The class ended with no more words exchanged between them. Mira packed her things slowly, her thoughts already spiraling—not from confusion, but from sheer, simmering disbelief.
The canteen buzzed with the usual afternoon crowd, but at one particular table, all the noise seemed to fade as Mira slammed a folded note onto the table.
"I am mad. No—furious."
Her friends, mid-bite into their meals, all turned to stare.
"Wait, what?" Camille blinked. "We were just asking about the whole Adrian thing. Why are you acting like you're about to declare war?"
"Because I should!" Mira huffed, crossing her arms. "I treated him with respect. I was nice. But this guy—this guy—" She exhaled sharply, shaking her head. "Who does he think he is?"
Luca leaned back in his chair, smirking. "Whoa, slow down. We literally just heard you two teamed up, and now you're telling us you're fighting already?"
Naomi raised an eyebrow. "Did he say something offensive?"
"Oh, so much worse." Mira picked up the note again, unfolding it with an aggressive snap and shoving it forward. "Look at this."
Elias took the paper, eyes scanning it quickly before whistling. "Okay… I gotta admit, this is insanely detailed. He figured all this out minutes after the project was assigned?"
Before Mira could reply, Camille suddenly gasped, eyes widening in exaggerated excitement.
"Wait, wait, pause." She pointed at the note. "Are you two exchanging notes in class? Oh. My. God. That is so. Ro. Mantic."
Naomi leaned in, nodding in fake seriousness. "Secret love letters disguised as project plans? This is next-level academic flirting."
Luca dramatically put a hand over his chest. "Mira. Since when did you become the lead in a campus romance novel?"
Mira nearly choked. "What?! No! Absolutely not!"
Her face burned as her friends snickered.
Then Valeria, who had been watching Mira's expression closely, cut through the teasing. "Okay, but… did he actually say that?"
Mira blinked, momentarily thrown off. "What?"
Val tapped the note. "You're mad because you think he implied you're some weak student who leeches off others. But did he actually say that? Or are you just assuming?"
Mira hesitated.
Camille smirked. "Yeah, because from what I see, this note is more like a battle plan than an insult."
Luca snorted. "Exactly. He probably thought you'd be impressed."
"Impressed?!" Mira looked betrayed. "I want a teammate, not someone who just hands me a finished blueprint and expects me to nod along."
Camille hummed. "So you're mad because he's too competent?"
Mira groaned, running a hand through her hair. "That is not the point."
"Well, what is the point?" Naomi asked.
Mira exhaled, her anger simmering just slightly. "I want to contribute. I want to learn from this class. If he's already done everything, then what's the point of me being in the group?"
Camille chuckled. "Sooo… can I use this note for my project instead?"
Mira shot her a glare. "Be my guest."
Valeria leaned forward, tapping a finger on the table. "Look, Mira, you're one of the smartest people we know. If anyone doesn't need to rely on someone else's work, it's you."
Naomi nodded. "Yeah, I get why you're upset. But maybe Adrian didn't mean it the way you took it. He's always been kind of…" She searched for the right word. "...intense."
"That's an understatement," Elias muttered.
Luca smirked. "Honestly? This ship still has a chance."
Mira snapped her head up. "Quit that joke already."
Camille grinned. "What? I'm just saying. You two are just having your first conflict. Every great partnership has a rough start."
Mira groaned, shoving her tray away. "You all are impossible."
Elias shrugged. "Maybe. But we're not wrong."
Mira scowled, but deep down… she hated to admit they might have a point.
❧
Mira stepped into the study room, her movements sharp, purposeful. Adrian was already there, leaning back in his chair, a book open in front of him. He didn't look up right away.
She sat down across from him, arms crossed. Silence stretched between them. She expected him to ignore her, to just push another paper her way like before.
Instead, he finally looked up.
"You seemed pretty worked up earlier."
His tone was neutral, but something about the way he said it made her bristle.
"I just didn't like being underestimated."
He tilted his head slightly, considering her. "I never said you were incompetent."
"You didn't have to."
Adrian watched her, waiting.
Mira took a steady breath and met his gaze. "There are four things we needed to be clear on before we teamed up."
She raised a finger. "First, before deciding anything, we asked for each other's opinion and came to an agreement first."
Another finger. "Second, when you wanted something, you expressed your thoughts with clear reasoning before expecting me to respond."
Third. "We didn't argue just to win—we analyzed both the strengths and weaknesses of each option."
And finally, her fourth finger. "If you thought my expectations would slow you down, then we had no deal. No group between us."
Adrian was silent for a moment. Then, instead of arguing, he tilted his head slightly, considering her words. There was no irritation in his expression—if anything, he looked… intrigued.
Adrian had never been the type to entertain pointless conversations. Words were tools, and most people wielded them with all the precision of a dull blade. That was why he rarely spoke—because there was rarely anyone worth speaking to.
But now, sitting across from Mira, he found himself watching her with the same sharp focus he reserved for a problem that refused to be solved on the first attempt.
She had just drawn her lines, laid down her terms with unwavering confidence, not as a plea for compromise but as a statement of fact. And for the first time in a long while, something in him stirred—not irritation, not boredom, but something far more exhilarating.
