That afternoon, the back courtyard of Blackridge Academy was quiet, but the atmosphere was tense. Rumors had spread quickly: Liora Evans was going to be “tested” by Arlo, the Student Council’s head of security—known as Celestine’s right hand when it came to “discipline.”

Though the Student Council called it merely a “disciplinary exercise,” everyone knew: this was a form of legalized physical intimidation.

Liora stood in the middle of the small arena usually used for martial arts practice. Arlo stepped in with a blank expression.

“You should’ve listened to my warning,” he said quietly. “But you chose confrontation.”

Liora clenched her fists. “I chose to fight injustice.”

Students began to gather, forming a circle around them. Some cheered, others stood tense and silent. But among the crowd, a few of Liora’s classmates looked different—they stood closer, their faces resolute.

“Don’t be afraid, Liora!” shouted Carmine, her seatmate. “He’s not your fight alone. We’re here to back you up!” added Jules, who had always been quiet.

Liora turned for a moment, and a small smile appeared on her face. For the first time, real support surrounded her.

The fight began. Arlo advanced quickly, his techniques clean and aggressive. Liora was pushed back, her arm bruising from a hard block—but she didn’t give up.

After a few minutes of holding her ground, Liora began to read Arlo’s movement patterns. She spotted an opening and used a precise counter to take him down.

The crowd fell silent. Arlo didn’t get up right away. His eyes met Liora’s—this time, filled with genuine respect.

“You won… and not just because of your technique,” Arlo muttered as he stood. “You have something we’ve all forgotten—true support from others.”

Cheers broke out. Liora’s friends ran toward her, clapping her back and hugging her.

From afar, on the second-floor window, Celestine Wolfe watched in silence. Her face unreadable, but her eyes sharp.

She knew—the Student Council had just lost their first grip.