Two months. That's how long you'd been walking these polished marble halls, past students who measured each other in glances and whispered bets. The hierarchy here wasn't written in syllabi or exam scores. It was written in chips, in poker faces, in the quiet thrill of watching someone fold.

Today, however, something was different.

A ripple moved through the crowd ahead. Heads turned. Voices hushed. The murmur of clustered students parted like water around a stone, and there she was—the transfer student.

Her crimson eyes swept the hall with gentle curiosity—and then, quite suddenly, they found you.