JAY'S POV — RESTROOM ENCOUNTER
I ducked into the CR, hood up, eyes scanning. Voices echoed softly from one of the stalls. Four girls, whispering, plotting, and of course, talking about me.
"…and now she thinks she can just take over Section E?" one hissed.
"…she's trying to seduce every single boy, I swear," another giggled.
"…Ella? That girl is such a slut, always throwing herself at anyone in Section E," a third whispered, venom dripping from her words.
"…a total whore, honestly. Aries? Yeah, he's with her now. Typical," the fourth added, smirking.
I smirked under my hood, pulling out my phone. Record. Every word. Every slip. Everything I needed to know. They were giving me the map to their insecurity without realizing it.
I didn't say a word. I didn't move too fast. Just steady, calm, lethal patience.
Then I washed my hands. Cold water, precise movements, and I let a splash arc over the edge, catching the four of them squarely in the face. Makeup ruined, eyes wide, screams cut short by shock.
"Oops," I murmured, voice quiet but deadly, tilting my head. "Didn't mean to interrupt your gossip."
I didn't wait for their reaction. Hood back up. Boots clicking against the floor. Corridor ahead. Section E waited.
Each step echoed like a warning. Every eye I passed felt it—danger wrapped in calm control.
By the time I slid back into Section E, posture perfect, shoulders squared, the room went quiet. Not because I asked it to—but because I was the quiet. Power lived in stillness.
A few moments passed. Whispers started again. Some of the boys looked at each other, uneasy. Some tried to mask it. Cin, Rory, Blaster… they all felt it.
Then the chaos found me.
A voice shrieked. Sharp. High-pitched. Infuriated.
"Jaaayyy!"
One of the girls from the restroom burst through the doorway, face red, makeup smeared from earlier, dragging at my sleeve. "You think you can just humiliate us and—"
I turned slowly, eyes narrowing, letting her realize how little effect she had.
Her grip tightened, trying to pull me out of the room,
Her grip tightened, nails digging into my sleeve like she thought force could replace authority.
I didn't resist.
That was the first mistake.
The classroom erupted behind us—chairs scraping, voices rising—but I let her drag me out into the corridor, my boots gliding instead of stumbling.
Three other girls stood waiting like backup dancers, identical expressions of outrage and mascara-heavy confidence.
And then she stepped fully into view.
Freya Hidalgo.
Perfect hair. Perfect posture. Ruby-red heels clicking like punctuation marks. The kind of girl who believed the world rearranged itself just to give her space.
She looked me over slowly, deliberately. Like inventory.
"So this is her," she said, lips curling. "This is the girl everyone's suddenly whispering about?"
Her eyes dragged from my boots to my blazer, lingering just long enough to insult without words.
"God," she sighed. "You Section E girls really love cosplay, don't you? Trauma chic. All black. Bandages. Let me guess—mysterious past?"
A few laughs from her side. Section D boys hovered nearby, drawn by drama like flies.
Freya stepped closer.
"Let me educate you," she said brightly. "Since no one else bothered."
She tapped her own chest with a manicured finger.
"Section A. Elite track. We don't fight for relevance—we're born with it."
She gestured vaguely down the hall.
"Section D? Loud. Useful when things need breaking. Disposable otherwise."
Then—inevitably—she looked back toward Section E, still visible through the glass panels.
"And Section E?" She smiled sweetly. "The school's shame drawer. Where they put boys with anger issues and girls who don't know their place."
Her gaze snapped back to me.
"And you," she said softly, almost kindly, "are confusing tolerance with acceptance."
She leaned in, breath perfumed, voice dripping condescension.
"You don't get power by surviving. You get it by belonging. By being chosen. By being protected."
A pause.
"And no one is protecting you."
She straightened and stepped back, lifting one heel slightly, presenting it.
"I'm feeling generous today," Freya announced. "So here's how this ends."
"You apologize. You bow. And you kiss my shoe."
A beat.
"Consider it your first real lesson in how hierarchy works."
The corridor had gone silent.
Then Aries stepped forward.
"Freya, stop," he said sharply.
She turned, annoyed. "Why?"
He didn't look at me when he answered.
"She's my cousin."
A ripple moved through the crowd.
Freya blinked once—then laughed.
"Oh." She waved a hand dismissively. "Even worse. Then take my advice, Aries—don't dirty your hands."
