The school counselor had obviously heard about what happened.

She looked at me with a mix of scrutiny and disappointment.

“You’re all classmates. There’s no need to do something like this. If you admit to it and apologize to Emily, I’m sure she’ll forgive you.”

I shook my head. “I didn’t do anything.”

Francis’s expression grew colder. “What do you mean you didn’t? You made that soup, didn’t you? What are you trying to deny? How come the soup was fine before, but today Emily ends up in the hospital after eating it?”

I didn’t want to argue with someone so blinded by anger. I pointed to the thermos on the teacher’s desk.

“I believe the school has a lab for testing substances. The results should come out quickly. If it’s proven that I’m at fault, I’ll accept any punishment.”

Both Francis and the teacher were taken aback by my suggestion, but neither rejected it.

A crowd had gathered, all eager to watch the drama unfold. Their whispers and judgmental stares weighed heavily on me.

“Isn’t that Daisy Wilson? The one who got her confession exposed on the forum?”

“You think she poisoned the soup out of jealousy because Francis likes Emily Young?”

I listened to the gossip swirling around me, but I had no words left to defend myself.

The waiting felt endless. My stomach churned, and darkness clouded my vision, but I held on. The school’s lab was trustworthy.

When the teacher finally returned with the results, her expression was complicated.

Francis snatched the report from her hands, his face flashing with disbelief. “The soup wasn’t tainted? How is that possible?”

Right then, his phone rang. It was one of Emily’s friends.

“Francis, Emily has acute gastroenteritis. It had nothing to do with the soup. You don’t need to bother Daisy anymore. She’s feeling better now. Come to the hospital and be with her!”

And just like that, the truth came out.

Francis held the report in his hands, opened his mouth to say something, but nothing came out.

“Apologize!”

I wasn’t about to let him off the hook so easily.

I was not a saint, and I would not tolerate being wronged without speaking up.

Francis hesitated, his expression shifting before returning to calm.

“I’m sorry. This time, I was indeed too impulsive. I was just worried that you might do something reckless.”

It was the first time I had ever heard Francis apologize, and it stirred some mixed feelings within me.

In the past, I was always the one who backed down during conflicts.

Now, he was apologizing because of someone else’s prompting, which really highlighted the difference between us.

I got what I wanted, so I didn’t feel the need to drag this out.

As the crowd that had gathered for the drama began to disperse, I prepared to leave, but Francis spoke up again.

“You should still come with me to the hospital. Even if the soup wasn’t the issue, Emily did get sick after drinking it, and you should apologize to her.”

I almost laughed out loud. Here I was, putting in effort and getting nothing in return, and yet I was expected to apologize for something that wasn’t even my fault.

“No, you’re the one who should apologize.”

“I did nothing wrong.”

I stepped around him, unwilling to engage further.

After that incident, I stopped making soup for him and focused more on my painting and studies, distancing myself from his life completely.

But unexpectedly, Francis, who used to be hard to find, now seemed to be around me constantly.

Even though I ignored him, mango-flavored milk – my favorite – would frequently show up on my desk.

I gave it to my classmates without a second thought, but after a few times, Francis caught on.

He cornered me, pushing the milk into my hands. “I bought these for you. Don’t let anyone else take them this time. What’s with you? It’s just like when we were kids, you always let people take your things.”

Did he think someone had intentionally taken the mango milk?

I paused for a moment before pushing the milk back into his hands.

“Thanks, Francis, but I don’t like it anymore.”

Mango-flavored milk used to be the thing that comforted me the most.

Whenever my mom bought it for me, I’d find a quiet corner to drink it alone.

But there was always some brat who would find me and snatch it away.

I cried every time.

And that’s when Francis would swoop in like a prince, find those kids, and get my milk back.

It wasn’t the milk that stopped my tears – it was him.

Back then, he was like a guardian angel to me.

But time stole that angel away.

Now, he had someone new to protect, and to him, I was just an annoying tag-along, someone to be tolerated.

If he no longer belonged to me, I didn’t want him anymore.

I walked swiftly back to the art studio, his voice following me.

“Those screenshots weren’t posted by me. Don’t worry, I’ll make sure they get taken down.”

I didn’t look back. It didn’t matter anymore.