Chapter 3: Dog on a leash
Four weeks passed at ANHS—four weeks of quiet tension, subtle moves, and hidden ambitions.
And now, it was that time.
Class Points Day.
The scoreboard flickered to life on the digital display:
Class 1-A: 940
Class 1-B: 850
Class 1-C: 650
Class 1-D: 420
Class 1-E: 350
Class 1-F: 0
The numbers were merciless. Every point lost was another advantage gone… and in this school, advantages were everything but some clearly didn't know what they were doing.
Chabashira-sensei had done a number on them.
Class 1-F sat at a clean, humiliating 0 points—not that anyone was surprised. A class of failures could hardly expect anything else.
Elsewhere, Horikita Suzune walked along the school's garden path, her steps brisk but her mind restless. She hated to admit it, but her chest felt tight. If only she'd been placed in Class 1-A, then—
"Are you still clinging to those foolish thoughts?"
She stopped. A tall man with neatly combed dark-blue hair, a gleaming monocle over one eye, was already closing the distance between them. His gaze was sharp enough to cut glass.
"And what concern is that of yours?" Suzune asked, her tone cold. "How do you even know what's on my mind?"
"Because he knows more about you than you think, Suzune."
Another voice—calm, commanding. Horikita turned sharply to see Horikita Manabu stepping into view.
Her eyes widened ever so slightly.
"Broth—er?"
"Brother… I'm far different than the girl you once knew," she said, keeping her composure. "But I didn't expect you to find me here."
Manabu adjusted his glasses with a slow, deliberate motion.
"Now, we both know that's a lie, Suzune."
Her eyes narrowed. "…Who is this, Nii-san?"
"My right-hand man," Manabu replied, "Ryotaro Hamida."
Ryotaro's expression didn't soften in the slightest.
"I've heard plenty about you, Suzune—rarely anything good."
She hesitated before speaking again. "What do you need from me?"
Manabu's tone turned razor-sharp.
"I hear you've been placed in Class 1-F. It seems nothing has changed in the last three years. Still stuck up. Still more obsessed with me than facing your own flaws. Choosing this school was your mistake."
"You're wrong, Nii-san," she said firmly. "I will reach Class A."
Manabu exhaled, a quiet sigh.
"Another lie."
Ryotaro's eyes flicked to him.
"Manabu… if more people learn she's your sister, it could be costly."
"Indeed," Manabu said, his voice dropping. "If that truth spreads, my position will be humiliated. Leave this school immediately."
"I… I can't do that," Suzune replied, her voice shaking yet resolute. "I will reach Class A."
Ryotaro gave a short, cold chuckle.
"Such unwanted resolve."
Manabu's gaze hardened.
"You possess absolutely none of the capabilities to reach Class A."
He stepped forward, raising his arm as if to pin her against the wall. Suzune's muscles tensed—until, in one smooth motion, a hand shot out from the shadows, catching Manabu's wrist before it could move.
It was Ayanokoji.
Before anyone could register what happened, Ayanokoji moved.
His hand clamped around Manabu's wrist mid-motion, stopping him cold.
For the first time, a flicker of surprise crossed Manabu's usually unreadable face.
"…You?"
Ryotaro didn't hesitate. His arm snapped forward in a precise strike aimed for Ayanokoji's ribs.
Ayanokoji released Manabu just in time, twisting his body and letting the blow sail past.
Manabu's sharp gaze followed the motion, eyes narrowing.
"Interesting."
Ryotaro advanced again, this time faster—fluid bursts of straight punches and knife-hand strikes, each aimed to end the exchange quickly. Ayanokoji slipped between them effortlessly, as though reading the attacks a heartbeat before they came.
Suzune stood frozen a few steps away, her voice catching.
"W-what…?"
The scene felt surreal. Ryotaro's skill was undeniable, yet Ayanokoji's calm, almost casual evasion made it clear—this wasn't a contest of equals.
"You were about to slam your sister into the ground, Class President-san," Ayanokoji said calmly, his grip still light on Manabu's wrist. "You do realize the floor here is concrete. Surely you know the difference between right and wrong."
Ryotaro's eyes narrowed, the glass of his monocle catching the light as it shifted.
"And what's it to you, boy?" he snapped.
Manabu adjusted his glasses with a measured click.
"Eavesdropping is hardly admirable," he said, his tone cool and unhurried. "But… you intrigue me. Those reflexes—are you in Class 1-F as well? What a curious companion you have, Suzune."
