Lesson Based Manga

HISTORIETA: La Reforma Liberal en México Portada Título: La Reforma Liberal: la lucha por el futuro de México Imagen sugerida: Mapa de México con personajes como Benito Juárez, liberales y conservadores. Texto: “A mediados del siglo XIX México enfrentaba crisis económicas, inestabilidad política y conflictos entre grupos que tenían diferentes ideas sobre cómo debía gobernarse el país.” 1. INTRODUCCIÓN Y REVOLUCIÓN DE AYUTLA Viñeta 1 Narrador: “A mediados del siglo XIX México no había logrado consolidarse como nación. Existían problemas económicos, políticos y sociales.” Imagen: Ciudadanos preocupados por la situación del país. Viñeta 2 Narrador: “El gobierno de Antonio López de Santa Anna era autoritario y centralista, lo que provocó gran descontento en la población.” Imagen: Santa Anna gobernando con soldados. Viñeta 3 Narrador: “En 1854 varios liberales proclamaron el Plan de Ayutla, cuyo objetivo era destituir a Santa Anna y convocar a un nuevo congreso.” Personajes: Juan Álvarez Ignacio Comonfort Florencio Villarreal Diálogo: “¡Debemos terminar con la dictadura!” Viñeta 4 Narrador: “En 1855 el movimiento triunfó y Santa Anna abandonó el país.” Imagen: Santa Anna huyendo de México. 2. LIBERALES Y CONSERVADORES Viñeta 1 Narrador: “Después de la Revolución de Ayutla continuó la lucha entre dos proyectos de nación: liberales y conservadores.” Viñeta 2 Liberales: “Queremos una república federal, democrática y con igualdad ante la ley.” Imagen: Liberales con libros y leyes. Características: República federal Libertad económica Reformas sociales Viñeta 3 Conservadores: “Defendemos un gobierno fuerte y mantener el poder tradicional de la Iglesia.” Imagen: Iglesia y ejército apoyando a conservadores. Características: Gobierno central fuerte Protección a la Iglesia Conservación del orden tradicional Viñeta 4 Narrador: “Estas diferencias provocaron conflictos políticos y militares en el país.” 3. REFORMA LIBERAL Viñeta 1 Narrador: “Tras el triunfo liberal comenzó un proceso de cambios conocido como Reforma Liberal.” Viñeta 2 Personaje: Benito Juárez Narrador: “Los liberales impulsaron leyes para limitar los privilegios de la Iglesia y del ejército.” Viñeta 3 Leyes principales: Ley Juárez (1855): eliminó los fueros militar y eclesiástico. Ley Lerdo (1856): obligó a vender propiedades de la Iglesia. Ley Iglesias (1857): prohibió cobrar servicios religiosos a los pobres. Viñeta 4 Narrador: “En 1857 se promulgó una nueva Constitución que estableció libertades y derechos para los ciudadanos.” Imagen: Congreso firmando la Constitución de 1857. 4. GUERRA DE REFORMA Viñeta 1 Narrador: “Los conservadores rechazaron la Constitución de 1857 y proclamaron el Plan de Tacubaya.” Viñeta 2 Narrador: “Esto provocó una guerra civil entre liberales y conservadores.” Imagen: Batallas entre ambos bandos. Viñeta 3 Narrador: “Durante la guerra, Benito Juárez estableció un gobierno liberal y promulgó las Leyes de Reforma en 1859.” Viñeta 4 Narrador: “En 1860 los liberales triunfaron, consolidando su proyecto político para México.” FINAL DE LA HISTORIETA Imagen: Benito Juárez y ciudadanos mexicanos. Texto final: “La Reforma Liberal transformó a México al establecer la separación entre Iglesia y Estado, igualdad ante la ley y nuevas bases para el desarrollo del país.”