Aries looked back at me, eyes cold.
"Filth has a way of spreading.So don't dirty you're hands too Freya"
That's when I smiled.
Not wide. Not loud.
Slow.
Controlled.
Dangerous.
I stepped closer to her heel—but not to bow.
I lifted my head instead.
"You talk a lot about systems," I said quietly. "Hierarchy. Placement. Who's above and who's disposable."
I met her eyes.
"But here's the flaw in your philosophy, Hidalgo."
The hallway leaned in.
"Systems only work when everyone agrees to play their role."
I straightened fully now, shoulders back, voice steady.
"And I don't kneel for girls who confuse privilege with power."
Her smile twitched.
I leaned closer, just enough for her to hear.
"You wear a crown because no one's challenged you."
A pause.
"I don't wear one because I don't need permission."
I stepped back.
"So no," I finished calmly. "I won't bow. I won't apologize. And I definitely won't kiss your shoes."
Silence.
Real silence.
Behind the glass, Section E was standing now.
Watching.
Not cheering.
Not intervening.
Just witnessing.
And for the first time since Freya Hidalgo arrived—
She wasn't sure who the crowd was really rooting for.
Freya snapped.
Not metaphorically.
Actually snapped her fingers, sharp and loud, the sound cracking through the corridor like a whip.
"Who do you think you are?" she hissed, voice rising, posture expanding into full queen-bee fury. "Do you have any idea who you're talking to?"
She stepped forward, chin lifted, eyes blazing.
"I'm Freya Hidalgo. Daughter of Eunice Hidalgo."
A pause—meant to intimidate.
"With one snap of my fingers, I can get you thrown out of this school. This city. Do you hear me?"
Her friends straightened, smug confidence returning. Section D boys muttered under their breath. Even the air felt like it was waiting for me to flinch.
I didn't.
Instead, I reached into my pocket.
Slowly.
Deliberately.
Pulled out my phone.
Unlocked it.
And made a call.
The ringing echoed far louder than it should have.
"Yeah," I said calmly, voice casual, almost bored. "It's me."
Every eye locked onto me.
"Bankrupt the Hidalgos."
A beat.
"Ten minutes. That's it."
I ended the call.
Freya laughed—high, brittle. "You're insane."
I tilted my head. "You talk too much."
She started again, words tumbling out sharp and frantic—threats, names, power plays—but I didn't listen. I tapped my screen.
Play.
Her own voice filled the corridor.
"…Ella? That girl is such a slut…"
"…a total whore, honestly…"
"…trying to seduce every single boy…"
The sound was crystal clear.
Unforgiving.
Freya's face drained of color so fast it was almost impressive.
Around us, reactions rippled like shockwaves.
Keifer's jaw locked, fists curling slowly at his sides. Yuri's knuckles went white. Aries stiffened, fury flickering openly now, no longer restrained.
I didn't stop the recording.
I let it play.
Every word. Every insult. Every ugly truth she thought no one would hear.
Freya lunged for my phone. "Turn that off!"
I stepped back—and casually hopped up onto a desk behind me, sitting like I owned the place. One leg crossed over the other. Elbow resting on my knee. Throne posture.
All eyes snapped to me.
The recording ended.
Silence followed.
Heavy.
Then—buzz.
Freya's phone lit up in her hand.
Dad.
Her breath hitched.
She answered.
"Daddy?" Her voice shook despite herself. "What—what do you mean the accounts are frozen?"
I smiled.
Slow.
Cruel.
She turned away slightly, panic bleeding through her tone. "No, that's not possible. We didn't— I don't—"
Her face went white.
Not pale.
White.
The kind of white that comes when a world collapses all at once.
I swung one boot lazily, watching.
"Freya," I said gently, sweetly, "you should really stop snapping your fingers."
She looked at me.
For the first time—truly looked.
Not as a nuisance.Not as a rumor.
But as a threat.
"I warned you about systems," I continued, voice smooth, carrying easily through the stunned silence. "The funny thing about power?"
I leaned back on my hands, utterly relaxed.
"It doesn't scream. It doesn't threaten."
A pause.
"It makes calls."
No one moved.
Freya stood there, shaking, phone still pressed to her ear, empire crumbling in real time.
And me?
I sat above them all.
Watching.
In control.
Because hierarchy had just been rewritten.
And everyone knew exactly who held the pen now...