Crownfall’s Cruelest Game · Y/n story by @kingkay

The late afternoon sun cut long shadows across Crownfall’s main courtyard, painting the glass-fronted buildings in gold and amber. Students milled between classes, their conversations a low hum beneath the distant echo of pool water slapping against tile.

???

—I’m just saying, if you’d actually turned, you would’ve beat my time.

The voices tumbled out, loud and easy, trailed by the squeak of sneakers on marble. A group of swimmers filed into the courtyard, hair still wet, duffel bags slung loose over their shoulders.

Koen King

steps out last, gym bag hanging from one hand, dark curls dripping water against his forehead, still laughing at something off-screen.

His voice carried. Easy. Unbothered. The kind of voice that didn’t need to be loud to be heard.

Koen King

stops mid-stride, smirk still half-formed on his lips as he watches Y/N pass.

Just a second. Barely a pause.

Micheal

notices, follows his gaze, grin sharpening. The hell are you looking at?

He said it like a reflex.