Side Story - Do You Like Bianca Shama?
Name: Carlyle Schultz. Age: 19. On the surface, he's the picture of perfection. The heartthrob of St. Antiope Academy and a brilliant talent to boot. Everyone who matters knows the dean personally scouted him.
But is that all there is to it? Women never stopped flocking to Carlyle Schultz. Jet-black hair and golden eyes. Long, lean legs and broad shoulders. Sharp, striking features. The kind of looks that made most girls swoon. Top grades, skilled in a fight, and that signature aura—cool, aloof. If you had to label it, the "bad boy" type.
It was no secret that all three of the academy's famed "flowers"—the top female students—had crushed on him at some point. But now, in his final semester, Carlyle had cut off all romantic entanglements. Not for any dramatic reason. He was just... tired of it.
No matter who he dated, he couldn't grasp what it meant to truly like someone. He could never quite get it. And so, incidents like this kept happening.
"...That trash."
The girl glared at him with venom in her eyes. She'd been all sweet talk before, but Carlyle was always the one doing the dumping in the end. Lindsey—one of the academy's three flowers, with her long purple ponytail and haughty red eyes—spoke up.
"Be honest for once. Have you ever felt your heart skip a beat for me?"
Carlyle fell silent, then admitted the truth.
"...No."
It was the facts. She wanted honesty, so he gave it. Slap—a stinging slap across the cheek. Then came the tears. He got the slap, but crying women? He couldn't stand them. No urge to comfort, no empathy—it was just too much.
They broke up that day, naturally.
'Let's end this for good.' Carlyle thought. They were all so exhausting. Women, that is. He'd been through this exact scenario more than ten times already. Contacting them was a chore, worrying about them was a chore. And in the end, it always felt like he was the problem.
So Carlyle decided to call it quits. His exes always demanded back what they'd given him—though he'd never asked for it in the first place. But he was human, with a conscience. Even if they called him trash or slapped him on the way out, he never denied his part.
That said, in his defense... They'd cling if he didn't text back fast enough, like they were trying to control him.
'Why, though?'
He'd asked once. The answer?
—"You're too handsome."
Ridiculous. She was just insecure he'd stray. He'd tried accommodating them, but it never stuck. From childhood, girls had always fawned over him for no reason.
He'd heard it endlessly, but his heart never raced. Most girls approached for his looks anyway. He knew it was a blessing compared to others—and a curse. Deep down, he had a glaring void: he couldn't trust others' affection.
Everyone has multiple sides. Beneath Carlyle's polished exterior and laid-back vibe, he'd been an orphan from birth. No parental love, raised in an orphanage. That shaped him—rigid standards from a young age. Serious, even. The teachers called him precocious and pessimistic.
As a child, he'd told one:
—"Staying here long-term won't be good for me. It won't help."
—"But Carlyle, what do you want to do?"
—"I want to become independent soon."
Unlike their assessment, he saw himself as realistic. The welfare system was solid; he could've stayed till adulthood. But...
'Will just drifting along, living by the world's rules, change anything?'
Carlyle gazed from his windowsill seat each evening after dinner. Glittering city lights outside, happy families, couples. He overlaid his future onto them.
'Someday, without fail...'
He wanted that ordinary, happy life. With someone precious. But it felt impossibly distant from birth. At fifteen, he steeled himself and left the orphanage. Vowing success, believing it was the path forward. He handled everything alone—construction gigs, flyer distribution. Earned his own keep, studied magic theory in spare moments.
No special reason. Magic-related jobs paid well.
—"Impressive for a kid."
—"Mature beyond his years."
His adult coworkers said it often. A sponsor from the orphanage took notice and pushed harder. He'd clawed through life fiercely, but loneliness hit sometimes—like being utterly alone in the world. He was alone. Even for this driven boy forging his dark future with will and confidence alone, it was unavoidable.
That's when he set a goal:
'Start a family soon.' Meet a woman he loved. Something he'd never had. Lean on each other in tough times, be each other's support. Someone on his side, no strings attached. He'd longed for that forever. That's why he'd dated nonstop, even getting swept up once or twice. He was a guy, after all—desires happened. But he never skipped protection. Orphan habits? He wouldn't risk it till he was sure.