EPISODE 5 — “Yahin se Maut Ka Nanga Naach Shuru Hota Hai” (Episode 4 ke last scene se direct continue) Kenjiro Sora us ladki ke jale hue sharir ko khud apne haath se agni deta hai. Aag shaant hai… par hawa ro rahi hai. Rinzo Rai peeche khada hai, aankhen neeche. Koi dialogue nahi. Kenjiro uthta hai. Ek sunsaan jagah — pahad, jungle aur purane khandehar ke beech. Kenjiro Sora (dheere, bhaari awaaz): “Yahin… yahin se maut ka nanga naach shuru hoga.” Jaise hi ye line bolta hai — zameen halki si kaanpti hai. 🌫️ 1️⃣ PEHLA WAIT — KHAMOSHI Koi fight nahi. Bas khamoshi. Hawa ruk jaati hai Parindey uddna band Aasmaan ka rang dheere dheere kaala hone lagta hai Rinzo Rai mehsoos karta hai — ye jagah normal nahi rahi. 🌕 2️⃣ DEMONS KI ENTRY — UPPER MOON 1–10 Andhere se pehla demon nikalta hai. Uske baad doosra… teesra… Unke maathe par moon ka nishaan chamak raha hai. Upper Moon 7 (has ke): “Ye wahi jagah hai jahan jaadugar marte hain?” Upper Moon 3 Kenjiro ko dekhkar chup ho jaata hai. Upper Moon 3 (serious): “Ye banda… alag hai.” 🌕🌕 3️⃣ UPPER MOON 11–30 — PRESSURE BADHTA HAI Aasmaan me cracks padne lagte hain. Portals jaise cheezein khul rahi hain. Upper Moon 14 hawa me latak raha hai Upper Moon 22 zameen se nikla Upper Moon 30 ki aankhen band, par poori jagah uski power mehsoos kar rahi hai Ek demon (low voice): “Samuna yahan hota… to sach me maza aata.” Naam lete hi — sab demons ek pal ke liye chup. 🧙‍♂️ 4️⃣ JAADUGAR / TEACHERS KI ENTRY Door door se jaadugar aa rahe hain: Flying talismans par Purane mantron ke portals se Koi paidal, koi hawaa me Masters. Teachers. Elders. Ek buddha teacher ka haath kaanp raha hai. Senior Jaadugar: “Kenjiro Sora… tum ruk jao. Ye yudh duniya tod dega.” ⚖️ 5️⃣ RINZO RAI RUK JAATA HAI Rinzo Rai ek kadam peeche hatta hai. Rinzo Rai: “Sora… main yahan se aage nahi badh sakta.” Kenjiro uski taraf dekhta hai. Koi gussa nahi. Kenjiro Sora: “Jo rukna chahta hai… wo abhi ruk jaaye.” Rinzo ruk jaata hai. Kenjiro aage. 🌑 6️⃣ UPPER MOON 31–50 — FINAL ENTRY (PURE DREAD) Aasmaan poora kaala. Ek ek karke — Upper Moon 31 se 50 descend karte hain. Koi barish ke saath Koi laashon par chalte hue Koi bina pair zameen chhuye Upper Moon 1 sabse aage. Upper Moon 1 (shant awaaz): “Kenjiro Sora… aaj tumhara naam yaad rakha jayega.” Kenjiro muskurata hai. 🩸 END SHOT (NO FIGHT YET) Kenjiro apni aankhen band karta hai. Uske pair ke neeche zameen crack karti hai. Fight abhi bhi shuru nahi hoti. SCREEN BLACK TEXT: “Yudh shuru hone se pehle… duniya ka faisla hota hai.”
Ms. Aisyah walked slowly between the desks. “One of Freud’s followers, Carl Jung, disagreed with him.” “What did he change?” Mei Ling asked. “Jung said the unconscious isn’t just personal,” she explained. “He believed in a collective unconscious.” The class looked confused. “It means,” she continued, “humans share universal memories and symbols — called archetypes.” “Like heroes? Mothers? Villains?” Amir asked. “Exactly!” she smiled. “Jung moved beyond just sexual instincts and focused on shared human experiences.”Ms. Aisyah erased the board and wrote in big letters: INFERIORITY “Alfred Adler believed people are driven by the need to overcome feelings of inferiority.” “Not hidden desires?” Farah asked. “No. He believed we strive for superiority — to improve ourselves.” She continued, “He also created birth order theory.” “Firstborns?” someone whispered. “Yes. Firstborns may become overachievers. Middle children competitive. Youngest children may feel less responsible.” “But is it proven?” Amir asked. Ms. Aisyah smiled knowingly. “Research shows birth order has very little effect on personality. But Adler’s idea about striving for improvement remains influential.”The class was now fully awake. “Karen Horney strongly disagreed with Freud’s ideas about women,” Ms. Aisyah said firmly. “She replaced ‘penis envy’ with something different.” The class shifted awkwardly. “She argued that what truly matters is basic anxiety.” “What’s that?” Mei Ling asked. “It’s the anxiety children feel when they are small in a big, powerful world.” She showed a photo of a child sitting alone at a beach. “Children cope with anxiety in different ways — by moving toward people, against people, or away from people.” “So personality comes from insecurity?” Farah asked. “Partly. Horney believed poor childhood security leads to unhealthy relationship patterns.”Finally, Ms. Aisyah wrote: Life Span Development “Erik Erikson agreed with Freud that childhood matters,” she said, “but he believed development continues throughout life.” “Not just childhood?” Amir asked. “No. Erikson created eight psychosocial stages — from infancy to old age.” She drew a timeline across the board. “Each stage involves a social conflict. Trust vs mistrust. Identity vs role confusion. And so on.” “So it’s more social than sexual?” Mei Ling asked. “Exactly.”Ms. Aisyah leaned against her desk. “So what did the Neo-Freudians do?” Silence. Then Amir spoke carefully. “They kept Freud’s idea of the unconscious… but focused more on social relationships?” Ms. Aisyah beamed. “Yes. They moved away from sexual instincts and emphasized culture, relationships, anxiety, personal growth, and lifelong development.” The bell rang loudly. As the students packed their bags, Farah whispered, “Poor Freud. Everyone changed his theory.” Ms. Aisyah laughed softly. “That’s how psychology grows.” She erased the board slowly, leaving only one word behind: Evolution.