Ayanokoji gave the faintest shrug.
"Unlike Horikita, I struggle in many areas."
Ryotaro's voice was cold.
"It seems Class 1-F is full of liars."
Manabu glanced at Suzune.
"Is this your friend?"
Suzune shook her head quickly.
"No… just my classmate."
Manabu sighed as though her answer proved a long-standing point.
"And yet, you still confuse independence with solitude. Some things never change."
"Enough, Ryotaro."
Ryotaro straightened slightly at the command.
"By your will, Student council President."
Manabu's gaze returned to Ayanokoji, appraising.
"Do you practice martial arts?"
"No," Ayanokoji replied, expression unreadable. "I do piano. And calligraphy."
Ryotaro gave him a look of pure disbelief, as if the words themselves were an insult.
"Piano…?"
Then his attention flicked back to Manabu.
"Wait—is this the one? The student who scored exactly fifty on every entrance exam?"
Manabu allowed the faintest smile.
"It appears so."
Ryotaro smirked faintly.
"Quite the interesting first-year, then."
Suzune stared between them, her voice barely more than a breath.
"You… what?"
"My scores were a mere coincidence," Ayanokoji said evenly, his gaze shifting briefly to Horikita. "I really do calligraphy and piano."
Horikita frowned, still clearly trying to process what she'd just learned.
Manabu gave a curt nod, adjusting his glasses once more.
"We're done here. I'll see you around… Ayanokoji."
With that, he turned to leave, his steps deliberate.
Ryotaro lingered a moment longer. His monocle caught the afternoon light as he cast one last cold glare at both Ayanokoji and Suzune—wordless, but heavy with warning—before following after Manabu.
Suzune exhaled slowly, realizing she'd been holding her breath.
"…What just happened?" she muttered under her breath.
Ayanokoji didn't answer. His expression remained as unreadable as ever.
"You saw a strange side of me," Horikita muttered.
"I always thought of you as just a normal girl," Ayanokoji replied calmly. "This only proves it."
She shot him a sharp glare.
"Let's head back. If anyone saw us here, they'd probably get the wrong idea."
Ayanokoji slid his hands into his pockets.
"You do realize we're going to have to get Sudo back now, right? Can't have him getting expelled."
"I suppose," she said with a faint sigh. "But at this rate, that fool will find a way to do it to himself."
Meanwhile, Sudo was already knee-deep in trouble.
Out behind the gym, his voice clashed with another—loud, sharp, and echoing across the empty court.
His opponent was Amaki, a fellow first-year from Class 1-D and a member of the basketball club.
From the sound of it, their "conversation" had long since crossed the line into a full-on shouting match.
Amaki leaned in with a smirk, his words dripping with provocation.
"What's the matter, Sudo? All bark on the court but nothing to show in class? No wonder your class is bottom of the barrel."
Sudo's fists clenched.
"Say that again, you punk—"
"Oi, you rabid dog—don't you lay a hand on my classmate."
The voice cut through the shouting.
A black-haired girl from Class 1-D stepped into the open, her eyes cold and unreadable, her presence hitting like a wall.
Sudo's gaze snapped to her, already bristling.
"Oh yeah? And who the hell do you think you are?"
Before she could answer, Amaki let out a low chuckle.
"Careful, Sudo. You really don't wanna get on her bad side. She's our class leader."
Sudo sneered.
"Yeah? Then she can catch these hands too—"
He lunged, aiming a punch at her shoulder.
It was a sloppy jab, but fast enough to surprise most people.
She wasn't "most people."
Her hand shot up, catching his wrist mid-strike. In the same fluid motion, she stepped inside his guard, twisted his arm just enough to unbalance him, and drove her other hand to his collar. With a sudden burst of force, she shoved him back against the chain-link fence and clamped a forearm against his throat.
Sudo's eyes widened—half from shock, half from the choke.
"W-What the hell—?!"
Her voice stayed level, almost calm, but there was steel under every word.
"If you can't control that temper, you're going to find yourself off this campus before midterms."
She didn't squeeze hard enough to hurt him seriously, but she didn't let go, either. The message was clear: she could crush him if she wanted.
Amaki grinned like a spectator at a street brawl.
"Told you, man. You can't win against her."
Sudo's teeth ground together, his pride burning hotter than his throat.
Immediately, Horikita and Ayanokoji arrived, Horikita's eyes widening at the sight in front of her.
"Sudo?!"
