Her grandpa's lips twitched—just a hint of mischief. He clearly thought that was his opening. A distraction. A chance to break her focus and finally win one round against her.
He increased his pressure, sending a sharper shot to her left.
But Ava didn't even look at the phone yet.
Almost like she had eyes somewhere behind her head, she shifted, returned the shot cleanly, and kept playing without losing rhythm. Half attention on the game. Half somewhere else entirely. And still—she was winning.
The ball snapped back across the net with precision.
Her grandpa clicked his tongue.
That was when Ava finally stepped back, glancing at her phone between exchanges like it was nothing important.
One message.
A picture loaded.
Matthew.
Standing in front of Sophia.
His jacket draped over her shoulders like it belonged there more than it ever belonged to anyone else. Sophia's red doe-like eyes looked up at him, soft in a way that felt carefully framed by the moment itself. The two of them stood too close—too composed—too perfect.
The kind of couple people would call "golden" without thinking twice.
Ava's fingers tightened slightly around her racket.
Just for a second.
Her hazel-blue eyes sharpened, the kind of gaze that didn't rise—it dropped, cold and quiet like a blade sliding under water.
"…Ugly."
She typed it.
Sent it to Luna without hesitation.
Then turned her phone face-down like it had already lost its value.
The game never stopped.
Neither did she.
Her grandpa served again, clearly enjoying himself now that he had at least something to aim for—her attention split between tennis and whatever had just crossed her screen.
Ava returned the ball effortlessly.
"Grandpa," she said suddenly, voice light but focused, like she was talking in between heartbeats of the match, "if you want your crush's phone number… what would you do?"
Her grandpa nearly missed the next return, scoffing as he recovered quickly.
"Steal it. Or create a situation where they have no choice but to give it to you." He grinned slightly. "If you must ask while chasing someone, you should have no shame."
Ava's lips curved faintly.
The next shot came fast—she hit it back harder.
"I'll think about the advice," she replied.
Her tone stayed calm, but something sharper settled behind her eyes, like she had already started testing the idea in her mind.
The rally continued like nothing had changed.
But somewhere beyond the court, beyond the mansion walls, the world was already reacting.
Matthew's recent results—posted again—spread across the internet like the awaited results after all the top big wig had watched him do .
Almost full marks.
999
Only one mistake.
Not because he didn't know the answer.
Because he simply didn't bother to write it.
That detail alone was enough to ignite everything again.
Crownside students were already celebrating their victory from the recent competition, but this resurfacing turned it into something else entirely—noise, debate, obsession.
Proof stacked against pride. Intelligence turning into argument fuel.
The office still carried the weight of the competition.
Thirty students stood scattered across the room, some leaning against desks, some sitting too straight like posture alone could protect them from what came next. The air was tight—not loud, but compressed, like everyone was holding their breath without realizing it.
The teacher in charge flipped through the list in his hand once, then let his eyes travel over them slowly.
"I told you all before," he began, voice calm but firm enough to make even the restless ones still, "after the competition, only fifteen will remain."
A pause.
Long enough for it to settle properly.
"The remaining fifteen will be selected to represent each grade. Five students per grade. The rest…" his gaze flicked over them again, sharper now, "will be removed from the group."
A few students shifted immediately. Someone swallowed too loudly. A chair creaked.
He let them sit in it.
Then he exhaled and tapped the paper lightly.
"So. Quick question round."
That alone made the atmosphere tighten further.
No one spoke.
Pens moved. Pages flipped. Silence turned active.
By the time it ended, the results had already formed without ceremony.
Names were confirmed. Some faces relaxed with relief. Others didn't react at all, as if pretending not reacting meant it didn't apply to them.
Matthew was already halfway turned toward the door when—
"Wait."
Sophia's voice cut cleanly through the exit flow.
She moved forward quickly, stopping just in front of him. Her grip tightened slightly on the jacket draped over her shoulders—his jacket. It still smelled faintly like him, which she seemed painfully aware of.
