Chapter Text
“I’m the one who’s leaving first.
And all I can think about is what I never did with her while I still had time.
It’s infuriating how late regret arrives.”
—
Chapter 1
It didn’t happen like it does in stories.
No one paused mid-conversation. No dramatic silence spread across the classroom. Life didn’t hesitate just because someone important walked in.
The bell rang. Chairs scraped. Someone was laughing too loudly in the back row. A pen dropped and rolled under a desk.
And then the door opened.
A new student stood there.
Yumeko ‘Kawamoto’
At first, she didn’t look like anything worth remembering. That’s the strange part. If you blinked, you might’ve missed her entirely. No flashy entrance. No visible tension in the room reacting to her presence like it should in a properly dramatic world.
Just a girl stepping into a classroom in the middle of a semester like she had been inserted into the wrong timeline.
The teacher didn’t pause either. Just glanced up, checked a paper, and continued speaking as if reality itself hadn’t quietly shifted.
“Class, we have a new student joining us.”
A few heads turned. Mild curiosity. The usual.
But Yumeko didn’t react to them reacting. That was the first strange thing.
Most new students perform nervousness. They adjust their posture, scan for approval, try to locate where they fit in the invisible hierarchy of the room.
Yumeko did none of that.
She simply looked at the class like she was observing something she already understood.
Like she wasn’t entering a new place.
Like she was confirming one.
Her gaze moved slowly, unhurried, across faces that suddenly felt aware of being looked at.
Then she stopped.
Not at the teacher.
Not at the windows.
At Kira.
There was no visible tension in it. No challenge. No curiosity that could be explained easily.
Just recognition.
As if something in the room had finally aligned into the shape she expected.
For half a second, the air felt… incorrectly balanced.
Then it passed.
The teacher pointed to an empty seat, and Yumeko walked down the aisle like nothing had changed at all.
But for reasons no one could explain, it felt like the rest of the semester had already been decided in that single moment.
And no one in the room realized yet that nothing about her arrival was an accident.
The class passed in a blur.
There was a test that day, something routine, something meant to measure order in a place that already pretended to have it. Papers were handed out, pens scratched softly against paper, time moved forward without asking anyone’s permission.
When it was over, the teacher collected the sheets like nothing meaningful had happened.
The results came quickly.
And surprisingly, Yumeko was the only one who scored perfectly.
A perfect score. Clean. Undeniable.
But it didn’t land the way it should have. It didn’t shift anything. It didn’t earn her the attention it usually would in any other room.
Because perfection didn’t matter here.
Not in this place.
Not when Kira was present.
Kira Timurov.
She wasn’t just another student sitting quietly in the system.
She was the Student Council President.
The daughter of the school board president.
And worse than both titles combined, she was the one who made the rules feel like they had always existed, even when they hadn’t.
The classroom seemed to orbit her without permission.
People spoke more carefully when she was near.
Even silence behaved differently around her.
She sat like she belonged to the center of everything, composed and unshaken, as if the world had already agreed not to challenge her.
Her presence was precise, controlled.
Blue lips, sharp like a warning.
Eyes a bright, unforgiving blue that didn’t soften when they landed on anyone.
Not even for a second.
People called her ruthless.
Heartless.
A viper dressed in authority.
But those were only words people used because they couldn’t think of anything accurate enough to replace them.
Because what Kira was couldn’t be summarized cleanly.
She didn’t need to raise her voice.
She didn’t need to prove anything.
The room already knew what she was capable of.
And Yumeko’s perfect score, still sitting on a stack of papers somewhere on the teacher’s desk, suddenly felt like something irrelevant.
Like a detail the world had already decided not to care about.
Because in this school, intelligence didn’t decide power.
Presence did.
And Kira Timurov owned the room without ever asking for it.
Yumeko gave a small shrug, as if the question itself didn’t deserve more than that.
She wasn’t here for anything else.
Not friendship. Not comfort. Not even curiosity.
She was here for something far heavier than any of that.
Revenge.
It had started when she was six.
That age where memories should be soft around the edges, half-forgotten dreams and harmless childhood noise. But hers wasn’t like that. Hers ended too early.
Her parents were murdered when she was six years old.
And with them, everything else collapsed.
The idea of safety.
The idea of home.
The idea that the world made sense at all.
After that, something inside her simply… stopped growing the way it was supposed to.
She didn’t heal.
She didn’t forget.
She just learned how to keep going with the damage still inside her.
And somewhere along the way, revenge became the only thing that felt structured enough to hold onto.
The only thing that made the world feel like it still had order.
When class ended, she stood up quietly.
No hesitation.
No lingering conversation.
