Damien another disappointed look, then silently left him in the parking lot, as did the others.

No reason to get caught up in pointless conflicts. Especially ones that just happen by luck.

~~~~~

Clover carried on as usual, completing her biology labs, eating dinner, and heading to sleep as she’d always done— a familiar routine that kept her company throughout her high school days.

Her heartbeats sounded hollow and empty as she crawled under the covers. Just how many more of these routine days would she have to live through, before she finally graduates? How many more days before she becomes an actual doctor? How many more days… until she dies?

Life was dictated by chance and luck. And everybody would die some day, anyways. The meaninglessness of life flooded back to her, weighing her fatigued body deeper into the mattress.

As she drifted into an ocean of weariness, a random thought flicked into her mind.

“You chose to help.”

Halfway to unconsciousness, Clover toyed with the idea of having a purpose.

~~~~~

Morning came as it did every day.

Nonchalantly flipping her pen in her right hand, Clover blankly sat at her seat, her eyes and mind focused on nothing. The math teacher was passing back the pop quizzes that they just took, and…

Ah. Nine out of ten.

She’d added some decimals wrong. The rest of her work for the Lagrange error bound on the Taylor series looked pristine, as her solutions always were.

Clover opened her binder and filed the graded quiz away.

The void plagued her again, making her feel rather worried. That weird feeling usually didn’t last and always vanished in the mornings, yet today it hung like a lingering storm cloud.

She couldn’t help but fret. What was she going to do with good grades? She envisioned going to an Ivy League college, graduating with a medical degree, and spending the rest of her days in a cube office, in a lab coat, at a care center.

Then, she would die like everyone else.

“Look, Clover! Someone beat you today!”

An unpleasant voice shook Clover out of her stupor. One of her classmates was talking with his back turned, an undisguised smirk playing across his lips.

What was his name again?

Clover lazily cocked her head to the side, the cold glare forming on her face like a second nature. “That’s great. Thanks.”

“Oh, it’s more than that,” he told her, facing her and with his scorn fully in view. He slicked back his brown hair then shoved his hands into his jeans. “You were beaten by two points.”

She sighed. Her score was one point away from perfection, so how-

A familiar voice piped up.

“Hi Clover!” Damien’s grin, still bruised from yesterday, appeared right in her face. “Don’t take it personally, hehe. I got an extra credit point for using a method the teacher didn’t expect! I’m pretty awesome, right?”

The classroom buzzed with a few poorly-disguised laughs. A few pretty heads turned their way, several shy eyes peeking at Damien through long lashes, entranced by the figure behind his torn denim jacket.

Rigid sourness crept into Clover’s mouth. She was fine with the taunting most of the time, but today felt mysteriously irritating.

The teacher called for the start of the lesson, and the class dispersed back into their assigned seats. Math unfolded as usual, albeit a little harder to bear.

Quickly, the lecture became white noise in the back of her years. Clover’s brain tirelessly replayed the scenes in her head, dismay and humiliation gradually paralyzing her limbs.

What was going on? Why was she so affected all of a sudden?

Her pencil slid mindlessly over her paper, copying the problems like a robot instead of solving them as she normally does.

Before long, class was over.

Half-dazed, Clover scooped up her books and left the room, the ringing bell not fully registering in her head.

She nearly slammed into Damien’s goofy grin in the hallway.

With a smile, he held up something to her.

It was a four-leaf clover.

A reminder of her name and her existential crisis. A symbol of luck, of successes and failures brought by random chance. It felt like a strangely bitter jab that her smooth-sailing life was not under her control.

“Look what I found! I hope you like it. Do you have time after school today? We could hang out and maybe talk more about the pop quiz if you want!”

And something in her snapped.

“What do you want?” Clover’s voice came out harsh, as cold as the scalpel she used to dissect animals in anatomy class. “Do you really find that much joy in watching me mess up?”

Damien paused and withdrew the clover, looking puzzled. “You failed? Didn’t you only get one point taken off?”

“Yeah? And what’s the big deal?” Her voice rose against her will.

“I don’t though… I just wanted to hang out.” The boy ruffled his bangs hesitantly. “Hey, what’s up with you? I never said anything about what you got on that quiz. Don’t be so paranoid.”

