The next morning, Rhea entered the university gates on foot.
Her bag hung from one shoulder. Her steps were steady. Her face was blank—too blank. The kind of calm that came from exhaustion, not peace.
She had barely crossed the inner drive when the sound reached her.
Low. Controlled. Expensive.
An engine.
Rhea didn't turn immediately. She didn't need to.
She knew that sound.
The black car entered through the main gate—slow at first, deliberate. Then it accelerated just enough to announce itself.
Ling.
Rhea's jaw tightened.
The car didn't pass her.
It circled.
Once.
Tires whispered against the pavement as the car curved around her path, close enough that the air shifted, close enough that her hair moved slightly from the pressure.
Rhea stopped walking.
Her fingers curled slowly at her side.
The car completed the circle and came around again—this time tighter. Intentional. Controlled. A display.
Rhea lifted her head finally, eyes sharp.
The driver's window was down.
Ling sat inside, one hand on the wheel, posture relaxed, sunglasses on despite the morning light. Calm. Unbothered. As if she hadn't spent the previous night barely holding herself together.
As if she hadn't waited.
As if she hadn't thrown papers across a room in rage.
Ling didn't look at Rhea directly at first.
That was worse.
The car slowed beside her, matching her pace though Rhea wasn't moving.
Rhea stared straight ahead.
"Are you done?" she said coldly, not turning.
Ling's lips curved slightly. Not a smile. Something sharper.
"Good morning, Miss Nior," Ling said smoothly. "You're early."
Rhea's jaw flexed. "Move your car."
Ling tilted her head just enough to glance at her over the rim of her sunglasses. Her eyes were dark. Assessing.
"Walking today?" Ling asked casually. "Interesting choice."
Rhea finally turned to face her. Her eyes burned—not loud, not explosive, but furious all the same.
"Stop pretending you don't know what you're doing," Rhea snapped. "You almost hit me."
Ling lifted an eyebrow. "Almost."
The car rolled forward a fraction, then stopped again—still blocking her path.
Rhea took a step back, refusing to be boxed in. "You're pathetic."
Ling laughed softly. "Careful."
"Or what?" Rhea shot back. "You'll lecture me again? Call me 'Miss Nior' like I'm nothing to you?"
Ling's hand tightened briefly on the wheel.
"I am your professor," Ling said evenly. "And this is university property."
Rhea scoffed. "You love hiding behind titles now."
Ling leaned back slightly, still seated, still in control. "And you love pretending you don't see me."
Rhea's chest rose sharply.
Rhea laughed once, harsh. "You always leave before I finish bleeding."
Silence stretched between them, heavy and electric.
Students were starting to gather at a distance, sensing something but not daring to come close.
Ling straightened. "Get to class," she said coolly. "You're blocking the drive."
Rhea stared at her, disbelief flickering across her face. "You circled me."
Ling shrugged slightly. "And now I'm done."
The car shifted into drive.
Before it moved, Ling spoke one last time—low enough that only Rhea could hear.
"You don't get to erase me by taking a longer route."
The car pulled away smoothly, leaving nothing behind but disturbed air and the echo of control reasserted.
Rhea stood still for a long moment.
Her hands were shaking.
Her jaw was locked so tight it hurt.
"I hate you," she whispered to no one.
But her heart was racing.
And as she finally resumed walking toward the building, every step felt heavier—because hate didn't make her look away when Ling passed.
And obsession didn't disappear just because it wore a different face.
The class was already uneasy before Ling even entered.
Whispers floated through the room—about the black car outside, about the tension in the air.
Then the door opened.
Ling walked in.
Angry.
Her steps were sharp, heels striking the floor with controlled force. She didn't greet the class. Didn't acknowledge anyone. She placed her bag on the desk with a loud thud, took off her coat slowly, deliberately, as if restraining something dangerous beneath her skin.
The room fell dead silent.
Ling turned to face them.
Her eyes scanned the class once—cold, assessing—and then stopped.
On Rhea.
Just for a fraction of a second.
Enough.
Rhea felt it like a blade.
Ling looked away first.
"Sit straight," Ling said sharply.
A few students scrambled to adjust their posture.
Ling picked up the marker and wrote the topic on the board in hard, aggressive strokes:
CLINICAL DISCIPLINE & COMPLIANCE
She underlined it twice.
Then she turned back.
"Today," Ling said, voice low and dangerous, "I'll teach you all something far more important than medicine."
She paced slowly in front of the class.
"I'll teach you obedience."
A ripple of unease spread.
"This field," Ling continued, "does not reward emotions, excuses, or ego. It rewards those who follow protocol without question."
She picked up a book from the desk suddenly and slammed it down.
Several students flinched.
"You hesitate," she said coldly, "patients die."
She picked up a pen and threw it onto the desk, where it clattered loudly.
"You argue," she said, eyes sweeping the room, "you waste time."
Her gaze flicked—unavoidable—back to Rhea.
"And when you think rules don't apply to you," Ling said, voice sharpening, "you endanger everyone."
Rhea's fingers curled under the desk.
Ling turned fully toward the board again, continuing as if unaffected.
"In an operating room," Ling said, "I don't care who you are. I don't care about your background, your emotions, or your personal conflicts."
She turned suddenly, pointing the marker toward the class.
"If I say move, you move. If I say stop, you stop. You don't question. You don't negotiate."
Her eyes locked onto Rhea this time.
"And you do not disappear when you're required to show up."
The room went completely still.
Rhea lifted her chin slightly, defiance flashing in her eyes—but she said nothing.
Ling smiled thinly.
"Good," she said. "Silence suits professionalism."
She turned back to the desk and grabbed a stack of papers, flipping through them roughly.
"Let's take examples," Ling said. "A student misses class without proper submission to the appropriate authority."
She tossed the papers back onto the desk.
"What does that show?"
A student hesitantly raised a hand. "Lack of responsibility?"
Ling nodded once. "Correct."
Another student spoke nervously. "Disrespect, ma'am?"
Ling's eyes sharpened. "Exactly."
She stepped closer to the front row.
"And in my world," Ling said, voice icy, "disrespect has consequences."
She picked up a glass beaker from the desk and placed it down harder than necessary.
"You don't get to choose when you follow rules," Ling continued. "You don't get to avoid authority because it makes you uncomfortable."
Her voice dropped.
"You face it."
Rhea's chest rose sharply. Her jaw tightened further, but she kept her eyes forward, refusing to give Ling the satisfaction of a reaction.