“Hello. Sorry we’re late,” they said together.

Their homeroom teacher lifted her head, blinked once, then sighed with a small smile.

“It’s fine. First day—no casualties yet. Just find seats and settle in.”

They nodded and quietly blended into the room. It didn’t take long to find empty desks. The chatter rolled around them—laughter, a few lazy yawns, the rustle of notebooks and uniforms. Outside, sunlight dripped across the windows like honey, warm and calm. For a moment, it really did feel like a normal beginning.

Then the teacher clapped her hands lightly.

“So,” she said, stepping to the front, “Grade 12. Final year. Last stretch. That means I get to ask this very dramatic question.” Her smile widened. “What is your dream? What do you want to become?”

Several students immediately raised their hands.

“Doctor!” “Lawyer!” “Psychologist!” “A lecturer!” “Scientist!”

Their voices were confident and bright, the kind that came from students who had clawed their way here with effort and scholarships, from those who had already chosen their direction rather than having it chosen for them. The room filled with laughter and energy.

But after a while, the enthusiasm faded into silence.

Most of the room didn’t move.

Not because they didn’t have dreams.

Not because they were unsure.

Simply because there wasn’t really a choice to begin with.

They already knew where they would end up.

They would step into offices with their family names carved in polished gold. They would inherit legacies instead of building them. They would study not for passion, but for preparation. Their futures weren’t imagined—they were arranged.

Someone leaned back lazily and stretched.

“Why bother?” he muttered openly. “My family is rich. I won’t go broke. Besides, my brother’s inheriting the company. I’ll just… live.”

A few snickered. A few rolled their eyes.

Yes. There were also those.

The ones who planned to drift through life cushioned by wealth, responsibilities carefully avoided, ambitions replaced by comfort.

And somewhere between those two worlds—dreamers and dependents—sat Kalen Vinderholt. Straight-backed. Quiet. Composed. Listening to the room like he was separated from it by glass.

He didn’t raise his hand.

He didn’t even bother pretending to think about it.

He already knew.

There was nothing to decide.

A flicker of memory rose up uninvited.

Morning sunlight. A polished living room. His father’s voice.

---

“Congratulations, son. I heard you were appointed Disciplinary Committee President again.”

“Yes, Father.”

“Good. And… Miss Beaumont is Student Council President, isn’t she?”

“…She is.”

His father smiled, but there was steel beneath it.

“Then you already understand. You two will cross paths frequently again. Work with her if you must. But don’t forget who she is. Don’t be fooled. Don’t lower your guard.”

Kalen exhaled slowly.

“I know, Father. You’ve told me that since kindergarten. I’ve memorized it. There’s no need to keep repeating it.”

He stood, straightened his uniform, brushed invisible dust from his sleeves.

“I’ll be late for school.”

Behind him, his father’s voice softened—barely.

“It’s family honor, Kalen. I only want what’s best for you.”

He didn’t answer.

---

Back in the present, he blinked. The sound of voices around him returned like water pouring back into a glass.

At that same moment, on the other side of the classroom, a similar memory drifted quietly through Alena Beaumont’s thoughts.

Different house. Different conversation.

Exactly the same expectations.

The bell rang.

Chairs scraped. Bags rustled. Voices rose as students prepared to move on to the next period.

“Wait, you two,” the teacher said.

They paused.

“The Principal asked to see you. Don’t worry—nothing bad. Just… school matters.”

Ah. Of course.

They exchanged a look. Polite. Tense. Familiar.

“Yes, ma’am,” they said.

They gathered their bags and stepped into the hallway. The school corridor stretched ahead, sunlit and echoing with footsteps. For a moment, they walked side by side without speaking.

Then—inevitably—

“So,” Alena said lightly, “Try not to terrify the freshmen this time.”

Kalen didn’t look at her. “I’ll try. If they behave.”

She gave him a sideways glance. “You do realize not everyone functions like a military base, right?”

“And you do realize not every crisis can be solved with smiles and speeches.”

They almost smiled.

Almost.

They stopped in front of the Principal’s office. Alena knocked politely.

“Headmaster, we’re here.”

“Come in,” came the warm reply.

They stepped inside.

The Principal didn’t bother with sternness today. He smiled proudly.

“Welcome, President Beaumont. President Vinderholt. Congratulations once again. I trust you’ll guide the school well.”

They bowed slightly.

He waved a hand dismissively. “Formality aside—head to your respective offices. Settle your documents. Arrange your teams. I’ve already granted permission for you to miss the next period to get things in order.”

They both paused.

Already working, huh?

Of course.

“Yes, sir.”

They turned to leave.

Outside the office, the hallway stretched toward responsibility, expectations, and the beginning of another long year.

Side by side.

Not allies.

Not enemies.

Something… complicated in between.

And the year had only just begun.