Monday mornings at the International Lyceum always carried a faint scent of polished floors, expensive perfume, and the restless energy of children raised by powerful families. Yet today, Stefan felt something else lingering in the air—anticipation. And beneath that, the subtle metallic edge of conflict.
Word had already spread:
Adrian Lefèvre was back.
After the fiasco at Cultural Exchange Day—and his spectacular meltdown over losing the scavenger hunt—the school administration had quietly suggested he "rest at home for a few days." Everyone knew it was to avoid embarrassing the Lefèvre family further.
Now he was returning, and the entire student body was bracing itself.
Lucas nudged Stefan as they walked through the hallway. "Reckon he's going to pretend nothing happened?"
Julien scoffed. "Mon ami, he will rewrite reality itself in his mind before admitting defeat."
Elena adjusted her backpack. "He'll test you, Stefan. People like him always do. They're addicted to dominance."
Stefan didn't answer immediately. He simply walked, posture straight, gaze neutral, but mind already mapping possibilities.
Adrian was not a threat of immediate danger—he had no discipline, no strategy, no real backbone.
But he was the type of person who grew into a problem if ignored.
And Stefan, with two lifetimes behind his eyes, knew better than to leave a spark unattended.
Adrian waited in the courtyard like a monarch expecting his subjects. His blond hair was sculpted to perfection, his uniform immaculate, and his two loyal shadows—Paul and Étienne—stood behind him, eager to compensate for their leader's fragile ego.
The moment he saw Stefan, Adrian smiled.
Too wide.
Too controlled.
Too polished for someone who had spent a week sulking in humiliation.
The mask is back, Stefan thought.
But it has cracks now.
"Stefan!" Adrian called out, waving with exaggerated friendliness. "I heard you've been… busy."
Lucas whispered, "He sounds like my uncle when he's about to sue someone."
Julien whispered back, "He sounds like my father when he's trying to avoid paying taxes."
Elena shot both a warning glare. "Quiet. Stefan needs to handle this."
Stefan stepped forward calmly. "Good morning, Adrian. I trust your break was restful?"
Adrian's smile tightened. "Quite. It gave me time to reflect."
He leaned in slightly. "You embarrassed me, you know."
"I didn't," Stefan replied softly. "Your behavior did."
Adrian's eyes flared—just briefly—but enough for Stefan to see the fracture. The mask slipped for half a second before Adrian regained it.
"I suppose misunderstandings happen," Adrian said with studied grace. "But I wanted to speak with you privately. As… friends."
The word "friends" was dipped in poison.
Stefan tilted his head. "If you have something to say, you can say it here."
Adrian's smile vanished completely. Then, slowly, deliberately, he shaped a new one.
It didn't reach his eyes.
"Very well," he said. "Let's talk."Adrian waited in the courtyard like a monarch expecting his subjects. His blond hair was sculpted to perfection, his uniform immaculate, and his two loyal shadows—Paul and Étienne—stood behind him, eager to compensate for their leader's fragile ego.
The moment he saw Stefan, Adrian smiled.
Too wide.
Too controlled.
Too polished for someone who had spent a week sulking in humiliation.
The mask is back, Stefan thought.
But it has cracks now.
"Stefan!" Adrian called out, waving with exaggerated friendliness. "I heard you've been… busy."
Lucas whispered, "He sounds like my uncle when he's about to sue someone."
Julien whispered back, "He sounds like my father when he's trying to avoid paying taxes."
Elena shot both a warning glare. "Quiet. Stefan needs to handle this."
Stefan stepped forward calmly. "Good morning, Adrian. I trust your break was restful?"
Adrian's smile tightened. "Quite. It gave me time to reflect."
He leaned in slightly. "You embarrassed me, you know."
"I didn't," Stefan replied softly. "Your behavior did."
Adrian's eyes flared—just briefly—but enough for Stefan to see the fracture. The mask slipped for half a second before Adrian regained it.
"I suppose misunderstandings happen," Adrian said with studied grace. "But I wanted to speak with you privately. As… friends."
The word "friends" was dipped in poison.
Stefan tilted his head. "If you have something to say, you can say it here."
Adrian's smile vanished completely. Then, slowly, deliberately, he shaped a new one.
It didn't reach his eyes.
"Very well," he said. "Let's talk."
Adrian led him to the old section of the courtyard—the quiet stone pathway behind the library where teachers rarely passed.
Lucas muttered, "We're coming with you."
"No," Stefan said. "Stay where teachers can see you."
"But—"
"Lucas," Stefan repeated. "Trust me."
Lucas's frown deepened, but he nodded. Elena and Julien stayed with him, all three watching like hounds ready to leap.
Once alone, Adrian turned sharply.
"You think you're better than me."
"No," Stefan said. "I don't think about you at all."
The blow landed harder than any insult Adrian had ever received.
His jaw clenched. His hands curled. "My father told me to stay in control," he whispered, anger trembling under his skin. "To be diplomatic. To treat this like a negotiation."
"This isn't a negotiation."