Clover fought an urge to bash his face and bruise it more than it was now. “Paranoid? Do you not see how the whole class was after me?”

“Heh, I dunno. I skip class most of the time.”

“Then how did you get extra credit? That teacher never gives out bonus points. Is it… luck?” She spat out the ironic word, feeling like a boiling pot of water threatening to overflow.

Damien took a step back, offended. “Listen, if you don’t want to talk about the quiz, we won’t. I’ll stop. You don’t have to be so emotionally constipated about it.”

Emotionally… what?

“Why do you assume how I feel?” Clover bursted as quietly as she could, teetering on the precarious balance of her pent-up anger and her fear of attracting more attention. “Why do you keep bothering me? Maybe I shouldn’t have helped a coward running from his responsibilities!”

The remnants of a smile faded entirely from Damien’s expression. A moment of silence passed between them despite the noisy students passing through the hallway. He spun on his heel and left, not a single more word uttered.

A snicker sounded from her right.

Whipping around, Clover’s eyes locked with the brown-haired classmate that had started the ridicule. Disgusting warmth rose up in her cheeks as she realized that he’d just overheard their entire conversation, but her classmate simply turned around and vanished after Damien.

Leaving Clover seething in the hallway.

The rest of the day passed in a slow, boiling blur. Restless emotion nipped at her patience every second, and Clover almost snapped at every person that dared to look her way.

The noises of pencils scratching, books falling, shoes squeaking… every little detail seemed much louder than usual. Clover wanted peace. She wanted silence. She wanted to stop existing in this tiresome life, just for a moment.

“Clover Danica, please come to the front office at your earliest convenience.”

The ruffled static of the intercom nearly sent her nerves into a fit.

The last period of the day wasn’t quite over yet, but Clover loudly packed her bags and stormed out of the classroom, completely ignoring the displeased tone from her teacher.

Stay calm.

Clover’s mind painstakingly slowed to a sluggish swim as she walked off her displeasure. As she approached the front office, sulking with exhaustion, she chided herself for losing her composure throughout the day.

Oh well. Pointless as life was, she saw no reason to make her day harder than it already was.

She pulled open the office door and was greeted with several cubicles of quietly working staff members, the taps of their keyboard gentle and neat. The ambient music in the room and the coolness of the air conditioning softened her senses, and she felt her irritation ebb away, just by a little.

The school principal and two strangers approached her.

“Good afternoon, sir.” Clover nodded her greetings.

“Ah, Clover. It’s good to see you,” the principal smiled, already familiar with Clover from their past meetings about her “excellent grades.” “I wanted to ask you today about a certain score you got this morning.”

Her guts clenched. If he was about to question why she lost a single point, she would lose it on the spot.

“I have to say, I’m impressed. No one else in class got higher than a five out of ten, so congratulations to you and your brilliant classmate! You see, these are the parents of Damien Vespertine, the other student that scored so well. They have a few questions for you about their son, since your score was the closest to his.”

Wow. Because her score was closest? Clover’s instincts tugged warningly at her mind. Shouldn’t they be asking his closest friends? Were they aware that she didn’t know him at all?

“Nice to meet you,” said the gentleman, who looked at her with unnervingly recognizable green eyes. “You probably know my son quite well. He’s a troublemaker, but also quite smart.”

What in the world was he going on about?

He cleared his throat, then continued. “The thing is, he ran away from home about two months ago, and we haven’t been able to get in touch with him since. We saw that a quiz score appeared in the gradebook today, and realized he must be at school.”

The gears in Clover’s head stopped turning.

“That’s right.” the woman, who appeared to be Damien’s mother, nodded in agreement. With her hair pulled tightly into a bun and the rest of her wrapped in refined clothing, she seemed more a stern manager than a mother. “We immediately came here to ask about the score, and your math teacher informed me that Damien had found… a rather innovative method.”

Struggling to understand, Clover nodded blankly and smiled.

“However, he also told us that your method was more efficient… although you made some minor errors.” At the mention of her mistake, the woman’s eyebrows pinched together, although her lips were still curved. “You guys must’ve discussed your answers, right? Have you seen him around?”

Were these his actual parents?

For a few moments, she could only stare at the couple standing before her.

If she understood correctly, their son had run away from them. For two months. Here they were, elegantly inquiring about his gradebook instead of his well being.