She adjusted her uniform slightly and walked out of the classroom, heading straight toward the dorms.
Like she already knew exactly where she was going.
Behind her, the room slowly returned to normal noise.
But not everyone stopped watching.
Kira’s eyes stayed on her.
Unmoving.
Sharp.
Tracking every detail without making it obvious that she was doing it.
The way Yumeko walked—steady, unbothered, like the floor belonged to her just as much as anyone else.
The way her hair fell smoothly, catching light in a way that looked almost too intentional to be natural.
The red blazer of St. Dom’s uniform sat on her shoulders cleanly, perfectly fitted in a way that made her stand out without trying to.
Kira noticed all of it.
Every small detail she had no reason to focus on.
“Hello?”
Mary’s voice cut in beside her.
“Earth to our student council president?” she added, voice laced with sarcasm.
Kira blinked once, like she had been pulled out of somewhere she didn’t want to leave.
Her brows furrowed immediately.
“Shut up, Mary,” she said sharply.
The words landed clean and cold.
“Annoy me one more time and you won’t be going to the board retreat at the end of the semester.”
Mary froze.
Not dramatically, but enough.
Enough to understand the warning wasn’t a joke.
Kira’s tone had already closed the conversation.
She stood up without another word and left the classroom.
Behind her, Riri Timurov followed closely—silent, precise, like a shadow that had been assigned to her since birth and never questioned the job.
Mary watched them go, still recovering from the sting of Kira’s voice.
“Jeez… why is she in such a bad mood?” she muttered under her breath.
From a nearby desk, Suki didn’t even look up properly.
He was chewing gum lazily, scrolling through his phone, nails painted in loud, careless colors that somehow made him look even more uninterested in everything around him.
“When was she ever in a good mood?” he said flatly.
Mary rolled her eyes.
“Fuck off, Suki.”
And just like that, she grabbed her things and headed toward the cafeteria, as if the entire moment had already been filed away as unimportant.
But Kira’s gaze, long after she left the room, still lingered on the direction Yumeko had gone.
Like something in her had decided that wasn’t just a student leaving a classroom.
It was something far more permanent beginning to unfold.
Yumeko was clearly lost.
Not in a helpless way, just unfamiliar. St. Dom’s was large, spacious, and overwhelming in a quiet way. Everything about it felt competitive, like everyone inside it was part of something unspoken where status was always on the line.
She walked through it anyway without slowing down, like she would figure it out on her own eventually.
That’s when she bumped into someone.
A guy. Tall, dark-haired, deep brown eyes. He froze the moment she hit him, like her presence had interrupted whatever confidence he was holding onto.
Yumeko raised an eyebrow.
“Hello?” she said, low and slightly sarcastic.
He snapped out of it with an awkward cough.
“Uh, hi,” he stammered. “I haven’t seen you around here. Are you new?”
“Yes. Yes, I am,” Yumeko answered simply.
That seemed to throw him off more than it should have.
“I-I’m Ryan,” he said quickly.
“Calm down, Ryan,” Yumeko said, almost amused. “It’s just me.”
That made him even more nervous for some reason. His eyes kept flicking over her like he was trying to understand what exactly about her was affecting him like that.
Then Yumeko noticed the necklace around his neck.
It had a bold tag that read: “house pet.”
She tilted her head slightly.
“House pet?” she repeated, reaching out and pulling him just a little closer by the necklace.
Not rough. Just enough to make him realize she had no problem invading space.
Ryan stiffened immediately, breath catching as the distance between them disappeared.
“You have a lot to learn about this place,” he said quickly, stepping back.
Yumeko let go and smiled faintly, like she had just found something mildly entertaining.
“After I use the ladies’ room,” she said, “maybe you can show me around.”
Ryan nodded too fast.
“Yeah. Yeah, sure.”
He looked relieved, like he had survived something he didn’t fully understand yet.
And Yumeko walked off like nothing about the encounter mattered at all.
After Yumeko composed herself and stepped out of the ladies’ restroom, Ryan was already waiting for her.
He didn’t speak much at first. He just nodded once and started walking, as if hesitation wasn’t something this place allowed.
They moved across the campus. The grounds were wide and overly pristine, but it didn’t feel peaceful. It felt controlled. Students passed by in groups, their laughter soft but unnatural, like it didn’t fully belong to them.
Ryan lifted a hand slightly, pointing as they walked.
“There are two types of students here. Normies and legacy.”
He glanced at Yumeko briefly before continuing.
“Normies are sent here to learn how to be strong. To survive, basically. Legacy students—like me—are born into it. If your parents went here, you’re automatically brought in. That’s what makes you legacy.”
