#yuufennec

The battlefield isn’t real. It's not Night Raven College anymore. Not really. It's a dream twisted inside out—a cracked jewelry box made of her worst nights and prettiest fantasies.

The floor is marble. Then checkerboard. Then it’s her dorm room, the first night she arrived, with the shadows taller than the walls.

The dorm leaders stand in a circle. Some ready. Some scared. Some pretending they aren't. Riddle’s red-faced and trembling. Vil looks like he’s staring at a fashion show that turned into a crime scene. Azul? Already casting barrier spells like he knows they’re probably useless.

Yuu stands at the center, swaying.

Her voice rings out like a bell made of broken glass: “Welcome to the best part of the play.” “I call this act: ‘What happens when you ignore a girl until she becomes divine punishment in lip gloss.’”

She raises her hand.

And the world fractures.

The first attack isn't physical. It’s emotional. A wave of magic sweeps out—twisting everything into memories. But not her memories.

The dorm leaders are forced to relive their own.

Riddle blinks—and suddenly he’s five again, reciting rules until his mouth bleeds.

Vil sees mirrors everywhere. Each one warps his reflection.

Azul gasps, because he’s underwater, again, and everyone’s laughing.

Malleus doesn’t speak. He just looks around with eyes that glow faintly green—heartbroken and disappointed all at once.

“You like to play god?” Yuu sings, circling them like a ballerina on fire. “Let’s see what happens when I do it better.”

Ink lashes out from her shadow—like dancing ribbons. Sharp. Beautiful. Vicious.

They strike back. Riddle launches a bolt of pure flame. Vil fires glamour-based illusions meant to blind and disorient. Azul summons tendrils of his own—cold, strategic. Malleus doesn’t hold back. His thunder cracks the dream world’s sky.

Yuu twirls through it like a ballerina on crack. The ink catches the blows, absorbing, laughing. Her voice echoes and multiplies, bouncing from all directions like she’s everywhere at once.

“Oh noooo, you’re fighting me?” she mock gasps. “Besties, you love fighting your trauma when it looks hot.”

The arena shifts again.

Now it's the cafeteria. Then the Dark Mirror chamber. Then Crowley's office—set on fire.

She's losing control. But she doesn't care.

Her lips are bleeding. Her eyes are too wide. She’s laughing between each breath, like something inside her’s breaking open and she wants to see what spills out.

“You think I want to hurt you?” she shrieks mid-attack, tossing magic like confetti. “I don’t even want to feel anything anymore!”

“But this?” She spins, every word like thunder. “This is better than silence. This is better than loneliness. This is better than crying into a pillow while pretending to be fine for your damn etiquette class, RIDDLE!”

He flinches.

And for the first time—he stops fighting.

That’s the crack. That moment of vulnerability. The realization.

She’s not trying to destroy them. She’s trying to make them see her.

Vil shouts—“Don’t let her burn out!” Malleus lowers his hand.

Azul speaks soft and panicked: “Yuu… it’s over. You’ve made your point. Please—don’t disappear.”

The magic begins to stutter.

Her voice is quieter now. “I… I don’t know how to turn it off,” she whispers. “I don’t know how to be normal again. I don’t think I ever was.”

She looks at her hands. They’re dripping ink. Glittered ink. Her own tears sparkle down her cheeks like starfire.

And then she collapses.

The ink rushes outward in a spiral, lashing wildly—and then begins to dissolve, like shadows fading at sunrise.

The world returns. The real one. Broken tiles. Cracked windows. Shaky students.

And Yuu—

Yuu is kneeling, hair soaked, clothes torn, eyes dull.

Her voice, so soft it almost isn’t there:

“I just wanted someone to be scared I might not come back.”

They rush toward her—finally.

Too late.

"I still think you couldn't beat Epel in a fight" Ace says with a very obvious teasing hint

The cameras point towards to Yuu and zoom in

"I don't know. What do you, the audience think?"

"Uh...Yuu?" Duece raises a brow

"Yeah?"

"Who are you talking to? There's no one there" Ace inquires

"Oh right! Don't worry about it" Yuu shrugs and starts humming to themselves

"Okay...if you say so"

A few weeks later

Yuu walks into Trein's class a tad bit early. There's something peculiar about their appearance. There's eyes, so many eyes surrounding Yuu's head.

And they look exhausted, bags under their eyes the size of Texas, hair frizzy, and scars on their face and neck and any place not covered by their uniform.