A different sort of burning was rising up in Clover’s throat. She grudgingly identified the emotion as pure rage, maybe with a hint of regret.

At the world, for being corrupted and obsessive over meaningless things, for bringing her into existence only to feel nothingness in her heart.

At herself as well, for making false and harmful assumptions about someone. The first someone that wasn’t marking a target on her back, that made her pause and think before bed about what it meant to be alive.

She closed her eyes briefly, imagining a quiet room where she could kick the two adults in front of her square in their chest, and send them crashing through a wall.

Silent wrath, blistering on her skin, slowly built off of the day’s distress.

And she spoke. Softly, peacefully, pretentiously.

“I’m sorry, I’ve never seen a Damien on campus before. I left math class in a hurry today to study for a test in a different period.”

Deafening silence.

Disappointment bloomed like poisoned flowers on his parents’ faces. They suddenly looked terrifying, every crease and line on their faces drawn with disgust, their eyes swallowed by their own ego and oppression.

It scared her.

The principal made an effort to praise her for her studious habits, but his words fell on deaf ears, unheard by either Clover or Damien’s parents.

When she left the front office, her heart was pounding with icy alarm, strangely unsettling and very different from the sort she’d felt in front of the brawlers in the empty parking lot.

It wasn’t fear of a hostile danger, but a threat that smiled sweetly and silently.

~~~~~

The next day at school, Clover betrayed herself.

“You’ve really fallen this low, huh? Repeat after me. I’m stupid, arrogant, and worthless.” Sadistic joy gleamed in his eyes. “What are you?”

“I’m stupid, arrogant, and worthless,” Clover echoed, repressing her emotions and too conscious of the judging eyes trained on her.

“Wow, that was good. Really good. Say, Clover, do you even know my name?”

She didn’t answer.

“Ah! Of course you don’t. You’re the best student ever! Why would you ever need to look down at the rest of us?! My name is Samuel. S-A-M-U-E-L.”

He spelled out every letter in black sharpie across her cheek.

“But I’m still not telling you where he is!”

The brown-haired boy’s voice was flowing with overwhelming pleasure and sheer glee that the smartest in the class was finally subject to such humiliation. The ruthless schadenfreude of her fellow classmate danced and swelled, enveloping Clover in unbearable pain.

But she had to stay still, for atonement and her little plot.

“Didn’t know it was that easy to be your boyfriend. That Damien played you like a fiddle, didn’t he?”

For the billionth time, Clover reminded herself that it was the only way. Administration didn’t know where he was, and most of the students were unfamiliar with the art department, anyway.

Samuel was the only one that followed Damien when he disappeared.

“Good luck! I’m not saying a word!”

Grinding her teeth against the embarrassment, Clover silently wished she was never born.

~~~~~

But all was within her expectations.

Currently dressed in a strange style of ripped jeans and black jacket, Clover was progressing smoothly with her mission. Her hair was tucked under a blank baseball cap, and a mask was plastered across her face, to hide her face and rid herself of the sharpie memories. She had no clue how to disguise, but at least the outfit differed from her usual fashion sense.

Staring into the school’s bathroom mirror after a period worth of scrubbing, she had sworn Samuel as her eternal enemy…

But that’s a story for another day.

Cloaked in the cover of night, Clover moved as nimbly as a shadow, flipping over walls and ducking under branches— the town had always been familiar to her, but now it took on a different aura.

In her zipped pockets rested her phone, pepper spray, and a small knife. The latter was for self-defense, and only if necessary.

The idiot Samuel had played perfectly into her plan.

Clover knew full well that he had chased after Damien, probably hoping to wring some more juicy details about how he beat her in the quiz. And Damien, being the loose-lipped extrovert he was, must’ve said something along the lines of a threat, and possibly, or maybe hopefully, a word or two about where he was going.

Yes, it was a gamble, but she did understand the malice in human nature. While Samuel would never give a single detail about what he knows, he would find Damien for her, since he would never pass on a chance to exploit her new weakness.

Precisely as Clover predicted, Samuel was gone from class as soon as the final bell rang, and she’d instantly picked up on his tail. If none of this happened, she would’ve gone to her bench again, wallowing in jealousy that all the students left campus with places to be and people to see. But now, an unfamiliar emotion that Clover guessed to be “determination” was burning like fire in her blood vessels. For the first time in as long as she could remember, she ran with a sense of urgency.