The black-haired girl didn't even glance at Horikita—her forearm still pressed lightly against Sudo's throat.
Amaki smirked.
"Eh? Looks like the dog's got some friends."
Sudo snarled, his voice rough.
"Who you calling a dog, huh?!"
The girl's eyes flicked toward him with faint amusement.
"Careful there, red hair. You want a leash to go with that temper?"
Sudo tensed, but Horikita's sharp voice cut in before he could explode.
"That's enough. Who are you people, anyway?"
At that, the black-haired girl finally turned to face her, a slow smirk spreading across her face.
"Eh… really? The student council president's sister doesn't know me?"
"And how do you know that?" Horikita's voice wavered slightly, her eyes narrowing in surprise.
Sudo blinked, then shot her a baffled look.
"Wait—that scruffy, stuck-up guy is your brother, Horikita?!"
Even Amaki's eyebrows shot up.
"Huh. Didn't know that."
The black-haired girl's smirk didn't falter.
"I gather my intel in ways you don't need to know, Horikita. It doesn't take a genius—or even a dumbass—to figure out a Horikita's related to another Horikita."
Her gaze swept down to Sudo like she was sizing up a troublesome pet.
"But I'll let you off with a warning. Get your dog here a leash."
Sudo's fists clenched, eyes burning with raw fury.
"You—"
Ayanokoji stepped just slightly forward, his calm presence a silent barrier between them.
"That's enough, Sudo. Just apologize—it'll get you out of here," Ayanokoji said, voice calm but edged with finality.
Sudo let out a frustrated growl.
"Ugh… fine!"
The black-haired girl tilted her head, a mocking smile tugging at her lips.
"There we go—good dog. I'll get you a bone next time. And next time, just don't hit any of my classmates, ya dumb brute."
Sudo's jaw tightened, but Ayanokoji's glance kept him from snapping back.
"Wait!" Horikita's voice rang out, stopping the black-haired girl and Amaki in their tracks. "What's your name?"
The girl turned, smirk still in place.
"Huh? Really wanna know so bad, Miss Nepotism? Fine… I'll honor your request."
Horikita's eyes narrowed.
"Shireen Harkuji."
Without another word, she and Amaki turned and walked away, their footsteps echoing down the path.
Ayanokoji's gaze lingered on her retreating figure, his thoughts as calm as his expression.
She's dangerous… this could be a troublesome opponent for Horikita.
Horikita stood rigid for a moment, her gaze fixed on the spot where Shireen had disappeared. The faint breeze tugged at her hair, but her expression stayed composed… almost. Beneath the surface, though, her eyes betrayed a rare flicker of unease.
Sudo exhaled through his nose like a bull still looking for something to charge at.
"Tch… whatever. I'm done with this crap."
Without waiting for a response, he turned and stalked off, muttering under his breath. His stride was heavy but aimed in one direction—likely back to his dorm before he did something that would land him in the student council's crosshairs again.
Ayanokoji watched him disappear around the corner, then let out a quiet, tired sigh.
"There he goes. Again."
Horikita's eyes finally broke from the empty walkway, shifting to Ayanokoji.
"You think she was bluffing?"
Ayanokoji met her gaze, his own unreadable.
"About knowing who you are I'd say obviously not."
Horikita's lips pressed into a thin line, but she didn't answer. The silence between them was heavier than usual.
Her shoulders stiffened at the mention of her brother, but she didn't ask how he knew that was on her mind. She simply turned toward the path back to the dorms.
"We'll see who's being used."
Ayanokoji followed at a measured pace, hands in his pockets. His eyes flicked to the side, to the empty path Shireen had taken, and then forward again.
What an interesting development, he thought to himself.
Out of the corner of his eye, he caught a subtle movement—a brown-haired boy slipping further into the shadow of a nearby pillar. Whoever he was, he'd been there the whole time, watching. Ayanokoji almost missed him… almost.
The courtyard behind the gym was quiet, save for the faint rustle of leaves. Sakayanagi Arisu stood at the center, white hair catching the afternoon light, one delicate hand resting on her cane. Hashimoto leaned casually against the wall, his short blonde ponytail swaying slightly in the breeze, while Kamuro—purple hair framing her sharp eyes—crossed her arms, her stance solid and unyielding.
The stillness broke when heavy footsteps approached. Ryuen emerged from the far side of the path, flanked by Yamada Albert—an imposing African American transfer student whose sheer size seemed to shrink the space—and Ishizaki Daichi, green-haired and glaring like he was ready to throw a punch at anyone in Class 1-A.