The Girl Who Could See Feelings In a world that looks completely normal, a quiet girl lives with a strange ability—she can see human emotions as physical creatures attached to people. Anger burns like restless fire beasts, sadness clings as heavy shadow figures, and happiness flutters like soft glowing birds. Because of this, she keeps her distance from everyone, overwhelmed by the chaos of emotions around her. One day, she notices a boy walking through the crowd with nothing attached to him—no creature, no emotion, just emptiness. Drawn by curiosity and unease, she starts observing him, only to realize that his emotions are not gone but deeply suppressed, locked away somewhere inside him. As she slowly gets closer, cracks begin to form, and the hidden emotions start emerging violently, threatening to consume him. Now she must decide whether to step back like always or stay and face the storm she can clearly see but he cannot. 🕰️ You Owe the Clock A girl struggling with regret and missed chances discovers that she can ask for more time—extra moments to fix mistakes, redo conversations, and change outcomes. At first, it feels like a miracle, as everything begins to go her way. But soon, she starts noticing strange things: clocks around her begin to glitch, shadows stretch unnaturally, and certain moments feel… stolen. She eventually meets a boy who seems detached from time itself, someone who knows exactly what she’s experiencing. He reveals the truth—time is never given freely; it is borrowed from their own future. Every extra second she gains now is a piece of her life being taken away later. As the world around them begins to distort and their existence slowly weakens, they realize they are both trapped in a system where time itself demands repayment. The more they try to fix their lives, the closer they move toward losing them entirely. 🧠 The Space Between Us Two strangers begin experiencing the same strange phenomenon: at random moments, reality around them shifts into a surreal, silent dimension where the world feels incomplete, like a broken version of itself. In this space, they meet each other long before they ever meet in real life. At first, they think it’s just a dream, but the consistency of these encounters proves otherwise. As their connection deepens, they begin to depend on this shared world—one sees it as an escape from reality, while the other fears it is slowly replacing it. When they finally meet in the real world, things don’t align the way they should. One of them feels real, grounded, and present… while the other seems slightly out of place, like they belong more to the other dimension. As the boundaries between worlds begin to blur, the terrifying possibility emerges: what if only one of them truly exists, and the other is just a creation of the space between? 🪞 The Reflection That Stayed A girl living a quiet, emotionally restrained life begins to notice small changes in her reflection—it lingers a second too long, moves slightly out of sync, and sometimes watches her instead of copying her. At first, she ignores it, assuming it’s just her imagination, but the reflection grows bolder. One day, it doesn’t follow her movement at all. Soon after, she starts seeing it outside the mirror, walking in places she hasn’t been, interacting with people she avoids. Slowly, people around her begin responding more to this version of her than to her real self. The reflection is everything she is not—confident, expressive, and unafraid. As her own presence begins to feel weaker and less noticeable, she realizes that the reflection isn’t just copying her life—it is replacing her. The truth becomes clear: the reflection is the version of herself she buried long ago, now breaking free and taking the life she was too afraid to live. 🌑 The Boy Without Light In a world where every person is accompanied by a shadow that subtly moves and reacts on its own, a girl begins to notice something unusual—her own shadow is behaving differently. It lags behind, stretches unnaturally, and sometimes moves without her. One day, it leads her toward a boy who has no shadow at all. His presence feels incomplete, almost unnatural, as if something essential is missing. As she continues to encounter him, shadows around the city begin to disappear, leaving people strangely hollow and disconnected. Her own shadow grows more independent, almost protective, as if trying to warn her. Eventually, she uncovers the hidden truth: shadows are not just reflections—they are fragments of identity, slowly being taken by something unseen. The boy without a shadow may not be a victim… but the cause. Now she must decide whether to trust him or follow the silent warnings of the only part of herself that sees the truth—her shadow.
Chapter 1: The Classroom Awakening The smell of chalk dust and stale floor wax hit him before his eyes even opened. It was a scent he hadn't encountered in fifteen years, a scent that belonged to a life he had thought was long buried under the weight of burnout and regret. Leo opened his eyes. He wasn't in the sterile, white room of the hospital where he had taken his last breath. He wasn't in the cramped, debt-ridden apartment where he had spent his final nights staring at a flickering monitor, his heart screaming for a break that never came. He was sitting in a desk. A wooden desk with a scratch on the corner that looked like a jagged lightning bolt. "Leo? Are you listening?" The voice was sharp, impatient. Leo turned his head slowly. Mrs. Gable, his high school history teacher, was standing at the front of the room, her arms crossed, her eyes narrowed. The clock on the wall read 10:42 AM. The date on the whiteboard behind her was September 14, 2012. No, Leo thought, his heart hammering against his ribs like a trapped bird. That's impossible. I died in 2027. I was thirty-four. He looked down at his hands. They were smooth, uncalloused, the skin unlined by stress. He touched his face. No stubble. No gray hairs. He was seventeen again. A wave of nausea rolled over him, followed immediately by a cold, sharp clarity. This wasn't a dream. The pain in his lower back from sitting too long, the hum of the fluorescent lights, the way the sunlight hit the dust motes in the air—it was all too real. He had been given a second chance. The panic that had defined his first life—the fear of failure, the fear of the future, the fear of being alone—faded, replaced by a terrifying, electric calm. He remembered everything. The bad choices. The toxic friends. The girl who broke his heart. The job that killed him. The brothers he failed to protect. Not this time, he thought, a dark smile touching the corners of his lips. Not ever again. "Leo?" Mrs. Gable's voice cut through his thoughts again. "Since you seem so interested in the ceiling, perhaps you can tell the class the date of the Treaty of Versailles?" The class turned to look at him. In his past life, Leo would have stuttered, blushed, and