No vanity, no obsession, no pretentiousness—just mismatches everywhere.
'Why can't I?'
He'd tried, but no spark. No one pulled him in. Lately, he'd half-given up. Maybe his standards were too high, his tastes too picky. He'd cleaned up his dating life, killing time in boredom—
Until she appeared.
Whipping her auburn hair, purple eyes sparkling. Short skirt, no shorts underneath—and zero shame.
'What’s with this girl...?'
He'd been keeping women at arm's length lately. But she piqued his interest. So bold, so fresh in her approach. Amused and finding her cute, he thought:
'Maybe play along for a bit?'
That faint curiosity snowballed fast.
A crisp autumn night. On the second floor of a sleek building in the bustling main street stood a cocktail bar. Soft classical music, ambient colored lights. Milliore—an upscale spot. Late evenings drew crowds of young women seeking the vibe.
"Carlyle! Table service!"
"Yes, manager."
Carlyle Schultz, in crisp waiter attire, hustled through shifts. His academy rep was playboy-ish, but he lived diligently. The school accommodated him, knowing his work kept him busy. A year at Milliore had made him proficient—he moved efficiently. Took orders, mixed cocktails with expert pours—whoosh, whoosh—served them, cleared tables swiftly, darting through the hall.
"Um, excuse me..."
A blushing woman hesitated as he approached for her order.
"Sorry... could I get your number?"
He'd seen it coming and responded politely.
"Apologies, ma'am. I'm on duty."
A tactful no. She looked disappointed but nodded.
"Understood."
He kept moving. Most women's gazes here fixed on him anyway.
"...He's so hot."
"Tall, great build... total dream guy."
"Talk to him!"
Everyday scene. During a brief break, Carlyle leaned against the wall, brushing back his bangs. Hot today. Endless customers— this respite was heaven. Sweat-stuck shirt irritated him; he felt ridiculous.
'What am I even doing?'
He rarely did overtime. Why now? He didn't know. But the doubt vanished—
'...Maybe a reply?'
He pulled out his phone, hopeful. As expected:
No reply, but read receipt. He smirked.
"Dodging again, huh."
Hilarious girl. Cute, too—trouble. No one had ever ghosted him like this. Not even after sleeping together. And she was the first to make him initiate nonstop.
Reason unknown, but whatever. He texted again:
A bit sappy on purpose. Saying it to her face would've been fun—her reaction was gold.
'Love teasing her.'
Of course, he had no clue she'd fume at the text:
"Ugh, seriously—should I just block him?"
Shift ended deep into the night. Back in his room, Carlyle pondered. Boss's words echoed:
Boss had misunderstood. Something had happened—a pesky girl consuming his thoughts. And he'd overheard:
His ears perked. 'That's it.' A way to win over the dodging girl. Didn't make sense to him, but...
Hence the overtime. He had savings for tickets, but needed to replenish. Irrational? He knew. Studies suffered lately—normally he'd grind till dawn post-shift, but now her face filled his mind.
'Will she like it?'
Just imagining Bianca thrilled at Wizni Park made him smile. She'd be adorable, her quirky charm shining—vibrant expressions, auburn hair sparkling in sunlight, cat-like eyes smiling.
Her odd allure was fun to watch. A type he'd never met.
'And that body... unexpectedly hot.'
Soft to touch. When he teased dirty with his mouth, she'd swat back subtly—perfect. Matched his tastes. Such a lewd figure, yet so pure. Bizarre. Girly looks, but tomboy personality. All fresh, magnetic.
He checked his magiphone constantly. No reply. Still dodging desperately.
He sighed, chuckled, set it aside, stared at the ceiling. What was this feeling? Unclear. But the question:
'Do you like Bianca Shama?'
If he named it, confessed it...
"I like you, Bianca..."
Was that it? Saying it aloud, he struggled to believe his own emotions.
"Maybe... I do..."
In the dark, he rubbed his dry face. It felt hot. He was bold with her, smirky—but alone like this? Different.
One thing sure: he was drawn to Bianca Shama.
And the next day, the two headed to Wizni Park together.