Ryuen's grin was sharp.
"Playing queen of the school already, Sakayanagi?"
Her eyes flicked up to meet his, calm and unreadable.
"What's it to you? I don't waste my time on fledglings from Class 1-E. I have zero interest in you."
"Is that so?" Ryuen's tone was slow, deliberate, like he was testing her.
"Indeed," she replied, her voice soft but edged with dismissal. "But… you do seem to be something more than a mere nuisance."
Hashimoto shrugged.
"I dunno, Sakayanagi. He doesn't seem that interesting to me."
Ryuen's head turned sharply toward him.
"Oi, fool—shut your mouth."
Hashimoto only smirked, clearly unfazed by the glare.
Ryuen stepped closer, his presence heavier now.
"All I'll say is this, Sakayanagi—when I start messing with Class 1-F, know that the bullet horns have been sounded."
Her lips curled faintly as she watched him turn away with his group.
"What an interesting fledgling," she murmured.
But even as their figures disappeared into the distance, her mind was already elsewhere. Class 1-E was not her concern—yet. She still had another, far more personal matter to resolve: the destruction of the Katsuragi faction within her own class.
When Miss Ramamiya announced the midterm exams, the room shifted instantly—papers rustled, whispers flew, and the tension settled like a weight in the air.
Carlos Harkuji didn't bother hiding his sigh. Top of the academic ladder in Class 1-B—or close enough to it—meant one thing: babysitting duty.
Sure enough, minutes later, he found himself across the table from Jito Hakibi.
Jito slouched in his chair, pen twirling aimlessly between his fingers, eyes half-lidded like studying was a slow form of torture. Average build, average height, and an attitude that screamed bare minimum or bust.
Carlos could already hear the complaints in his own head. Why me? Out of everyone in this class, why me?
Jito was more than just a slacker—he was a walking disaster for Class 1-B's perfect reputation. He'd been a major reason they'd bled class points earlier in the term. Losing 150 points wasn't catastrophic—especially when Class 1-F had lost all 1000—but in Class 1-B, even the smallest blemish was unacceptable.
And Carlos knew how their class worked.
Perfection wasn't just encouraged—it was demanded.
He remembered the conversation with Horiyama earlier that day and sighed.
"I want you to help Jito study," Horiyama had said flatly. "It'd be better if you handled it instead of me—he'd have an easier time with a non-leader. I'll focus on the shyer students."
"Eh? Why me? I don't wanna deal with the recluse," Carlos had protested.
Before Horiyama could respond, Bubbles chimed in, puffing her cheeks like a scolding cartoon character.
"Because, Sombrero-kun—who else could pull it off? It'd be a huge problem if Jito got expelled in the midterms. We don't even know what the risks of expulsion are yet! And Muscle-kun already trusted you with this big task. If I were you, I'd take it—imagine the additional prestige!"
Her exaggerated praise did manage to light a small spark of motivation in Carlos… but it also stoked his irritation.
Of course I'm being pushed into this. Of course it's "for the good of the class."
Still, he couldn't deny she had a point.
With another sigh, he accepted his fate.
"Alright, Jito, so it's like this—" Carlos began, flipping open his notebook.
"This shit's boring. You play cards?"
"Eh?" Carlos blinked as Jito casually dropped a battered deck of playing cards onto the desk like it was a peace offering.
No, you dumbass—we need you not to fail, not focus on some damn solitaire, Carlos thought, biting his tongue. If he actually said it, Jito would probably vanish before the first practice problem.
"Jito," he tried again, forcing patience into his voice, "let's get real here. We need to focus on your grades."
Jito leaned back in his chair with the serene wisdom of someone who'd never opened a textbook on time in his life.
"School grades are just numbers. Friendships are forever."
Carlos pinched the bridge of his nose.
"Yeah, and those numbers will be the reason you get expelled."
That line—so carelessly tossed out—sparked an unexpected ache in his chest. It reminded him of something his sister, Shireen, used to say before they drifted apart. Four years without seeing her, and he kinda missed her quirky quips.
"I doubt it," Jito said with the smugness of someone who'd never seen the wrong side of a test paper. "I'm just that good."
"Jito, stop being foolish," Carlos muttered, already feeling his patience thinning.
Jito leaned forward, elbows on the table, a grin creeping across his face.
"Alright, tell you what—if you really want me to study with you, pay me 10,000 points."
Carlos stared at him. "Eh? You deadass?"