Samuel’s darkened figure paused by the outline of an abandoned building, an old shop tucked in one of the quieter corners in the neighborhood. The faded neon signs were long void of color, and the windows displayed years worth of dust and graffiti. Dark curtains draped over them, and the decent state of their quality told Clover that they were much more recent than their surroundings.

She wasn’t getting herself into a disaster, right?

As if echoing her thoughts, Samuel edged towards the door, not as bold as before. She leaned herself nonchalantly against a nearby streetlamp and peeked at him from underneath her cap.

Bam!

They both froze dead.

An unmistakable gunshot.

Samuel stumbled a few steps back, then whipped around and fled. His mad dash was absolutely freaked, sprinting away desperately without a single look back over his shoulder.

Clover spurred into movement as well. Before she even knew it, she was dashing towards him, straight for the abandoned shop. She vaguely noticed her sense of logic flying out the window.

She crossed directly into the path of Samuel.

“You-!” His voice started.

In a split second, their eyes met in the dark. Samuel’s frightened blue irises widened even further as he recognized her furious brown ones, and as soon as they made contact, their flying velocities in opposite directions ripped them apart.

When did she get so impulsive?

Without a warning, Clover reached the ancient door of the shop. With a curse to her own recklessness and a prayer for luck to stay with her one more time, she aimed a flying kick at it and knocked the door down like a clash of lightning.

Inside was a rather familiar sight.

The same two brawlers from the previous fight were standing wide-eyed, their bodies quaking with what seemed to be a mixture of fear and madness. Another, unknown teenager joined them, his body even more muscular and monstrous than his friends. The glow of several dropped flashlights barely illuminated their faces, but their eyes were wild, pointing at a figure on the ground.

Damien.

He was alive.

Paralyzed in horror, but alive.

Smoke rose lazily from a gaping bullet hole on the dusty floor, not even a yard away from his head.

When the door crashed down, all four snapped to look at her.

And Clover acted on pure instinct.

In less than a heartbeat, Clover crossed the room in three sinfully powerful steps. Years of martial arts training gathered in her arm as she struck the gun holder as hard as she could, wrist locked straight, first two knuckles making explosive contact with his nose.

As soon as she heard a satisfying crack, Clover reared her legs.

The most prized aspect of her taekwondo career. A snapping, killing blow to the front, directly at his groin. The strike connected with fearsome accuracy, the ball of her foot ramming into target.

The big guy went down in under two seconds.

When she whirled around, there was an uncontrolled fury blazing and rioting in her eyes. A predatory calm stilled her nerves, as before all of her tournaments, and Clover erupted from the ground.

One tight motion, and she pivoted with her leg shooting at light speed.

But her opponent came back to his senses. Before the strike made impact, he dodged out of the way with less than a hair to spare.

Clover’s next kick already flashed before his eyes.

The second blow knocked into his side like a battering ram. Clamping down on her advantage, Clover took a breath and shot forward-

Only to feel a cracking blow to her back.

She felt her spine scream with pain, lighting up her entire torso in agony.

Weak. Too weak. Adrenaline made her inaccurate.

A sudden shout pulled her out of her stupor. She vaguely heard Damien shouting as he threw a punch over her head.

How dare he…

She aimed at the guy’s solar plexus, battering with her fist at an upward angle. Then punch as hard as she could.

Blissful triumph blossomed in her chest as she felt the impact of the hit through her knuckles and saw the wind get knocked out of him.

“Clover!”

She turned to find herself staring down the cold barrel of a gun.

Time stopped.

In that split second, Clover felt as if she died. She’d always pondered the limits of death before, wondering how this enchanting ending could make every life event so meaningless, so futile. As she stared at her own finale in the eyes, she tasted something completely different from her expectations.

Passion.

It was so colorful. Hundreds of brilliant hues crowded her every sense, turning the dimly-lit grayness of the abandoned shop into a breathtaking masterpiece of energy. She felt alive. She felt awake, after a long, eternal nap. For a moment, she heard the panting breaths, smelled the tang of blood, and felt every tinge of reality stabbing like invisible needles into her arms.