He kicked a small stone off the path.
“Legacy students rank higher. Not because of grades. Grades don’t matter here. Nothing normal matters. Only gambling does.”
Yumeko stayed quiet, her gaze moving over the students around them, reading everything and nothing at the same time.
Ryan’s voice lowered.
“The top ten on the leaderboard are the student council. Mary, Suki, Dori, Riri… Kira’s sister… and Kira.”
The name lingered in the air longer than the rest.
“They’re the only ones that matter here. Everyone else gets erased from importance. Even council members who drop off the board don’t stay relevant for long.”
A pause.
“Kira is the student council president.”
The atmosphere felt heavier after that.
“Ruthless. Heartless. Dangerous,” Ryan said quietly. “She’s basically a viper.”
He looked at Yumeko again, more serious now.
“Don’t mess with her.”
Another pause.
“Keep your guard up. Don’t stand out too much, or you’ll end up on their radar before you even understand how this place really works.”
Yumeko looked at Ryan, her attention sharpening slightly at the mention of “Kira.”
Ryan noticed and continued.
“Because if you lose a gamble and lose all your money and fall into debt, you become a house pet. Like me.”
He exhaled, jaw tightening.
“You don’t get to complain. It’s not optional. It’s the rule. You become their slave.”
Yumeko nodded slowly.
“Hm… sounds fun.”
She let out a small chuckle.
Ryan froze for a second, then raised an eyebrow.
“No—no, what do you mean fun?!” he snapped. “It’s war!”
Yumeko flinched slightly when Ryan suddenly grabbed her shoulder, but the surprise faded just as quickly, replaced by a soft, almost amused smile.
“Okay?” she giggled. “I handle things better than anyone else.”
Ryan let out a tired sigh, his grip loosening as he looked at her more seriously.
“Just… don’t do anything stupid, please,” he said quietly.
Yumeko tilted her head, her smile lingering.
“I can’t promise that, really.”
She walked ahead without waiting.
Ryan quickly followed, catching up beside her. “What’s your room number?”
“204,” she answered casually.
Ryan blinked, then raised an eyebrow, picking up his pace to match hers.
“Seriously? No one’s been assigned to that room for, like, six years.”
Yumeko slowed slightly.
“Why?”
Ryan hesitated for a second before answering.
“The last one there… Becka. She’s gone.”
Yumeko glanced at him. “Gone?”
He let out a short, humorless chuckle.
“Well, Becka was pushy. Couldn’t accept defeat. She didn’t want to stay a house pet forever, so she decided to go up against Kira.”
There was a brief silence.
Yumeko’s curiosity sharpened, her eyes fixed on him, waiting.
Ryan’s voice dropped.
“She died.”
The words landed heavy between them.
He looked at Yumeko again, more serious than before.
“Don’t mess with the student council,” he said. “Especially Kira.”
Yumeko’s smile flickered with quiet amusement. “Ah… interesting,” she replied lightly to Ryan’s warning.
Ryan stiffened, his expression tightening. “I’m not joking, Yumeko.”
Yumeko gave a small nod, her tone calm, almost dismissive. “I know, Ryan. But I still have to settle in, okay?”
They stopped just outside her dorm.
“Wait here.”
Without waiting for a response, Yumeko turned the knob and stepped inside.
The room was dim. Quiet in a way that didn’t feel empty.
And then she saw her.
Kira sat by the chair near the bed, one leg crossed over the other, posture relaxed but controlled. Like she had been there long enough to claim the space as hers.
Waiting.
Yumeko didn’t step back.
She closed the door behind her slowly, her eyes settling on Kira with calm curiosity.
“…I didn’t think I had a roommate.”
Kira didn’t move at first. Her gaze lifted, sharp and unreadable, landing on Yumeko as if she had already studied her from a distance.
“You don’t.”
Her voice was even. Certain.
Silence stretched, thick and deliberate.
Yumeko tilted her head slightly, a faint smile returning to her lips.
“Then to what do I owe the visit?”
Kira watched her, unblinking.
“You’re new,” she said. “But you don’t act like it.”
Yumeko’s expression didn’t change.
“And you came all the way here just to confirm that?”
Kira stood.
Slow. Controlled. Every movement precise, like she had nothing to prove and no time to waste.
“I came,” she said, stepping closer, “to see if you were worth the attention you’re already drawing.”
The distance between them closed just enough to feel intentional.
Not threatening.
But not safe either.
Yumeko held her gaze.
Unflinching.
“And?” she asked softly.
Kira paused.
For a moment, she said nothing.
Then—
“Don’t disappoint me.”
She turned, already done, already leaving.
And just like that, the room felt emptier than before.