"I am indeed."
Carlos ran a hand down his face. "You are troublesome as hell."
He grabbed his phone and fired off a quick message to Horiyama:
Carlos: Leader, the idiot says he wants 10k points just to open a textbook. Is that even legal?
Now all that was left was to wait for the inevitable "What the hell?" from Class 1-B's leader.
Carlos's phone buzzed almost instantly.
Horiyama: Pay him.
Carlos blinked, reading the message twice.
Carlos: …Pay him?
Horiyama: Yes. If it keeps him from failing, it's worth it. Consider it an investment in our class points.
Carlos groaned aloud. "Investment my ass…"
Another buzz.
Horiyama: And make sure he studies for real. If he scams you, I'll handle it personally.
Carlos glanced across the table at Jito, who was casually shuffling his deck of cards, blissfully unaware of the wrath that could come his way.
"Fine," Carlos muttered, tapping in the point transfer. "But if you fail after this, I'll personally make sure you regret it."
Jito just grinned. "See? I told you this partnership would be profitable."
Somehow—through sheer force of will, a steady stream of sarcastic remarks, and more caffeine than was probably healthy—Carlos got Jito to focus long enough to finish the study session.
By the time they wrapped up, his head was pounding, his patience frayed.
Jito stretched like he'd just run a marathon.
"See? Not so bad, right? Easy money."
Carlos pinched the bridge of his nose. "Yeah. Now go before I change my mind and demand a refund."
Jito chuckled, grabbing his deck of cards before strolling out like he didn't have a care in the world.
The second the door swung shut behind him, Carlos let out a long exhale. "Troublesome as hell…"
He needed a break before his brain melted.
Spotting a familiar head of blue hair at one of the corner tables, he walked over.
Benji was hunched over a textbook in the library's quiet section, earbuds in, tapping his pen against the page in rhythm with whatever he was listening to.
Carlos slid into the seat across from him. "If I don't vent to someone right now, I'm gonna explode."
Benji raised an eyebrow, pulling one earbud out. "Jito?"
Carlos just groaned. "Who else?"
Benji closed his textbook with a thump, smirking.
"Lemme guess—he asked for money?"
Carlos blinked. "How—"
"Because it's Jito. That's like, the first thing in his playbook. Step one: avoid responsibility. Step two: extort points. Step three: disappear before anyone can yell at him."
Carlos let out a dry laugh. "Congratulations, you've figured him out in three easy steps. Meanwhile, I'm sitting there trying not to strangle him with his own deck of cards."
Benji leaned back in his chair, lacing his hands behind his head. "And yet, here you are, the hero of Class 1-B, saving the dumb from themselves."
"Don't call me a hero. I'm more like… the guy who gets dragged into the pit so someone else doesn't have to."
Benji chuckled. "Same thing, man. Just with more complaining."
Carlos rolled his eyes, but there was a faint grin tugging at his lips. "You know, if you ever decide to switch careers, you'd make a great motivational speaker. For people who hate motivation."
Benji smirked. "I'll put it on my résumé."
After a while, Benji headed back to the dorms, leaving Carlos to browse the shelves a little longer. He eventually found himself checking out a book from the library—though not before a soft, almost melodic voice caught his attention.
A girl with silverish hair and violet eyes stood on her toes, fingers just brushing the spine of a book she clearly couldn't reach. Her build was short and slender, delicate in a way that made the moment feel almost like a scene out of a drama.
Being the gentleman he was, Carlos stepped forward and plucked the book from the shelf with ease.
She turned, her smile warm enough to melt the library's frosty quiet. Carlos felt heat creep into his face before he could stop it.
"Thank you for that," she sighed gently. "I wasn't tall enough to grab it."
"Ah—ah, it's no problem, miss. I was also looking for a book."
Her eyes softened in quiet amusement. "Ah, a fellow bookworm. Well, since you helped me, I'll help you out. My name's Hiyori—I'm from Class 1-E."
She extended her hand with graceful politeness, and Carlos, of course, took it. Her handshake was light, but deliberate.
"I'm Carlos, from Class 1-B. Nice to meet you."
Hiyori's smile brightened at that. Hearing he was from such a prestigious class didn't make her tense or cautious—it only seemed to deepen the warmth in her eyes. She always respected people who offered a helping hand without expecting anything in return.
"Well, Carlos," she said, reaching into the shelf again, "here's a book I think you'd be interested in. It's called Bayshore. Give it a look."