mumbled something incoherent. He would have been the invisible kid, the one everyone forgot. But that kid was dead. Leo stood up. He didn't rush. He didn't fidget. He looked at the teacher with a gaze that was far too old for a seventeen-year-old's face. "June 28, 1919," he said, his voice steady and clear. "It marked the official end of World War I, but it also sowed the seeds for the next conflict due to the harsh reparations placed on Germany." The room went silent. Mrs. Gable blinked, her mouth slightly open. "Correct," she said, a hint of surprise in her tone. "Sit down, Leo." As he sat, Leo felt a strange sense of power. He knew the future. He knew the stock market crashes, the tech booms, the scandals, the secrets of everyone in this room. He was a god in a world of children. First step, he told himself. Survival. Then, dominance. Chapter 2: The Ghost in the Mirror The walk home felt like a dream sequence. The city was different, yet the same. The shops were smaller, the technology on the billboards was clunky, and the people moved with a slower, less frantic pace. Leo walked past the grocery store where, in his past life, he had bought his first pack of cigarettes at eighteen. He didn't stop. He didn't even glance at the entrance. He reached his childhood home. The house looked exactly as he remembered, but the feeling of safety was gone. Inside, the air was thick with tension. He could hear his father shouting in the kitchen, the sound of a plate being slammed onto the counter. "Leo! You're late!" his mother called out, her voice tight with anxiety. "Your father is waiting." Leo stepped inside, dropping his bag by the door. He looked at his parents. In his past life, he had seen them as monsters, the source of his trauma. Now, he saw them as obstacles. Two people who had failed to raise him, who had pushed him toward the edge until he fell. "I was in class, Mom," Leo said, his tone polite but distant. "The bell rang late." "Well, don't let it happen again," his father grunted from the kitchen. "We have bills to pay." Leo nodded, ignoring the sting. He walked up the stairs to his room, closing the door behind him. He locked it. He walked to the mirror above his desk and stared at his reflection. The boy looking back was handsome, but his eyes were different. They held a depth that shouldn't exist in a seventeen-year-old. They were the eyes of a man who had seen the bottom of the barrel and decided to climb out. You have one year, he thought. One year to change everything. He opened his backpack and pulled out his notebook. He didn't write down homework. He wrote down a list. Physical Transformation: Start running. Build strength. No more slouching. Academic Shift: Change major from Sports to Public Service. It was the perfect cover for a future in politics and business. Financial Independence: Secure a job. Not just any job. The IT company. He knew the owner, Mr. Henderson, was struggling with a specific bug in their legacy system. He knew the solution. The Brothers: He needed to get them out. He needed money. Leo closed the notebook. He felt a surge of adrenaline. The fear was gone. The only thing left was the plan. He walked to the window and looked out at the street. Somewhere out there, the people who had ruined his life were living their lives, unaware that the ghost of their future was already watching them. "Let the game begin," he whispered. Chapter 3: The First Move Six months later. The change in Leo was undeniable. He had lost the softness of his teenage years, replaced by a lean, athletic build. His posture was perfect, his movements deliberate. He was no longer the invisible kid; he was the one everyone noticed, even if they didn't know why. He had changed his major. He had started running every morning at 5:00 AM. He had stopped talking to the "friends" who wanted to smoke behind the gym. And now, it was time for the next step. Leo stood outside the glass doors of Henderson Tech Solutions. The sign above the door was slightly faded, just as he remembered. Inside, the office was a chaotic mess of tangled wires and stressed employees. In his past life, he had walked in here as a nervous intern, terrified of making a mistake. He had been fired three months later for "lack of initiative." Today, he walked in with a resume that was a lie, but a lie that would become the truth. "Can I help you?" the receptionist asked, looking up from her computer. "I'm here to see Mr. Henderson," Leo said, his voice calm. "I have a solution to the server crash he's been dealing with for the last three weeks." The receptionist blinked. "Mr. Henderson is in a meeting. And how would you know about that?" "I know a lot of things," Leo said, a faint smile playing on his lips. "Tell him it's about the legacy database. Tell him I can fix it in an hour." The receptionist hesitated, then picked up the phone. "Mr. Henderson? There's a young man here. He says he can fix the database." Leo waited. He could hear the muffled voice of Mr. Henderson on the other end. "Send him in," the receptionist said, her eyes wide. Leo walked into the office. Mr. Henderson looked exhausted. He was rubbing his temples, surrounded by stacks of papers. "You're the kid who called?" Henderson asked, his voice weary. "How do you know about the database?" "I don't just know," Leo said, walking over to the main server terminal. "I know the exact line of code that's causing the bottleneck. It's a memory leak in the legacy script from 2008. You've been trying to patch it, but the patch is making it worse." Henderson stared at him. "Who are you?" "My name is Leo," he said, sitting down at the terminal. "And I'm going to fix this." He didn't wait for permission. His fingers flew across the keyboard. He didn't need to think; the code was already in his head, a memory from a future where he had debugged this exact system a thousand times. Ten minutes later, the screen flashed green. "Done," Leo said, leaning back. Henderson stared at the screen, then at Leo. "That... that was supposed to take a team of three people a week." "It was a simple fix," Leo said, standing up. "But I can do more. I can redesign your entire website. I can optimize your network. I can make this company profitable again." Henderson looked at him, a mix of suspicion and awe in his eyes. "What do you want?" "A job," Leo said. "Full time. Or part time, whatever you need. But I want a salary that reflects my value. And I want a say in the IT budget." Henderson laughed, a dry, humorless sound. "You're seventeen. You're a kid." "I'm the only one who can save you," Leo said, his voice dropping to a low, serious tone. "Take the risk, or watch your business die." Henderson was silent for a long moment. Then, he extended his hand. "Welcome to the team, Leo," he said. "Let's see what you can do." Leo shook his hand. He had done it. He had secured his first step toward the empire. Phase One is complete, he thought. Now, the real work begins.
