The morning sun filtered through thin curtains, painting golden lines across the wooden floor of Viera's bedroom. Outside, the familiar chaos of the neighborhood stirred—a dog barked, a vendor shouted over a delivery truck, and kids laughed on their way to school.
She was awake before all of it.
Standing barefoot in her training corner, she moved through a slow kata—muscle memory guiding her through each precise strike and shift. Every stretch, every breath was a reminder: her body might look younger, but her soul carried nineteen years—and a brutal end.
Each movement was a vow.
Strike first.
Never trust smiles.
Rebuild what was lost—stronger, colder, untouchable.
When she finished, she stood panting, sweat slicking her brow. Her gaze fell on the school uniform laid out neatly on the bed. White blouse. Navy jacket. Red-checkered skirt. A reminder of the most mundane part of her former life.
Back to school, huh?
She hadn't paid much attention to classes the first time around. She'd coasted on intellect, skipping days to build Langford Innovations in her garage. She'd treated teachers like pawns and peers like obstacles.
And maybe that's why she never saw the betrayals forming.
This time, she'd walk those halls differently.
She dressed slowly, sliding the blazer over her toned arms. It felt strange—like a blade wearing a velvet sheath. She tucked a hidden folding knife into her left sock and a flash drive into the side pocket of her backpack. Not that she expected trouble... yet.
But she was never going in blind again.
—
St. Carridan's Elite Academy.
It looked the same—white-bricked, ivy-wrapped, and smug. The gates stood tall and polished, a status symbol as much as security.
Her heart thrummed when she saw the old iron arch. Her first step onto school grounds was like stepping into a memory. She knew where the cafeteria was. The gym. The tree behind the admin building where she used to sketch prototypes during lunch.
And she knew who was about to come down the path.
There.
A tall, cocky teen with too-bright shoes and a laugh that could fill a hall. Kieran Jace. Her ex-rival in the regional robotics club. Brilliant, annoying, unpredictable—and once upon a time, the only person who ever tied with her in a math duel.
He hadn't yet grown into the steely-eyed innovator she would later hire... and who would then sell her blueprints to Synergen under the table.
She clenched her jaw.
Not this time, Jace.
"You're new?" a girl asked beside her.
Viera turned. A petite student with large glasses and bright pigtails peered up at her with curiosity.
"No," Viera replied smoothly. "Just... returning."
The girl nodded. "I'm Talia. If you're in Class 3-A, that's me too."
"I am." Viera smiled faintly. This girl doesn't remember me. Good.
That worked to her advantage.
—
By midmorning, Viera had already surveyed the classrooms, memorized the camera angles, and cataloged who sat with who. Cliques hadn't changed: the scholarship geniuses, the rich heirs, the athletes, the outcasts.
And at the top of it all—her.
Or at least, she would be again soon.
But first, she needed to rebuild her foundation. That meant gathering allies and planting seeds for her empire.
When lunch rolled around, she didn't head to the canteen. She ducked behind the old chemistry wing, climbed through a side window, and found the abandoned lab no one used anymore.
She had used it, once. It was where she sketched her earliest blueprints. And where she hid her prototype compression processor—a miniature AI chip ahead of its time.
She opened the loose ceiling tile.
Still there.
Wrapped in cloth. Untouched. She ran her fingers over the metal—cool, humming faintly. A grin ghosted her lips.
"With this," she whispered, "I'll take back everything."
A voice rang out behind her.
"Langford?"
She stiffened, spun on instinct, but relaxed a second later.
It was Professor Ardin, the robotics club supervisor. Graying at the temples, stern-faced, but with eyes that were always ten steps ahead.
"I heard you transferred back," he said. "Didn't expect to find you breaking into labs on your first day."
"I'm not breaking in," Viera said coolly. "I'm reclaiming."
His eyes flicked to the cloth bundle. "That wouldn't be your old processor chip, would it? The one you never submitted to the regional contest?"
"I wasn't ready for the world to see it." She tucked it into her bag. "Now I am."
Ardin stared at her a moment longer, then nodded slowly. "You were always ten years ahead of the rest. That hasn't changed, has it?"
"No," she said with steel in her voice. "But this time, I'm not wasting a second."
—
By the end of the school day, Viera had joined two clubs—robotics and business studies—and aced a surprise algebra quiz with casual disinterest.
She also emailed a patent office during lunch, using a burner address.
Three kids whispered her name as she passed. She ignored them. Let the mystery build.
When she arrived home, her mother had made tomato soup and was humming to an old tune.
Viera hugged her tightly.