"Matthew," she said, softer now, eyes lifting to his, "I wanted to say thank you. For helping me. And… I'll wash your jacket and return it properly."
A small pause.
Then she added, almost carefully rehearsed, "And I'd like to thank you properly… by taking you to dinner."
Her fingers shifted slightly, reaching—testing—aiming for his hand.
Matthew stepped aside just enough.
Not harsh. Not dramatic.
Just enough.
Her hand caught air.
He glanced at her briefly, expression unreadable in that quiet way that made it hard to tell if he noticed everything or nothing at all.
"No need," he said flatly. "You can keep the jacket ."
Then he walked past her.
No extra words.
No second glance.
Just the sound of his footsteps fading out of the office.
Back in the shared room, the mood was completely different.
The door barely shut before someone exhaled dramatically.
"Damn, dude," Philip leaned back in his chair, staring at him like he had just seen something unreal. "I never knew your brain was like that."
"Yeah," big v added immediately, "we've been living with the god of studying and didn't know it."
"Wow, we've been blessed," Derek else joked. "Show us the way, oh great one."
Matthew let out a small chuckle as he placed his things down.
"Study with me instead of texting your girlfriend every night big V" he said lazily, not even looking up, "you'd see a difference in your life."
The room paused—
Then exploded.
"WOW," Derek pointed at him like he had been betrayed by evolution itself. "We are officially rubbing off on Matthew. This is corruption."
Laughter followed instantly.
Felix leaned forward, offended on principle. "Is that what everyone should be talking about? He's been here ONE week and students are already—"
He gestured wildly.
"—dying for him! Girls are fighting for seatmates like it's war! And Philip? He have been chasing his crush for years like a fool!"
Rick laughed under his breath.
That was enough.
Philip threw a cup at Felix.
Rick immediately covered his mouth, shoulders shaking, trying not to laugh too loudly and attract attention—because Philip was already looking for targets.
"Why don't you treat us? Take us to your apartment. Take care of us," Little Green added dramatically, earning immediate agreement from the others.
A chorus of "yes" followed.
Matthew straightened slowly, finally looking at them properly.
He rolled his eyes.
"Not happening."
He zipped his bag.
Then added, casually lethal, "When I come back next week, I'll take care of everyone."
A beat.
Then, as if remembering something slightly more important, he glanced at Felix.
"Actually… Felix is supposed to be in charge of my feeding life for three months. So go meet Felix anything you want don't pity him."
Silence.
Then Felix turned slowly toward him like a betrayed husband in a courtroom drama.
Philip burst out laughing again.
"Next time don't make bets you'll lose," Jay said calmly, patting Felix on the shoulder like it was a funeral.
"Oh right," Philip added suddenly, remembering, "don't forget—school trip on Wednesday. Aleria City."
That name lingered for a second in the room.
Then Matthew slung his bag over his shoulder.
And walked out.
The laughter slowly faded behind him—replaced by noise, plans, and chaos still continuing without him.
Outside, the corridor swallowed his steps whole.
Wednesday arrived with noise.
Not loud at first—but layered. Engines idling. Students calling out names. Bags hitting against bus sides.
The kind of morning that didn't wait for anyone to fully wake up before dragging them into it.
Ten buses lined up at the front gate, engines humming steadily like they were already impatient.
Two hundred and fifty Grade 12 students gathered in clusters, five classes blending into one restless crowd.
The arrangement had already been decided—twenty-five students per bus, five from each class, just enough mixing to force interaction whether anyone liked it or not.
No one stood still for long.
Except—
When Matthew stepped in, movement around him seemed to hesitate for half a second.
Same uniform.
Different effect.
His white long-sleeve shirt was tucked in just enough to look intentional without trying. Black trousers—custom-fitted—sat cleanly against his frame, paired with a black-and-white tie loosened slightly at the collar. One hand held his vest casually, like he hadn't decided if he'd wear it or not.
Simple.
But it didn't look simple on him.