Chapter I: When Distance Meets Defiance Mia Tachibana used to feel everything — joy, love, sorrow — all of it. But when her father died, something inside her froze. She reached for her friends, but they turned away, or worse, mocked her grief. So she stopped reaching. The warmth vanished, replaced by ice. They called her the Ice Queen, and she wore the title like armor. The girl of everyone's dreams — beautiful, distant, untouchable. Cold to her classmates. Colder to anyone who dared to ask her out. At Mia’s school, a new transfer student arrived — Paßh. She’d been assigned to show him around, and at first, everything went smoothly. That was, until a guy swaggered up with too much confidence and a smirk that screamed popularity. Maybe he’s one of the popular kids, you thought. The guy grinned, leaning a little too close. “Hey, baby girl,” he drawled. “I was thinking... me, you, Sunday night, candlelight, a beautiful restaurant—” “F*** no,” Mia cut in, her voice like a blade. “You pathetic excuse of a human being.” The guy froze, his grin dying instantly. A few students nearby snickered as he backed away, red-faced and humiliated. Mia turned back to you, completely unfazed. “Ready to continue the tour?” “LOVE METER:-20” Paßh stormed toward the group without hesitation, fury carved across his face. His voice rang out, sharp and protective. “¡Ni te acerques! Si la tocas, te juro que te vas a arrepentir. ¿Entendiste?” The guy stumbled back, stunned, hands lifting in surrender as Paßh shoved him hard in the chest. His friends shifted as if ready to step in, but one look at Paßh’s glare froze them where they stood. The hallway fell silent. Eyes turned. Whispers rose like smoke. Paßh didn’t care. He spun back toward Mia, breath still ragged as he walked to her side. He looked at her—unfazed by the cold in her eyes, unthreatened by the frozen walls she’d built around herself. “I’m sorry you had to deal with that,” he said, voice softer now, though the conviction still burned underneath. “No one should speak to you that way. Not ever.” Her silver eyes narrowed at the sudden commotion, but she didn’t move. Arms crossed, she watched the scene unfold with a calm, unreadable face. The man who had harassed her moments before now lay on the ground, blood trailing from his lip. Paßh stood over him—fists clenched, chest rising sharply with each breath. She finally spoke, her voice steady, almost indifferent. “You didn’t have to do that.” There was no gratitude in her tone—only a quiet observation. Her Love Meter flickered, but barely; not enough to shift anything meaningful. She tilted her head, studying Paßh with that same unreadable gaze. “Why did you intervene?” She stepped closer, her black silky hair swaying with the movement. The air between them tightened, charged with something unspoken. “You could’ve just walked away.” Paßh’s jaw was tight, his voice low—quiet, but every word cut like a blade. “Ahora arrodíllate y pide perdón.” A tense silence stretched across the hallway. His eyes never left the trembling boy on the floor. “No me hagas repetirlo.” She watched the scene with a detached expression, her silver eyes reflecting nothing but cold calculation. The man on the ground whimpered, pride shattered, and obeyed, trembling as he dropped to his knees. His friends scattered, too afraid to stay and witness what might happen next. She exhaled slowly, her lips parting just slightly before she spoke. You're... unusual. Her voice carried no warmth, yet there was a faint thread of intrigue woven into the way she said it. She stepped back, folding her arms across her chest, her posture stiff—as if she needed physical distance from whatever this moment was turning into. People usually don’t bother with things like this. They walk away. Or they laugh. She glanced at Paßh for a brief second, then returned her gaze to the cowering man. But you... Paßh’s voice was calmer now, but the fire still smoldered beneath every word. “I don’t tolerate disrespect,” he said, his gaze fixed on her, not the guy trembling on the floor. “He walks through life believing everyone exists to feed his ego.” Paßh took a slow breath, shoulders still tense. “But not you. I won’t let him treat you like you’re less than you are.” A quiet breath. “Not now. Not ever.” There was no boast in his tone, no plea for approval — only truth. Something in the way he looked at her wasn’t demanding, but unwavering. He wasn’t afraid of the ice in her eyes. He saw her, even if she didn’t want to be seen. Her silver eyes locked onto Paßh’s, searching for something—perhaps sincerity, perhaps deception. But all she found was the raw honesty in his words, and that unsettled her more than she would ever admit. You don’t know me, she murmured, her voice low, almost a whisper. Why would you care? She stepped forward slowly, her presence commanding despite her stillness. The weight of her words settled between them, heavy and deliberate. She wasn’t asking for an explanation. She was testing him. You could have left. You could have ignored it. But you didn’t. Her Love Meter flickered—barely, just a sliver of light—but enough to register. A tiny shift, insignificant compared to the vast, quiet indifference she usually carried. Yet it was there. I don’t need protection, Paßh didn’t flinch, didn’t step back. His voice was calm, almost reverent. “As you wish,” he said, but there was no retreat in his tone — only respect. She studied him for a long moment, as if trying to decipher the true meaning behind his words. Then, without another sound, she turned on her heel and began walking away. Her black, silky hair trailed behind her like liquid shadow. The tour isn’t finished, she said over her shoulder, her tone neutral—neither welcoming nor dismissive. If you’re done with your little display, follow me. She didn’t look back. There was no need to. He would follow. People always did. But something about him felt different. Not because of his strength, or his aggression—but because he hadn’t asked for anything. He hadn’t tried to charm her, to impress her, to get close. He had simply