"Mama, I think I'm going to win a business competition soon."
Her mother blinked. "Already? School just started."
"I'm fast," Viera said, sipping the soup. "And I've seen the future."
She didn't mean it metaphorically.
Her mother raised an eyebrow. "Viera... you sound different."
Viera hesitated, staring into her bowl. Then, she smiled faintly. "Maybe I just feel different now. Like I finally know what I want."
And what she didn't want: betrayal, failure, or wasted time.
After dinner, she retreated to her room and opened her ancient laptop—an underpowered hunk of junk she hadn't even touched in her first life after she upgraded to cutting-edge tech. It whirred like a dying animal as it booted up, but it worked.
She connected to the network, pulled out her flash drive, and loaded the compressed design files she had memorized before her death.
As the screen lit up with sketches of micro AI hubs, multi-layer encryption schematics, and predictive medicine algorithms, her lips curled into a quiet grin.
These ideas won't exist for at least another three years. If I move fast… I can own the future.
She opened a browser and typed in the name of the upcoming "Astaria Inter-High Innovation Contest"—a business and tech fair for elite schools. It was scheduled to begin in four weeks. Teams were required to pitch a scalable product, build a prototype, and defend it in front of investors.
In her past life, she hadn't even known it existed. Alia had entered the contest and used stolen parts of Viera's abandoned notes to win.
This time?
She'd enter herself. As a one-girl army.
Viera scrolled down the requirements. Team optional. Category: Open field. One submission per school.
Her eyes narrowed.
That meant someone else at St. Carridan's might try to claim the spot. Probably Jace. He was always quick to find tech contests to flex his ego. She needed to get there first—and ensure her claim was irreversible.
The next morning, she returned to campus early, even before the custodians arrived. The air was still cold, the dew fresh on the grass.
She headed to the robotics lab, unlocked it with a bobby pin from her hair, and turned on the lights.
The same shelves. The same half-finished drones. The same old projector with its green flickering light.
She began drawing up plans. Not just for a device—but a strategy.
If she played this right, she wouldn't just win the contest. She'd gain the attention of real investors, the kind who remembered faces for years.
But she needed credibility. And allies who could function as useful distractions. Pawns, maybe a knight or two. No kings or queens—she was the only one who'd wear that crown.
Around 7:30, she heard footsteps.
"Langford," came a voice. Jace.
Of course.
He leaned against the doorframe, holding a thermos and wearing that same old smirk. "You're here early. Trying to make up for lost time?"
"I don't need to make up anything," Viera replied without looking up from her notebook. "I'm already ahead."
"Oh? I heard you've been gone a year. Dropped out or disappeared or something."
"Family issues."
He raised a brow. "Well. You came back just in time for the Innovation Contest. I'm entering, by the way."
Of course he was.
"What's your pitch?"
"Secret." He grinned, tapping his temple. "But let's just say it'll make waves."
She looked up, met his gaze, and said, "Then be prepared to drown."
That knocked the grin off his face for a second. Then he laughed, recovering fast.
"There's the Langford I remember. Savage. But hey, why don't we partner up?"
Viera tilted her head slightly. "So you can ride my ideas like you tried to in Year 2? No thanks."
He scowled. "That was a misunderstanding. I gave credit—"
"You gave yourself credit."
The air between them turned cold. Viera stood, walked past him, and added over her shoulder:
"Let's both enter. But don't expect mercy."
Later that day, during Business Club, Viera watched as the club president—a girl named Reina Halstrom, daughter of a shipping magnate—stood at the front of the class and rattled off statistics about fiscal markets.
Viera wasn't listening.
She was watching the room.
Five of the students were bored. Three were competitive. Two were watching Reina with knives in their eyes. Perfect.
She leaned toward one of them. A boy with sharp cheekbones and a tattoo peeking from under his collar. She remembered him from her past life. Julian Yen. He had dropped out after being accused of plagiarism, but Viera had always believed he was framed.
"You're Julian, right?" she whispered.
He glanced at her warily. "Yeah. So?"
"Still interested in making something no one's ever seen?"
His expression changed. "Depends on who's asking."
"Someone who already has the blueprint. And a plan."
After class, he followed her out.
By sunset, Viera had assembled a team of three people who weren't afraid of rules and didn't care about glory. Just like she wanted. They wouldn't last forever—but for the contest, they'd do.
The group would serve as her shield while she pitched the real technology under her name. She would own the patents, steer the funding, and lock down every legal right.
The old Viera had been brilliant.
This new one?
She was dangerous.