Around him, uniforms varied. Some students wore the red trousers or skirts with matching jackets. Others stuck to navy blue sets, fully layered with vests and blazers. A few chose black variations, cleaner, sharper.
The school had options—three main uniforms, multiple sportswear sets, even a casual Friday fit designed to blur the line between relaxed and controlled.
Yet somehow—
Matthew still stood out like he wasn't part of the system at all.
"Damn," Felix's voice slid in from the side, eyes scanning him with exaggerated appreciation. "You look like a painting."
He winked.
Matthew didn't react.
"Where are the others?" he asked instead, gaze already moving past the crowd.
Felix shrugged. "No idea."
Then leaned closer, lowering his voice just enough to sound conspiratorial.
"But look around. Half the girls here are eyeing you." His lips twitched. "A lot of them want to sit with you."
Matthew didn't bother to follow his gaze.
If anything, that made it worse.
Another shift in the crowd.
Aiden walked in.
Not alone.
Paul. Solomon. Prince. King. Drake. Sam.
They didn't rush. Didn't need to. Their presence carried the kind of quiet confidence that made people notice anyway. A few girls turned immediately, whispers sparking between groups.
And just like that—
Comparisons started.
Aiden.
Matthew.
Low voices. Quick glances. Subtle pointing.
"Who suits Sophia more…"
"…obviously Aiden…"
"…but Matthew…"
The words never fully formed in one place, but they didn't need to. The tension built anyway.
Then—
Sophia arrived.
Her group moved in together, and this time the reaction was more obvious. Eyes followed. Conversations slowed. Even those pretending not to care adjusted slightly, like they were waiting for something to happen.
Drama didn't need an invitation here.
"Hey… look, it's Matthew," one of her friends whispered, barely containing the excitement in her voice. "He's so hot."
"We should sit with Aiden, right?" another added quickly.
Sophia's expression tightened for a fraction of a second.
"Who we sit with doesn't matter," she said.
Not loud.
But enough.
Her friends fell silent immediately.
What Sophia won't say she hated her friend desperation boys should be fighting for her not the other way.
"Aren't you going to do anything about the rumor?" Paul's voice came low, directed only at their circle. "The one saying Sophia likes that Matthew guy."
Solomon let out a short breath. "Another person fighting over Sophia… is it really worth it if she doesn't give a clear signal?"
Aiden didn't answer.
He sat there, flicking his lighter open and closed. Click. Click. Click. The small flame danced briefly before disappearing again, over and over, like he was more interested in the motion than the conversation.
Then—he looked up.
His gaze landed on Sophia.
She didn't look back.
Ignored him completely.
The corner of Aiden's lips lifted.
"I've already come this far chasing," he said lazily. "If I stop now, it'll only be because I'm bored… or I don't feel like finishing the game."
His friends exchanged looks.
None of them called it out.
Not far away, Felix glanced at Matthew.
Still calm.
Still detached.
Like none of this had anything to do with him.
Felix chuckled under his breath.
"Do you like Sophia?" he asked, voice low.
Matthew finally looked up.
"Who is Sophia?"
Silence.
Felix froze.
Then—
He burst out laughing.
Not subtle. Not controlled. It came out sharp and loud, cutting straight through the surrounding noise.
Heads turned instantly.
"What's funny?" one of the teachers called out, eyes narrowing slightly.
Felix straightened, still trying to hold back the remaining laughter, waving his hand dismissively.
"Nope, nope. If I say what I just heard," he said, grinning, "I'll become enemy number one in this school."
He gave a mock bow.
"So I'll pass."
Eyes lingered on him.
Then slowly shifted.
Toward Matthew.
Who looked like nothing had happened at all.
"Is everyone here?"
The teacher's voice cut through the scattered noise, firm enough to pull attention back into place. Conversations thinned as students glanced around, counting faces, checking groups.
A brief pause—
Then someone spoke up, half-raising their hand. "Ava's group isn't here yet."
A ripple went through the crowd.