Then something barreled into her from the right.

The gun fired at nothingness.

Ironically, the shooter was cowering from his own shot. It was clear that the mere thought of truly taking a life shook him to his core.

For Clover, who just came to terms with death, he was a coward.

Darkness leashing her mind, a shining grin cracked her face as she rolled up her sleeves and balled her fists. Taekwondo was an art. She’d always treated it as one. But tonight, Clover wanted it to be a dance.

Several shuffles from throughout the room told her that the other two boys were stirring, with fear or with fury, she cared not. Her element of surprise was long lost, but a thirst for battle, a desperate longing to feel alive burned through every limb.

“You’re seriously insane.”

Damien’s breathless comment snapped her trance.

Oh.

Clover stood motionlessly for a second, then resumed smiling without looking back. “You too.”

As if making an invisible pact, the two of them attacked with animalistic intensity, never exchanging a single word but flawlessly blending their offense.

At first, they tried to target Clover, but when her hunger to inflict pain outweighed her medical instinct, they started to scramble.

Where Clover’s kicks connected, Damien’s fist slammed immediately after. There was a delicious satisfaction in the sudden ruthlessness and evil in their violent waltz.

Then, they fled, completely abandoning their flashlights and the weapon that they were too cowardly to use. Trampling over the door that Clover had knocked down, they disappeared into the night with their tails between their legs.

Clover threw her head back and laughed, free and flowing with joy and triumph as their defeated opponents bolted. “That was amaz-”

She turned to see Damien holding the gun. Pointing it at the fleeing silhouettes.

Soft savagery lined his uncharacteristically harsh features. His playful green eyes were ablaze with hatred, danger, and something darker from within.

“What the-”

Suddenly furious, Clover flung a spinning hook kick at his hands.

The overly elaborate kick sent the gun flying into a dark corner of the dim room. It was a rather inefficient blow, but it contained a hopeful effort she wanted him to see.

“Are you seriously gonna lose yourself like that?” She yelled at him.

Damien’s shocked face twisted for a moment before snapping into anger, their previous camaraderie forgotten, and replacing it with the exact hurt he’d shown when they argued for the first time after class.

But Clover knew what to do this time.

“I’m sorry.” Her voice was firm.

He froze.

“I’m sorry.” She repeated.

Her poor brain was already at a loss for words.

“Listen, uh… I met your parents, just yesterday and... I’m really sorry you had to go through that. And more importantly, I’m sorry that I insulted you, without understanding you or anything.”

Silence. As taut as that loaded gun.

“However, your dad was right that you’re a troublemaker.” Rather awkward but still determined, Clover went on against the embarrassment. “Damien, like I said. Actions have consequences. I won’t allow you to pick up that gun.”

Then, she added, “It’s… it’s only just a logical observation. P-punch them in the jaw or whatever.”

She braced herself for wrath.

But none came.

Damien’s expression softened by tenfold as silver tears began to form at the edges of his eyes— a sight she’d never expected to see from such a brash, careless personality that usually enjoyed skipping class and getting into fights. “Thank… you.”

Now Clover really didn’t know how to act. Panic biting surprisingly into her limbs, she fumbled with her pockets, only to find she had no tissues.

How else was she supposed to deal with tears?

“Uhh…” From a stupidity that came from nowhere, Clover reached forward with the sleeves of her jacket and wiped the droplets from his face.

She darted backwards, absolutely horrified.

What. Was she thinking.

“Hold on! Y-you have dust on your face.” She stammered. “But wh-what I’m trying to say is… I’m sorry for misjudging you before. I, uh… I’m not gonna yell at you again, but I’m not gonna accept your violence either. I’ll just… understand you or something.”

And Damien laughed.

A hearty, mirthful sound that reverberated around the four walls of the room and warmed the cold winter evening.

“Thanks! Especially for shutting me up. For not glorifying my actions.” Damien spread his hands rather innocently. “I do like beating people up, really. It makes me not bored.”

At Clover’s raised eyebrows, he hesitated and cleared his throat. “But it is wrong, and y-you’re right for calling me out on it. You were right when you called me a coward, too. I-I guess you know now. I’m literally running from responsibilities. My parents.”

The look on his face was unusually serious.