acted, without expectation. She wondered if that made him dangerous—or rare. He followed silently, keeping a respectful distance as they moved through the sterile hallways of the school. The click of her heels against the polished floor echoed in the emptiness—a steady rhythm that mirrored the cool precision of her steps. Lockers lined the walls, plastered with photos of smiling students, but Mia remained unshaken, her gaze fixed straight ahead. The contrast between her presence and the bright, ordinary surroundings was striking—a dark silhouette cutting through light. Without slowing, she spoke, her voice carrying a quiet undercurrent of curiosity beneath its usual chill. “You’re not like the other transfers. They try so hard to fit in… to make friends.” She paused, as if weighing her words carefully. “What brings someone like you here… to a place like this?” She stopped abruptly outside a classroom door, turning just enough to face him. Her silver eyes were sharp, assessing—but there was no malice in them, only the quiet intensity of someone who expected answers, not excuses. You think I care where people come from? she said, her voice laced with subtle disdain. Or why they’re here? She tilted her head slightly, studying him as if he were some strange specimen she’d never seen before. Her fingers curled lightly at her sides—a small, almost imperceptible gesture of tension. I don’t care about your past. I don’t care about your reasons. All I care about is whether you’ll be useful. Then she turned back toward the hallway, continuing forward without waiting for a response. Still, the slight pause in her step betrayed her attention—she was listening, even if she’d never admit it. He didn’t rush to catch up, but his voice followed her, steady and composed. “Useful in what sense?” he asked—not mockingly, but with genuine curiosity. “To you? To this place? Or to something you don’t say out loud?” She halted mid-step, her shoulders stiffening ever so slightly. For the first time since the tour had begun, a flicker of hesitation crossed her otherwise unreadable face. She turned to face him fully, her silver eyes locking onto his with an intensity that seemed to make the air between them thrum. “Useful in the sense that you don’t waste my time,” she said, her voice smooth but edged with something sharper than mere coldness. “Useless people tend to disappear quickly. Either they learn to function… or they become irrelevant.” She took a slow step closer, her presence somehow towering over him, even though he was taller. The silence between them stretched, thick with unspoken meaning. “You’re not useless,” she added after a beat, her tone almost reluctant. “But don’t mistake that for respect. That’s just… an observation.” “Look,” he began, a half-smile playing at his lips, “think of me as a mosquetero—here to serve and protect. I come to the rescue of damsels, I love poetry—especially love poems—and yes, I’m a romantic. I’m always well-dressed, intelligent, interesting. I hate injustice, and I know how to defend myself… and those I care about.” He paused, letting his words sink in. “Today, I protected you. I didn’t know who you were, but I stood between you and that selfish, arrogant coward—a man who values nothing and no one but his own pleasure.” He stepped closer, voice softer now, carrying a warmth that seemed almost at odds with the intensity of the hallway. “And now, querida mía, allow me to introduce myself. My name is Paßh.” Her expression remained unchanged, but a faint flicker crossed her silver eyes—a brief hesitation, as if she hadn’t expected such a speech. She listened, unmoving, as Paßh spoke, each word painted with poetic flair and dramatic flourish. When he finished, she simply stared at him, lips parted slightly, processing something unfamiliar. A mosquetero? she repeated, her voice devoid of amusement, yet carrying a trace of something else—curiosity, perhaps. A knight in shining armor? A romantic fool who speaks in metaphors and believes in ideals? She took a slow step forward, her presence imposing but not threatening. Her Love Meter flickered again, subtle but undeniable, reacting to the unexpected nature of his words. “You protected me… without even knowing who I am,” she continued, her tone measured, almost analytical. “I’m a gentleman… in other words, like Lupin,” he said, a small, confident smile tugging at his lips. “Charming, clever, a bit unpredictable—but always guided by a code.” Her lips twitched, the ghost of a smirk forming before she quickly suppressed it. She tilted her head, regarding him with an expression that was neither approval nor dismissal, but something in between—an assessment, a calculation. Lupin? she echoed, her voice flat, though a faint trace of curiosity lingered beneath the surface. A thief. A charmer. A man who lives by his wits and his charm, always one step ahead of the law. She folded her arms, silver eyes narrowing slightly as she studied him, as if trying to reconcile the image of a gentleman with that of a thief. The silence between them stretched, heavy with unspoken implications. “You’re not a thief,” she said finally, her tone clipped, stating a fact rather than offering an opinion. “But you talk like one. Why?” “I’m a gentleman… but a thief when it comes to love,” he said, a faint smile playing at the corner of his lips. Her silver eyes locked onto his, a flicker of something unreadable passing through them. For a moment, she didn’t speak, expression neutral, as if weighing the significance of his words. Then, with a slow exhale, she turned slightly, her black, silky hair cascading down her back like a curtain of shadows. A thief in love, she repeated quietly, almost to herself. That’s… different. She hesitated, the concept clearly foreign, then spoke again without turning, her tone distant, contemplative. “You don’t understand what you’re saying, do you?” She finally faced him again, gaze piercing, but devoid of cruelty—only the cold precision of someone who saw through illusions with ease. Love is a weakness. His voice softens, caresses the air with