"Go on, dear, you need to be settled in. I already covered your dorm and even inquired about your schedule at the registration office."

Ran's voice was sickly sweet, laced with that ever-present amusement. His crimson eyes glinted with mischief as he winked at you, his smirk never faltering. Then, just like that, he turned on his heel and strolled away, his presence fading into the bustling academy halls.

You stood there for a moment, watching his retreating figure until he disappeared completely. A heavy sigh left your lips as you rubbed your temples, frustration creeping in. That bastard never gave straightforward answers. Everything was always a game to him—a twisted dance of deception and control.

But fine. If he wouldn't tell you anything, then you'd find out on your own.

This was your mission.

Your responsibility.

You couldn't rely on anyone else.

You had to play your part.

Be the Manipulative Tainted they believed you to be.

Don't get too attached. Don't let your emotions make you weak. You had to weave your lies carefully, pull the right strings, and make people trust you—for your sake, for Maya's.

With that resolve burning inside you, you headed to the registrar's office.

The moment you stepped inside, an eerie silence settled over the room. The staff behind the counter lifted their heads almost simultaneously, their gazes locking onto you like predators eyeing new prey. Their expressions were unreadable, their smiles too perfect, too rehearsed. A chill crawled up your spine, but you forced yourself to meet their eyes with the same eerie confidence.

A woman—likely in her mid-thirties—stepped forward, her lips curling into a smile that was just a little too wide. Her deep purple eyes, a telltale sign of a Manipulative Tainted, gleamed with intrigue.

"You must be the new student," she said smoothly, her voice coated in honeyed politeness.

You gave a curt nod, keeping your expression composed. "Yes. I was told to retrieve my schedule and dorm key."

Her smile deepened, and for a brief moment, you wondered if she could see through you—see the façade you were trying to maintain. But if she suspected anything, she didn't let it show. Instead, she retrieved a folder from the desk, flipping through the pages with unsettling precision.

"Ah, here we are," she said, handing you a printed schedule along with a brass key. "Your dormitory is in the west wing, Room 407. As a scholarship student, you're entitled to free meals in the cafeteria—breakfast, lunch, and dinner are provided. Your classes start at 7:30 AM and end at 5:00 PM sharp. Late arrivals will not be tolerated."

You took the documents from her, your fingers brushing against hers briefly. Cold. Almost lifeless.

"Understood," you said, offering a polite nod.

Her eerie smile widened. "Good. We expect excellence from you, Miss L/N. I'm sure you'll make us proud."

A test.

They were watching you. Gauging you.

And you had to play along.

So you returned her smile—mimicking her unnatural politeness, letting it stretch your lips just enough to seem genuine but not too much to appear forced.

"I intend to."

She tilted her head ever so slightly, eyes glinting with approval, before she turned her attention back to her work.

With that, you left the office, clutching your dorm key tightly in your palm.

Your next stop: the west wing.

The dormitory building loomed ahead, a towering structure with ivy creeping up its walls, as if nature itself was trying to reclaim it. The architecture was a mix of gothic and modern, with arched windows and sleek glass panels that reflected the setting sun in a golden glow. A grand iron gate marked the entrance, and beyond it, a cobblestone path led to the main door, flanked by rows of neatly trimmed hedges.

As you stepped inside, the temperature seemed to drop slightly. The air carried a faint scent of aged wood and something sterile, like disinfectant barely masking something... off.

The hallway was dimly lit, lined with identical dark oak doors, each adorned with brass nameplates and silver keyholes. The walls were painted a muted gray, giving the space an almost clinical feel. Occasionally, you passed by other students—some walking in pairs, others whispering in hushed tones. Their eyes flicked toward you, some lingering longer than necessary.

You ignored them.

Room 407.

Your fingers curled around the key as you stopped in front of your assigned room. The brass numbers gleamed under the dim hallway light. You wasted no time sliding the key into the lock and pushing the door open.

The moment you stepped inside, silence enveloped you.

Your dorm was surprisingly spacious, far larger than you expected. A single canopy bed sat against the left wall, draped in rich burgundy sheets with gold embroidery—a stark contrast to the rest of the room's muted tones. A polished wooden desk stood against the opposite wall, complete with an ornate chair. A bookshelf lined with untouched volumes stretched from floor to ceiling, while a large window overlooked the academy grounds, its thick velvet curtains half-drawn.