Clover cringed at the memory. “Honestly, I’d do the same.”

Another grin appeared on his face at the validation.

“Beating people up or getting beaten up makes me feel pain. But I think of pain as confirmation that I exist. It tells me that I’m not my parents’ little doll. It hurts but at least I chose it.”

“I mean, I get it.” Clover’s mind flicked back to the few peculiar moments during the fight. The exhilaration faded now, but she could still taste the sense of awakeness on her tongue.

“Hehe, you’re a great person, I knew it.”

Clover quickly looked down. “Now that’s a lie. You can’t be telling me I did a good thing after I kicked the life out of someone today.”

“No, no. I mean great as in meaningful. You’re a passionate person, if that makes more sense.”

She shook her head.

Sighing deeping, Damien took a step closer and knelt before her. “Sorry to argue with you again, but you really are.”

“Yeah, but does it matter? We’re all gonna die one day,” she blurted without thinking. “Does that not bother you? That whatever you will be or do is meaningless anyway?”

Damien pondered thoughtfully for a moment, a hand stroking his bruised chin. “Not really, actually.”

Clover waited for an answer like a child waiting for candy.

“What? Does it feel like everything is the same, no matter what you do?” Seeing Clover’s urgent nod, he continued with a chuckle. “Well, I can’t say anything ever will. You might feel hopeless your entire life.”

…Well, that’s nice.

“But if it’s the same to you either way, then you can choose, right? Choose something for no reason, just because you want to. It’ll make life a little more beautiful to you that way… if that makes sense.”

The dust in the air suddenly felt a lot more suffocating than it really was. Clover remained silent with her mouth hanging open.

The notion of choice.

Twisting and deforming, the thought wrapped like a ribbon around her foggy mind. Everything she’d done in life was in the name of logic, for it was her way of maintaining order and stability: evaluate the options, and choose whichever path that yielded the bigger success and minimized the risks.

Maybe Clover had forgotten how to choose.

So now, what did she want?

Ravenous hunger squeezed her stomach, filling her guts with the emotion called “determination” and a tinge of something newer and brighter: desire.

It reminded her that she did not yet have dinner.

“Yes.” Her single word clunked out of her mouth.

Now it was Damien’s turn to laugh awkwardly. “Anyways! Uh… where’d you learn to fight like that?”

“First degree black belt,” she whispered, dazed and averting her gaze.

“Holy cow.” Then, a pause. “That was fun.”

This time, Clover couldn’t help the smile.

Huh. He wasn’t asking the details about her rankings now.

Finally meeting Damien’s green eyes again, she said quietly, “I agree.”

~~~~~

The wild adventure drew to a close without many interesting developments after that. Police were alerted to the gunshots that shattered the dreams of many residents that night, and the gun was turned in and analyzed for fingerprints.

All six of them were in custody the next day.

Yes, six, including Clover, Damien, and their three opponents… and Samuel.

Clover’s phone screen shined mischievously at the station with a recording of the night’s events, her careful planning affirming Samuel’s involvement with his single exclamation when he’d recognized her.

The story went something like this: Damien, out of boredom, picked a fight with two students from another school and lost. (Clover had shot a dirty look at Damien at this). However, they felt uncomfortable with Clover’s existence as a witness, so in their infinite teenage wisdom, they plotted to kill off the troublemaker. Apparently, it was meant to end the problem and scare off the witness.

Clearly, the plan went south.

With Clover’s meticulous recording and Samuel’s grudging witness, the case was solved without much trouble.

Samuel’s humiliation was the most hilarious. Damien’s argumentative nature got him and Clover off the hook with a stern warning, but Samuel had no one in his favor. He was labeled a nosy aggressor, and rose to fame at school the next day, albeit not for academic excellence as he’d always wanted instead.

Dealing with the police was tough. Clover found the entire process madly boring, but not quite meaningless like before. She’d fallen asleep with Damien snoring by her side about four times, yet she was beaming by the end of the day.

The sun was setting again when they were finally released to go home, and a familiar hand tugged on her sleeve outside the police station.

Damien and his green eyes. In his hand, was a two-leaf clover.

“What- Where did you even find that?” Astounded, Clover accepted the pathetic-looking leaf and turned it over in her hands.

“I have my ways, hehe. Would you like this one better?”