She handed it to him with a faint, almost playful smile.
Carlos turned the book over in his hands, curiosity pricking just enough for him to decide to keep it. "Thanks. I'll check it out."
Before they parted, Hiyori tilted her head slightly. "You know… there aren't many people like us around here. Would you mind exchanging numbers?"
He obliged without hesitation, and after a brief exchange, they went their separate ways down the quiet library aisle.
As Carlos walked toward the counter, he glanced down at the book again.
"What a kind girl," he murmured to himself.
Then, with the faintest smirk: "Maybe all of Class 1-E was like this."
Nearing midterms, Rose Tanihana was having what she would call a "stupid day."
First, she actually—actually—slipped on a banana peel on the way to class, scraping her knee. She could already hear Jito laughing about it in his smug, irritating way.
And sure enough, he didn't disappoint.
Now, the same boy was leaning against the wall outside the club hallway, grinning like a fox as he "casually" told her she owed him points for something she didn't even do.
Stupid, stupid, stupid. That sly boy was way smarter than he looked, and that made him ten times more dangerous.
Rose crossed her arms, purple ponytail swaying as she glared down at him. "You've got two seconds to explain why I shouldn't kick you into next week."
Jito only smirked. "Because if you do, I tell everyone what you really did last week."
Her knee still stung, and now so did her pride. Rose had told herself she'd keep her temper in check this term… but Jito was making that promise awfully hard to keep.
Rose's eyes narrowed. "And what is it that I really did?"
Jito leaned in just enough that his words wouldn't carry past them, a smirk tugging at his lips. "You know what I mean. That little… incident in the art room."
Rose's jaw tightened. "That wasn't even me—"
"Sure. You can say that. But without proof? It's just your word against mine. And trust me, people will believe me." He tapped the side of his head like he was holding all the cards.
Her fists itched to rearrange his smug face, but she wasn't stupid. Jito thrived on reactions—feed him anger, and he'd make a feast out of it.
"So here's the deal," Jito continued, voice low and confident. "Ten thousand points. By Friday. Or I start talking."
Rose stared him down, every muscle in her legs tensing like a coiled spring. "You really want to make me your enemy, Hakibi?"
He grinned wider. "Already did."
Rose's jaw clenched hard enough to ache. She hated this—hated him. But with no proof, no allies in earshot, and midterms breathing down everyone's necks, she knew what had to be done.
Without another word, she pulled out her phone, transferred the points, and shoved it back into her pocket.
Jito checked the notification, and his face lit up like he'd just won the lottery. His grin turned sharp, almost feral, eyes glittering with the kind of joy only a man with a money fetish could have. "Pleasure doing business, Tanihana."
He sauntered off, humming a tune, leaving Rose standing there with her pride in pieces.
And more pissed off that he used her given name.
⸻
[Flashback – Two days ago, Art Club Room]
Rose had been working on a charcoal sketch by the window, headphones in, tuning out the chatter around her. Across the room, Jito was "helping" another student clean paintbrushes—only his version of helping involved flicking paintwater onto the floor.
When she got up to grab more paper, she spotted him rifling through the club's storage cabinet. "What are you doing?" she'd asked.
"Looking for extra sketch pads," he'd said without even turning.
She'd narrowed her eyes, but didn't press. Later, the club president stormed in, furious about a missing set of limited-edition markers—worth more than a month's worth of points which was ridiculous what markers were worth almost 100k? Jito had been standing right by the cabinet when they disappeared… but by the time everyone searched his bag, they were gone.
That night, Rose found the markers hidden under her easel.
She'd tried to explain, but Jito had already whispered in a few ears that he'd "seen" her near the cabinet earlier. The rumor took root instantly.
"Clever blackmail," Rose muttered under her breath, shoving her phone back into her pocket. "How insufferable…"
She turned to leave the hallway, trying to shake off the ugly feeling crawling under her skin. But before she could take three steps, her phone buzzed again.
This time, it wasn't Jito.
Unknown Number:
We need to talk. Tonight. Rooftop. 8 PM.
Come alone.
Rose stared at the message, her pulse quickening. No mention of Jito, no demand for points—just a cryptic summons from someone who clearly didn't want to be named.
She glanced around instinctively, scanning for anyone who might be watching. The corridor was empty… but she couldn't shake the prickling sensation between her shoulder blades.
Whoever sent this, they knew her number. And they wanted her attention for something completely unrelated to the blackmail hanging over her head.
End of chapter 3