"You're right," Adrian spat. "It's a warning."
He stepped closer.
"One day," Adrian said, voice low and trembling with resentment, "your arrogance is going to cost you. People don't like boys who think they're smarter than everyone else. And when that day comes… no one will defend you."
A sad, predictable speech.
Stefan sighed.
"You're projecting," he said. "And very poorly."
Adrian blinked. "What?"
"Your fear. Your insecurity. Your need to prove dominance. They're not about me—they're about you. And the fact that you're losing control even now proves it."
For a moment, Adrian's face contorted—emotion raw and unpolished breaking through the mask.
There it is, Stefan thought.
The real Adrian.
Not the perfect son.
Not the polished prodigy.
Just a lonely, insecure boy terrified of insignificance.
Stefan stepped forward—not threateningly, but decisively.
"Adrian," he said softly, "if you continue down this path, you won't become a leader. You'll become a tyrant. And tyrants don't last."
"Don't talk to me like you know everything!" Adrian snapped.
"I don't," Stefan replied. "But I know enough."
Adrian trembled—not with fear, but with the anger of someone who has never been truly seen until now.
"You're wrong," he whispered. "People will follow me. They always have."
"Because you push them," Stefan said. "Not because they trust you."
Adrian inhaled sharply—
And the mask broke.
Just for a heartbeat.
A flash of panic.
A flicker of doubt.
A spark of something dangerously close to fear.
Then he rebuilt it—fast, sloppy, but functional.
"This conversation is over," Adrian hissed. "Watch yourself."
He turned and marched away, his footsteps unsteady.
Stefan exhaled slowly.
On the surface, it seemed like nothing dramatic had happened.
But psychologically?
This was Adrian's first big fracture.
And fractured people behaved unpredictably.
Lucas rushed forward the moment Adrian disappeared. "What did he say? Do I need to punch him? I'll do it. Just say the word."
Julien nodded. "I second the punching."
Elena sighed. "Both of you are idiots."
Stefan gave a tired smile. "It's fine. He's not a danger. Not now."
Lucas narrowed his eyes. "But later?"
"Later," Stefan admitted, "he might try something."
Elena crossed her arms. "What kind of something?"
"The petty kind," Stefan said. "The emotional kind. Small sabotage. Whisper campaigns. Testing boundaries."
Julien winced. "Ah. The political kind."
"Exactly."
Lucas looked worried. "Should we tell your grandparents?"
"No," Stefan said. "Not yet. There's nothing actionable. Only tension."
Elena studied him. "But you're thinking three steps ahead already."
"Always," Stefan answered.
They walked back toward class, the weight of the morning hanging like a shadow behind them. Stefan knew this was only the beginning. Adrian wasn't smart enough to be a threat now—but resentment had a way of maturing into something sharper.
And people from powerful families never fought alone.
The Weiss villa was unusually quiet that night. Heinrich was reviewing briefings in his office. Lena was attending a charity gala. The household staff moved softly through the polished halls.
Stefan trained alone in the study—small wooden staff in hand, practicing precise, controlled movements.
He heard the door open.
Fabio Vescovi, his grandfather, stepped inside. His presence carried the weight of centuries—patience, discipline, and the silent authority of a man who had built and survived empires.
"Your form is slipping, ragazzo," Fabio said. "Your mind is elsewhere."
Stefan lowered the staff. "Just a school matter."
Fabio's eyebrow rose. "At your age, school is the front line."
He sat down slowly, cane resting beside him.
"Tell me," he said. Not a request. An instruction.
Stefan explained—not every detail, but enough. Adrian's attempt at psychological posturing. His instability. The crack in his composure.
Fabio listened without interruption.
When Stefan finished, his grandfather tapped the cane lightly against the floor.
"People who feel their power slipping," Fabio said, "are the most dangerous kind."
Stefan nodded.
"But," Fabio continued, "they are also the easiest to manipulate."
Stefan blinked. "…manipulate?"
Fabio smiled—a slow, knowing smile that carried both wisdom and warning.
"You see him as a threat. That is good. But do not treat him as one. Treat him as a resource."
"A resource?"
"Yes," Fabio said. "His fear is leverage. His resentment is predictable. And his ambition makes him usable. Remember this, Stefan:
You do not eliminate future enemies.
You convert them into future assets."
Stefan absorbed the words.
"And if he refuses to be converted?" Stefan asked softly.
Fabio's eyes darkened with a seriousness that chilled the room.
"Then," he said, "you let him fall on his own sword. Men like him always do."
He rose, placing a heavy hand on Stefan's shoulder.
"Just be ready," Fabio whispered. "Because cracked masks eventually break."
Stefan lay awake that night, staring at the ceiling.
Adrian was not the first unstable future rival he had dealt with across two lifetimes. And he would not be the last.
But this time…
He wasn't fighting alone.
Lucas, Julien, Elena.
His family.
His mentors.
His knowledge from a life already lived.
The future was wide open.
And Stefan Weiss intended to shape it.