There were no personal items. No decorations.

It was cold.

Empty.

Exactly what you needed.

Ran had arranged for you to have no roommate, ensuring your solitude. Another reminder of his influence. His power. Yet, despite all that, he couldn't move against his so-called allies. He couldn't demand Maya's release.

But you could.

You would.

You closed the door behind you, exhaling a slow breath. Your mind raced with possibilities, strategies. If Maya was here, if those bastards who took her were attending this very school, then you had to act fast.

You were on your own in this.

And you would not fail.

You placed your luggage beside the bed with a quiet thud, exhaling as you took in your new surroundings. The room still felt foreign—too pristine, too untouched—but there was no time to dwell on it. You had 30 minutes before your first class started. That was more than enough time to familiarize yourself with the academy's layout.

Besides, Ran, that insufferable bastard, hadn't bothered to give you a tour.

Not that you wanted him to. His overbearing presence, his constant smirks, his suffocating clinginess—you could do without all of it.

So, you'd navigate this place on your own.

With that, you stepped out of your dorm, locking the door behind you. The hallways were quiet, save for the occasional footsteps echoing in the distance. The air carried the faint scent of polished wood and something floral—probably whatever artificial fragrance the school used to maintain its pristine image.

Just as you were about to descend the staircase leading outside, a presence caught your attention.

A man?

Your steps slowed.

Why was there a man in the female dormitory?

Your eyes immediately flicked to his uniform—black and burgundy, the academy's standard for male students. So he was a student here. But that didn't explain why he was sitting on the dorm's porch like he belonged there, his posture slouched, his dark, looming figure blending into the dim lighting.

Something about him made you pause.

There was an unsettling stillness to the way he sat, shoulders slightly hunched, head tilted downward as if absorbed in something. His presence wasn't loud or imposing, but it was heavy—like a shadow that refused to disperse.

You inched forward, cautiously, making sure your footsteps were silent against the polished floor. Not too close—just enough to see what had his attention.

Then, you noticed it.

A small, black cat.

The creature was hunched over a can of food, its tail curling lazily as it ate. The man's fingers ghosted over its sleek fur in slow, absentminded strokes. There was something almost...gentle about the way he touched the animal, despite his eerie stillness.

Realization settled in.

That was what he had been focused on.

Not some ominous, sinister act. Just feeding a stray.

A strange, unexpected contrast.

Your curiosity sated, you prepared to leave, slipping back into your original plan to explore the academy. But just as you turned on your heel—

A voice cut through the quiet.

Low, lilting, unstable.

"Do you ever wonder what it feels like to snap a neck? Not out of anger—just... curiosity?"

A shiver ran down your spine.

Something in his tone wasn't playful. It wasn't a joke, nor was it an attempt to intimidate. It was genuine. Detached. Like someone wondering what would happen if they stepped off a ledge just to see how it felt.

Slowly, cautiously, you turned your head back toward him.

He wasn't looking at you.

His fingers still idly stroked the cat's fur, his gaze fixed somewhere far beyond.

And yet, somehow, you knew—

That question had been meant for you.

You could walk away. Ignore him. Pretend you hadn't heard.

But that would make you prey.

And you were no one's prey.

So instead, you tilted your head, allowing a small, unreadable smile to tug at the corner of your lips.

"Snapping a neck is inefficient. You'd have to get the angle just right, and even then, there's a chance they won't die instantly. Mess it up, and all you'll have is a twitching mess choking on their own breath."

That got him to look at you.

Slowly, his head lifted, dark eyes finally locking onto yours.

Messy, slightly wavy black hair fell over his face, partially obscuring his gaze. His eyes—dark and slightly lidded—gave him a sleepy, detached look, but there was something else there too. A flicker of amusement. A quiet confidence. His skin was pale, a stark contrast against his dark uniform, making the sharp angles of his face stand out even more.

But it was the scar that caught your attention.

A thin, jagged mark ran along the left side of his face, cutting through his cheekbone. It didn't mar his looks—it enhanced them, adding an edge of ruggedness to his otherwise unreadable aura.

His fingers stilled against the cat's fur.

For the first time, he truly saw you.

And you saw him.

A quiet stretch of silence passed between you, thick with unspoken intrigue.

Then—

A grin. Not the playful kind. Not the cocky kind.

A slow, sharp, delighted kind.

"Oh," he murmured, eyes gleaming. "You're interesting."