"What the hell?" Leona had just walked into the classroom, eyes wide

"Huh?" Yuu lifts their head from the table

"Oh right, you've never seen me like this before."

"What happened to you?" Leona asks, eyebrow raised

"I just didn't put Glamour on this morning"

"What do the eyes do?"

There’s something so funny about watching them panic.

Riddle’s shouting something in the distance, probably about rules. Azul’s casting shields like they’ll help (adorable). And Ace is screaming her name like it still means something.

Yuu tilts her head and watches the chandelier melt. Not literally. Maybe literally. It doesn’t matter anymore.

“Focus,” she murmurs to herself. Or maybe to the ink dripping off her shoulders in slow, lazy curls. It responds like a cat: uninterested unless it wants to be.

She tastes copper and sugar on her lips. Memory or imagination? Both?

“I giggle, touch his hair, and wrap my fingers round my keys,” she hums under her breath, twirling one of the charm-blades like it’s a dance partner. “I got over him in a few days…”

Pause. Smile. Eyes glowing like hellfire through honey.

“But I’m missing the thrill.”

Magic crackles like static down her arms—ribbons of darkness that shimmer with glitter. (She made her Overblot cute. Icon behavior.)

"God, do you hear yourself?" she mutters aloud to the part of her that isn't her anymore. The part that wants to destroy things just to see if they’ll rebuild prettier.

The Overblot responds with a twisted laugh—her own voice warped like a pop song played backwards.

“We were never the problem, darling. We were the proof the world doesn’t want girls like us unless we’re broken in a digestible shape.”

“We are digestible,” Yuu replies to herself, smiling. “We just bite back.”

Across the ballroom—no, wait, this isn't a ballroom anymore, this is her memory stitched together with magic like a fever dream—Jade steps forward. Calm. Calculated.

She wants to hurt him just to see if he flinches.

“Don’t.” Deuce’s voice cracks behind him, shaky and raw. “Yuu, please. We’re trying to help.”

She hates that. She hates how gentle they are now, now that she’s bleeding ink and finally interesting.

Where was that gentleness when she was spiraling in her bed at night? When she couldn’t sleep because the housewarden of the month said something cruel and the shadows whispered in tongues?

"Too late, Deucey," she calls sweetly. "I’m the main event now. You don’t get to be my moral compass."

The room tilts. Her thoughts spin like a kaleidoscope stuck on the wrong color.

The ink becomes her dress. A high collar. Long gloves. A slit up the side sharp enough to cut. There are roses blooming from her ribcage. Or maybe those are regrets. Or maybe it’s all just trauma but make it couture.

She floats down from the chandelier like a demon in a prom dress, twirling as she descends.

“Why do boys only chase you when you're crying or dangerous?” she muses aloud. “Oh wait, rhetorical.”

Malleus appears.

Because of course he does. Because whenever someone breaks the laws of magic this hard, the prince shows up like a gothic dad with a dragon complex.

“Child of man,” he says, solemn, “this is not the path you were meant to walk.”

Yuu smirks, upside-down now, hovering just above the marble floor.

“Bold of you to assume I ever had a path. Or legs.”

She lands. The ink dress ripples like liquid shadow. Her heels click, echoing like gunshots in a chapel.

Inside her head, there’s a second Yuu. Small. Shaking. Holding a stuffed cat plush and crying silently.

Outside, she’s a hurricane. A god. An icon.

And still—

Still that tiny version of her asks, “Can I stop now?” The Overblot wraps around her gently, like a sister. “Only if we win first.”

And maybe the others will stop her. Maybe Riddle will scream sense into her, or Azul will exploit the logic flaw in her spellwork. Maybe Malleus will wrap her in a draconic lullaby and bring her back.

But for now—

She smiles at the chaos. Giggles at the terrified boys with magic pens. Skips in heels over shattered tile like it’s a red carpet.

And somewhere deep in her bones, she whispers:

“I’m not unwell. I’m just finally being honest.”

“You’re talking like it’s a show”Leona crosses his arms

“Well it is”

Explain”

“Well it’s my thing”

“Thing?”

“I was born with it. I even do an after show Q&A where they tune in and ask questions”

“And you don’t find it creepy that people watch your life?”

“I’m used to it”

“what else do they watch?”

“Just how my day goes and my interactions with people”

“So they listen to you talk?”

”Yes.”