At the entrance of the institute, a Porsche Panamera Turbo S came to a smooth stop. The driver stepped out first and opened the rear door with a precise, almost ceremonial gesture.
A teenage boy got out of the car.
He was around eighteen years old. Tall, handsome, dressed in an understated elegance that didn't need to draw attention to assert itself. Even so, several girls who had just arrived slowed their steps and glanced at him sideways, pretending not to care.
He didn't return their looks.
His expression was cold, controlled, as if he had spent years training himself to reveal no more than necessary. It wasn't arrogance—it was distance. A silent warning.
His name was Adrián Valmont.
And his mood was at rock bottom.
Understandably so.
The night before, something had happened that, for someone in his position, was unacceptable.
At that institute, there was a tacit agreement that needed no explanation: students at the bottom of the rankings—the so-called crane tails—were expected to know their place. Adrián had grown up understanding those rules without anyone ever having to teach them to him. And yesterday, he had made sure one of those boys learned them too.
Three against one.
By all logic, it shouldn't even have counted as a conflict.
But logic had failed.
Not only had they been unable to subdue the nobody, but his own subordinates had ended up in the infirmary—bruised and humiliated.
As he recalled it, Adrián felt an uncomfortable pressure in his chest. It wasn't pure anger, but something harder to define. A sensation uncomfortably close to recognition.
This feels far too much like a badly written story, he thought. The nobody who shouldn't stand out… and yet does.
He analyzed the situation coldly.
His position was clear: a powerful family, abundant resources, outstanding academic results. In any reasonable environment, that should have been enough to tip the balance.
But the balance didn't always decide the outcome.
Adrián let out a short, humorless laugh.
How naive it would be to believe that everything works the way it should.
He had never believed in destiny or miracles. To him, the world moved through the accumulation of advantages, through better-used information, and through the ability to keep a clear head when others lost theirs.
And on that ground, he had no intention of yielding.
"Boss…"
A tense voice sounded behind him.
A boy wearing a cap approached cautiously. Beneath the brim, recent bruises were visible, poorly concealed. It was Leo Torres, one of his subordinates. The other two—Marco Ruiz and Bruno Sáez—hadn't dared leave the infirmary.
Adrián observed him for several seconds without speaking.
"How are the others?" he finally asked.
Leo lowered his head.
"Worse than they look…"
There were no excuses. Three against one, and they had still lost.
Adrián didn't raise his voice. Nor did he show any visible disappointment.
"Explain why."
Leo hesitated before speaking.
"That guy… he doesn't fight like the others. He doesn't rush. He doesn't lose his temper. It's like he always knows when to advance and when to retreat."
That caught Adrián's attention.
Not brute force. Not luck.
Control.
"And what were you planning to do next?" Adrián asked.
"Call more people," Leo replied immediately. "Ten, twenty if necessary."
"That's your mistake," Adrián cut in.
Leo stiffened.
"When someone with fewer resources dares to challenge an obvious advantage," Adrián continued, "there are only two explanations. Either he doesn't understand the situation… or he understands it better than you do."
Leo swallowed hard.
"Tell me something," Adrián went on. "Am I less attractive than him?"
"No."
"Is my family weaker than his?"
"Not at all."
"Are my academic results worse?"
"He's far below you."
"Then it's not a matter of conditions," Adrián concluded. "It's a matter of mindset."
A chill ran down Leo's spine.
"From now on," Adrián said calmly, "stop acting like an impulsive bully. Observe. Listen. Learn. Strength without direction only creates opportunities for others."
Leo nodded solemnly.
"Understood, boss."
Adrián turned his gaze toward the institute's main building.
He knew that student from the bottom wasn't a coincidence.
People like that didn't appear by chance.
And if he wanted to preserve his position, his surname, and the world he had inherited, he couldn't afford clumsy mistakes.
There would be no shortcuts. No outside help.
Only patience, calculation… and a mind capable of staying one move ahead.
If this game has begun, he thought, then it will be played by my rules.