"Jesus Christ," one of Sophia's friends scoffed under her breath, loud enough for those nearby to hear, "who do they think they are, making everyone wait?"
"Exactly," another chimed in quickly, folding her arms. "Sometimes I wonder how Sophia and Ava are even cousins. It's like heaven and hell."
A few people laughed.
Not loudly—but enough.
Eyes flicked toward Sophia, then away again, like the comparison itself was entertainment.
And just like that, Ava had already been judged—
Without even being there.
"Of course it's heaven and hell," a voice slipped in smoothly.
Soft.
Sweet.
Clear enough to cut straight through the laughter.
"I look like heaven—tempting." A slight pause, almost playful. "And Sophia… compared to me looks like hell, right?"
Silence.
It didn't fall slowly.
It dropped.
Every head turned at once.
Ava walked in like she had never been late.
Like the entire moment had been waiting for her to arrive.
Her outfit didn't follow the uniform—it played with it.
A black mini pleated skirt brushed mid-thigh with every step, paired with clean white knee-high stockings and sleek black Mary Jane shoes, the polished leather catching light with each movement.
Her white long-sleeve shirt sat perfectly against her frame, layered with a fitted vest—but the tie meant for her collar hung loosely around her wrist instead, wrapped like an accessory rather than a rule.
A soft pink diamond stud rested on her nose, subtle but impossible to ignore. A thin silver pendant caught briefly against her collarbone as she moved.
Her wine-colored hair flowed freely down her back, smooth and full, reaching her waist in soft waves. A white Vanda headband tied into a neat bow rested against it, delicate enough to contrast the sharpness of her presence.
Everything about her looked soft.
But nothing about her felt harmless.
Full pink lips. Hazel-blue eyes that didn't just look—they pulled. Skin so clear and pale it almost reflected light, like glass with a hint of warmth beneath.
Devastating.
And fully aware of it.
The crowd didn't just quiet down.
It obeyed.
Sophia's face flushed instantly, color rising fast across her cheeks. Her lips parted, ready to speak—
"Save it."
Luna's voice cut in before she could.
She stepped forward, the same uniform worn completely differently—chains glinting lightly from her belt, her boots, her wrist bangles catching with each small movement. Even her necklace shifted when she tilted her head, eyes sharp and unapologetic.
"Don't act nice now just because Ava decided to stand up for herself," Luna continued, her tone calm but edged. "You could've acted nice earlier—by telling your little lapdogs to shut it."
No one laughed this time.
No one even breathed too loudly.
Behind them, Jane, Jordan, and Jake didn't rush.
They walked in at their own pace, like none of this tension belonged to them—but also like they would step into it if needed.
The buses idled.
The crowd stood frozen between watching… and pretending not to.
And at the center of it—
"We're here now. Let's get in before everyone starts cursing us again for being late."
Ava rolled her eyes lightly, already moving before anyone could respond. The moment didn't cling to her—she stepped out of it as easily as she had stepped into it, heading straight toward the buses like the tension behind her wasn't worth carrying.
Luna followed, still watching the crowd with a look that dared anyone to say something else.
Matthew's gaze had been on Ava the second she appeared.
Not obvious.
But steady.
She hadn't looked at him once when she walked in—no pause, no shift, no acknowledgment. Just straight through the crowd like he didn't exist.
Good.
At least she wouldn't start again.
Her ridiculous crush… probably gone.
That thought barely settled before—
Her eyes met his.
Not by accident.
Direct.
Intentional.
Matthew stilled slightly, expecting her to look away .
Instead
Ava winked.
Then blew him a kiss.
Like it was nothing.
Like he was the one being played with.
She even took a step in his direction—
Only for Luna to grab her wrist and drag her toward the bus before she could get any closer.
"What—" Ava started, half-turning back, but Luna didn't let go.
"Bus. Now."
Ava laughed softly, letting herself be pulled away.
Around them, confusion spread quietly.
"…Who was she looking at?"
"I didn't see—"
No one got an answer.
Because by then—
Matthew had already turned away.
And stepped into his bus.