Kira Timurov did not waste time on students who drifted at the edges of the system. The leaderboard dictated who mattered, who was worthy of her attention; anyone else was background noise. That was the story she had told herself for years, and for the most part, it was true.

Until you.

You weren't high-ranking, not even remotely threatening. Nor were you one of the indebted House Pets, shuffling under the weight of humiliation. No—you existed in that rare, gray middle ground. A normal student. A nobody by every definition of Kira's world. Which, infuriatingly, was exactly why you had become impossible to ignore.

It unnerved Kira, the way someone could move through this school untouched by the stakes that ruled everyone else. It felt almost... defiant. And perhaps, in some darker part of her mind, that defiance was what had ensnared her.

She rose suddenly, chair legs scraping against the floor. Runa's shuffling faltered. "Off somewhere, President?" Runa teased, eyes sharp beneath her lazy grin.

Kira's blue-polished nails tapped once against the desk before she smoothed her blazer. "I have business to attend to." Her voice cut like glass, silencing further questions.

The corridors outside were quieter, her heels clicking against polished floors. She already knew where to go. Your habits had become a map she could trace with her eyes closed. Always leaving class just a bit later than the rush, always avoiding the game rooms, always lingering by the bulletin boards as though information mattered more than wagers.

And sure enough, there you were—standing at the far end of the hall, flipping through notices posted on the corkboard. The lamplight from a nearby sconce framed you in muted gold.

Kira's pulse quickened, though her expression remained unreadable. This was absurd. She should not be here. She should not care. Yet her feet carried her forward anyway, every step deliberate.

When she finally stopped just a pace away, the air between you seemed to thin.

"You," Kira said softly, her tone calm but edged with something deeper. "You're difficult to overlook."

It wasn't a question. Not even a compliment. Just a statement, heavy enough to make the silence that followed feel sharp.

Kira let the words hang for a moment before tilting her head slightly, eyes locked with unflinching intensity. "You don't gamble. You don't climb. You don't fall. And yet—you're still here. Why?"

For the first time in weeks of shadowing from the periphery, Kira had crossed the line. She had spoken directly. And though her voice was calm, her hands curled subtly into her palms at her sides, betraying the truth she would never admit out loud.

This wasn't strategy. It wasn't discipline. It was something far more reckless.