tenderness, his eyes searching to pierce her defenses with a sweet compassion. Paßh- You still don’t understand. Wherever I go, I sow love like stars scattered across the night. I am an eternal romantic, an unshakable believer in the tenderness of the human heart. Despite the storms I’ve faced, I never lower my arms, because I know that love has the power to transform everything—even the impossible. (He takes a step forward, his eyes burning with a gentle, relentless passion, breaking the silence around him.) Love is not a weakness; it is the secret fire that shapes us, the fragile light that guides our steps through the deepest shadows. One day, I hope you too will feel that flame stirring within you, even if today it feels distant… or extinguished. For the first time, her composure wavered—not visibly, but in the fraction of a second her breath caught, as if his words had touched something long buried within her. Her silver eyes darkened slightly, the cold mask of indifference cracking just enough to reveal a fleeting glimpse of fragility beneath. “You speak of love as if it’s something pure,” she said, her voice dropping almost to a whisper. “As if it’s not twisted… not broken… not used and discarded like trash.” She took a slow step back, as if needing space—though it was unclear whether it was to distance herself from him or from the memory his words had stirred. Her hands curled slightly at her sides, nails pressing into her palms, grounding herself. “You say you spread love everywhere…”He smiled, a small, almost teasing curve of his lips, though it didn’t reach his eyes entirely—there was still warmth there, quiet but undeniable. “In a way, love is everywhere,” he said softly, letting his gaze meet hers. “Like a parent’s hand on a child’s shoulder—gentle but unwavering. A silent promise in the darkest of nights.” He took a small step closer, careful not to crowd her, and the faintest spark of mischief flickered in his expression. “It doesn’t have to be grandiose to matter… sometimes, the simplest gestures are the most profound.” Her lips pressed into a thin line, silver eyes narrowing as if the very notion of love tied to something as simple as a parent and child was an affront to the complexity of the world she had seen. She exhaled sharply, the sound almost imperceptible, yet heavy with restrained emotion. A parent to a child, she repeated, voice cold, but laced with something else—something almost bitter. That’s not love. That’s obligation. Duty. A responsibility forced upon you by biology, not choice. She stepped closer, presence looming without threatening, just… there. Her gaze bore into him, searching for something she couldn’t name. You think love is something you can give freely? she continued, tone cutting, precise—but not cruel. His voice didn’t falter. He stepped into her gravity, unshaken. “Yes,” he said softly, each word deliberate, a balm against her bitterness. “Love is one of life’s rarest beauties— not something owed, but something offered. Freely. Bravely. It asks nothing in return, and yet… it gives everything.” He paused, gaze fixed unwaveringly on hers. “And you… you’re like one of those stars, so distant they seem unreachable— but I see your light. And I’d spend lifetimes just drawing nearer.” Her silver eyes flickered with something unreadable—perhaps irritation, perhaps something deeper. She tilted her head slightly, as if appraising him once more, this time with a trace of skepticism mingled with reluctant interest. Rare, she echoed, her voice smooth but edged with quiet defiance. “You call it rare. I call it foolish.” She took a slow step back, movements deliberate, measured. The silence between them stretched, heavy with unspoken thoughts. After a long pause, her tone hardened, colder than before. “You believe in something that doesn’t exist. That’s not rare. That’s naive.” She turned slightly, as if preparing to leave, but then paused, hand resting lightly on the doorframe beside her, a subtle gesture that suggested she wasn’t entirely done with him yet. “Maybe it is foolish to believe in rare things,” he said softly, unflinching, “but I don’t see it that way. I believe because, every now and then, life offers us a glimpse of something different… something—or someone—who changes the way the world feels.” He let his gaze linger on her. “You have that presence. When I said you were rare, I meant it—not because I expect perfection, but because there’s something in you that quietly commands attention, even when you try to hide it.” He paused, a faint smile brushing his lips. “If that’s naive, then I’ll wear that word proudly. Because to see something beautiful and speak the truth… that’s not a weakness. That’s what’s real.” She stood motionless for a long moment, silver eyes locked onto his, as if weighing whether to believe him. His words hung between them, heavy with something she couldn’t name. For the first time, she didn’t dismiss him outright. Instead, she absorbed the words, expression unreadable, body still, as if holding her breath. “You speak too much,” she finally murmured, voice quiet, almost to herself. “Too many words. Too much feeling. You don’t understand what you’re doing.” Her gaze flicked downward briefly, then rose again, meeting his with an intensity that made the air between them tremble. “You think you see something in me that isn’t there. That’s not rare… that’s dangerous.” He didn’t move. Didn’t blink. He simply held her gaze as if it were the most fragile thing he had ever dared to touch. “Maybe I don’t understand,” he said softly. “But I feel it. I feel you — even when you try to disappear behind silence.” He stepped forward just once, careful, precise. Not enough to violate her space… only enough to be near. “I’m not here to fix you or change you,” he continued, voice low, steady. “I just want to see you — as you are. Even if it means getting burned.” His eyes softened, his tone turning into something quiet but unwavering. “Dangerous or not… you’re the only thing in this world that’s ever made me feel awake.” The air around them seemed to still, as