—Heather Vale's POV—
If I were Simpleton, I'd be nervous. New year, new class, new ranking war.
But I'm not Simple.
I'm Heather Vale—heir to Vale Co., queen of Regalia High, and the villainess of this story.
This school isn't built for day dreamers. It's built for legacy. And I? I come wrapped in black silk and thorns, ready to take mine.
I step out of the Vale limousine in six-inch stilettos, not for height—I already tower in reputation—but because pain sharpens focus.
Students part like the Red Sea. The scholarship kids avoid eye contact. The more popular ones try to imitate me. Tsk. I can't complain though I would wanna be me too.
But then there was this one guy.
Didn't even spare a glance to me.
Zeast Arlsen.
Even his name tastes like iron. Cold, elegant, untouchable. The heir to Arlsen Co.—cars, books, and heartbreaks.
He doesn't look at me. He never does.
But gods, when he walks past me like I'm nothing—
I remember why I swore I'd make him mine. Even if it kills me.
"Princess~" a voice cuts in from behind. I turn, heels clicking.
Wyn Washton.
My walking headache in lavender hair. Wearing that stupid grin like he owns the air.
"Oh look," I scoff, "the clown's arrived."
He grins wider. "Aw, princess. I missed you too."
Before I could reply the screeching sound of the announcement mic was heard.
"All students to the Grand Hall. Rankings are being announced. And the Trinity heirs… you are expected earlier."
Let's push the chaos.
The Grand Hall is every student's nightmare and every heir's arena.
Golden chandeliers swing overhead like guillotines, and red carpet rolls out for the ones who matter—us.
I walk past the commoners. The ones who dream big and stay small. One trip from my heel and their entire social status crashes.
At the center of the hall, the Trinity Thrones wait.
Three velvet chairs. Gold-framed. Elevated. Untouchable.
The Vale.
The Washton.
The Arlsen.
This isn't just symbolic—it's law.
In Regalia High, business heirs rule. The top three companies in Avenleigh built this school from the ground up, and their children sit above the rest. Every year, the rankings shift. But the throne? That's inherited… unless someone's reckless enough to challenge it.
Zeast walks in like he owns gravity. Cold. Composed. Regal.
Wyn hops onto the stage like it's a joke he's telling. Winks at the crowd. A few girls giggle. Disgusting.
And me?
I stand between them.
In heels, in black velvet, in unapologetic fury.
Perfect. As always.
"Presenting the heirs," the announcer's voice booms.
"Zeast Arlsen, heir of Arlsen Co. Ranked No. 1 in last term's academics and fencing."
Applause.
"Wyn Washton, heir of Washton Co. Ranked No. 1 in sports and digital entrepreneurship."
More applause—louder. I swear he pays people to clap.
"Heather Vale, heir of Vale Co. Ranked No. 1 in business simulations and... disciplinary infractions."
Laughter ripples through the room.
I don't flinch.
Let them laugh. I own it.
We move to take our seats—
But then the screen behind us flashes red.
"System Override: New contender for Trinity announced."
The hall stills. Teachers whisper. Students turn.
"Introducing: Misa Mosher Ranked No. 1 in literature and creative sector also earned many student council votes."
Who?
The doors slam open.
A girl walks in.
Not in designer. Not in uniform.
And Misa Aihara knew she didn't belong.
Not when her second-hand shoes squeaked too loud on the marble. Not when the school crest sewn on her blazer looked two shades off from the rest. Not when every perfectly-groomed head turned to her like a rare bird flew in through the wrong window.
Still, she held her head high. Because if she didn't, she'd drown.
It was clear she didn't belong here
—Third Person Pov—
"Scholarship student," someone muttered.
"She's cute though," another whispered.
"Yeah, in a rescue pet kind of way."
She heard them. Misa heard everything. But she kept walking.
Her destination was the registrar's office, but fate—fate in Regalia High wore designer heels.
"Move."
The single word cut through the air like diamond. Misa paused.
A girl stood in front of her, raven-black hair in an intricate braid, lips glossed in Vale's signature red, and an expression so cold it could stop time.
Heather Vale.
Behind her, a group of followers stood perfectly posed, as though breathing out of sync would break the aesthetic.
Misa blinked. "Sorry, I didn't realize—"
"You didn't realize whose hall this was?" Heather tilted her head. "You're new. You're forgiven. Once."
Misa nodded. "Thanks."
"Don't thank me. Just don't walk here again."
It wasn't cruel. It wasn't mean-girl. It was fact.
Heather walked past, the air chilling around her as her perfume lingered—some custom blend probably named after herself.
Then came chaos.
"BOO!"
Misa jumped, nearly dropping her file folder.
A boy with lavender hair and a grin too wide for his face hung upside down from the top stair railing.
"WYN!" someone shrieked. "You're going to get detention again!"
"Worth it," Wyn chirped, flipping down and landing beside Misa. "Hi. You're new. I'm chaos. Nice to meet you."
Misa blinked. "I'm Misa."
"Pretty name. You have no idea what jungle you just walked into."
Before she could answer, another figure approached. Tall. Ice-blonde. Eyes that could freeze oceans.
Zeast Arlsen.
He didn't stop. Just glanced and walked past them like time bent around his stride.
But the air changed.
Heather stopped mid-convo.
Wyn actually shut up.
And Misa? Misa felt her heart stutter.
Silence. Absolute silence.
Until—
Wyn grins. "Now this... this is fun.
And Heather?
Well she finally feel something sharper than jealousy.
A threat.