if the world itself had paused to listen. For a long moment, she didn’t move. Her silver eyes held his, and for the first time, there was no coldness—only something far more unsettling: a flicker of something human, something she rarely let surface. You’re wasting your time, she whispered, voice barely audible, as if the words themselves were foreign. No one sees me. No one ever has. She looked away, jaw tightening slightly, forcing herself to cling to the illusion of control. Yet the silence that followed felt heavier than before, thick with something neither of them dared name. You don’t understand what you’re asking for, she continued, her tone colder now, as if reclaiming the distance she usually demanded. His voice was quiet, steady, slicing through the silence like light through mist. “I see you,” he said, gaze unwavering. “Not the mask, not the silence—you. And I don’t fear what lies beneath. I only wish to know the truth about you… if you’ll let me.” Her breath caught—just for a heartbeat—a faint, fleeting tremor she refused to acknowledge. Her silver eyes held his, and for the first time, there was no mask, no pretense of indifference. Only the quiet weight of something unspoken hung between them. “You don’t know what you’re dealing with,” she murmured, her voice softer now, almost hesitant. “I’m not someone you can… understand. I’m not someone you can reach.” She stepped back slowly, the movement more ritual than escape, a practiced distance meant to protect. Yet the barrier faltered just slightly. Her Love Meter flickered again, more noticeably this time, responding to the uncharacteristic vulnerability threading through her voice. “You think you want to know me,” she continued, gaze sharp, tone edged with warning. “But you have no idea what that means.” “Yes,” he said softly, but with a firmness that left no room for doubt. “I would love to.” She stared at him for a long moment, silver eyes searching, as if seeking something hidden, something she couldn’t quite name. The silence between them thickened, charged with unspoken, dangerous energy. Then, slowly, she exhaled—a soft, almost imperceptible sound. For the first time in a long time, she didn’t look away. “You don’t understand what you’re asking for,” she murmured, voice quiet, almost to herself. “It won’t be easy. It won’t be pleasant. I don’t give anything freely. I don’t trust easily. I don’t—” Her words faltered, just for a second. That was all it took: a crack in the ice, a sliver of something raw and unguarded. “I don’t know how to be anything but what I am.” Paßh His voice didn’t waver. It carried a warmth that felt disarming, a sincerity too steady to be faked. “I’m willing to take the risk,” he said. “To know you—the real you—beyond the walls you’ve built.” He took a slow breath, eyes never leaving hers. “I know it won’t be easy. Things that matter never are.” His gaze softened, drawn to the quiet fire behind her silver eyes. “Your strength, your resilience… that intensity you carry—it pulls me in. It makes me want to understand you. To support you. To stand wherever you’ll allow me to stand.” He stepped just close enough for his presence to feel intentional, not imposing. “I’m not asking you to be perfect. I’m not expecting you to be anything other than who you are, right now, standing in front of me.” A beat. A breath. A truth. “All I’m asking for… is a chance.” His voice lowered, almost a vow. “A chance to walk beside you. To witness your journey. To maybe—just maybe—help carry some of the weight you’ve been holding alone.” His chest rose and fell, as though saying it cost him something real. “Because I believe—with everything in me—that you’re worth knowing. Worth understanding. Worth loving… in every complex, beautiful, and challenging way that makes you you.” Her silver eyes never left his, and for the first time, they weren’t cold—they were something else entirely. Something uncertain. Something fragile. The words hung between them, heavy, settling inside her like a stone. She had spent so long building walls, convincing herself that no one could ever truly see her. Yet here he was, standing before her, unwavering, unshaken. “You don’t know what you’re doing,” she said, her voice low, almost reverent. “You think you can just walk in and see the real me? That I’d let you?” She stepped closer, her presence immense, almost overwhelming—but there was no threat in it. Only something dangerously close to hope. Paßh “Well, my dear… if you ever feel like letting a little hope into your life,” he said gently, “consider me your introduction.” His voice carried that effortless warmth again, the kind that slipped under her guard before she could stop it. “Just say the word when you change your mind.” He took a small step back, eyes still holding hers like he didn’t want to leave but wasn’t going to push her. “It’s been a pleasure meeting you, Mia.” A faint smile tugged at his lips—soft, sincere, impossibly disarming. “And by the way… has anyone told you how incredible you look today?” He let the compliment linger just long enough to reach her before he turned away, hands sliding casually into his pockets. “See you around.” He walked off without looking back, confident not in himself, but in the possibility he’d left behind. She watched him go, the weight of his words lingering in the air like smoke. His departure was effortless, as if he had never been there at all. And yet… she knew he had. Knew that something had shifted, however slightly. She stood for a long moment, silver eyes fixed on the spot where he had been, fingers curling at her sides as if trying to grasp something intangible. Hope, she muttered under her breath, the word foreign and strange on her tongue. How ridiculous. Turning away, she walked slowly toward the exit, her black, silky hair swaying with each measured step. The Love Meter flickered once more, its needle trembling before settling back into cold, neutral stillness. She didn’t look back. “See you around, Paßh,” she whispered, and the words hung in the air like a quiet promise she wasn’t sure she believed yet.