She wasn't an obstacle. She was a variable he hadn't accounted for.
A slow, almost imperceptible smirk threatened the corner of his lips, but he kept it in check. His fingers tapped once against the table before stilling. The usual script—where people either yielded to his pace or fell behind—didn't apply here. She wasn't backing down. She wasn't blindly following.
Leaning in slightly, he let the silence stretch, studying her like a puzzle with missing pieces, like a system that had just presented an unexpected error—one he suddenly felt compelled to fix.
Mira didn't waver under his gaze. Instead, she met it head-on, her voice steady. "Do you agree or disagree?"
A sharp flicker of amusement crossed his mind. She was actually pressing for an answer, expecting him to engage rather than dismiss. No hesitation, no shrinking back.
The calm exterior he always wore didn't crack, but something inside him stirred, sharp and electric.
His fingers drummed once against the table, slow and deliberate. Then, with a smirk barely ghosting his lips, he finally spoke.
"Okay. Let's see if you're worth the deal."
Mira folded her hands on the table, exhaling slowly. Though her voice was steady, there was still tension in the way she spoke.
"Your draft is structured, logical, and straight to the point—ethical governance, technological advancement, strategic policies. It presents a seamless framework." Her fingers traced the edge of the paper. "But."
His gaze sharpened. There it was.
"You assume people understand technology and ethics at the same level as you." She leaned back slightly. "They don't."
She met his gaze. "When you wrote this, who were you speaking for?"
Adrian didn't answer immediately. Instead, he studied her, waiting.
She continued. "Government? Researchers? Corporations? Or the public? Because each of them has different priorities and the way your policies are structured, it assumes a single, unified direction. But in reality, their needs often conflict."
Her fingers tapped lightly against the table. "Governments aim for stability and control. Researchers push for innovation, often without immediate concern for societal impact. Corporations prioritize efficiency and profit. And the public? They're the ones trying to navigate it all, often left out of the decision-making process."
She glanced at him, watching for a reaction, but he remained unreadable.
"Then, there's the idea of technological dominance," she went on. "How are we defining it? Is it just about widespread adoption, or does it mean technology dictates human life to the point where traditional structures are obsolete? If that's the case, then to what extent do we allow it? Where do we draw the line before it reshapes human identity itself?"
A pause. Then, her voice softened slightly—but the challenge in it remained.
"You've structured everything with clear logic, but policies don't exist in isolation. They affect people—people who may not fully understand the systems governing them but will still have to live by them. If we don't account for that, what happens then?"
She leaned back, waiting for his response.
His lips curved into something that wasn't quite a smirk, more like a flicker of amusement. "A person who governs would not let emotion interfere with their decisions." His tone was measured, almost indifferent, but his eyes held something else—something keen, watching for her reaction.
Mira didn't hesitate. "We need balance," she countered, arms folded. "Win-win, not win-lose. If you were the one governing with this policy, people like me would protest non-stop. And I don't think your country would last very long."
Adrian exhaled through his nose—part scoff, part laugh. She wasn't wrong. That was the irritating part. His mind worked through the argument like a formula, testing its logic, weighing its flaws. Mira wasn't just reacting emotionally; she was making a calculated stand.
This wasn't how he had expected the conversation to go. And that made it interesting.
"The fact that we see things differently mirrors how society operates—some will agree with you, others with me. That's why we should begin by presenting both perspectives, breaking down where they succeed and where they fall short. Then, we each draft our full policies—not just an outline. After that, we analyze each other's work, identifying points of compromise, non-negotiables, and areas that demand further discussion. From there, we refine it into a final, cohesive policy. That covers the report. As for the presentation, we can frame it as a debate—but if crowds make you uncomfortable, I can handle a standard presentation instead."
Adrian leaned back slightly, fingers steepling as he listened. His gaze was fixed on her—not just observing, but calculating. Mira was laying out her terms like a strategist, not someone blindly pushing an argument. That was unexpected.
"So," he mused, his tone both sharp and entertained, "you're saying our disagreement is not a flaw, but a necessary foundation?"
Mira nodded. "Exactly. The conflict between different perspectives is what makes policy-making complex—and real. If we're simulating a true-world scenario, we can't ignore the push and pull between interests."
Adrian's amusement deepened. She wasn't just challenging him—she was meeting him head-on.
"And if I refuse to compromise?"
She didn't even blink. "Then you prove my point."
A slow exhale. This time, not a scoff, not condescension. Satisfaction.
Adrian tilted his head slightly, watching her like a chess player contemplating his next move. She wasn't backing down. And unlike most people, she wasn't trying to pander to him or impress him. She had her stance, her logic, her method.
And damn it, it was a solid one.
"Fine." He finally said, the weight of the word hanging between them. "We'll do it your way. You read mine, I read yours. No drafts—only the real work." His voice dipped slightly, almost like a warning. "I don't entertain half-baked arguments."
Mira smirked. "Neither do I."
A small pause. Then, Adrian tapped a finger against the table, eyes gleaming. "For the presentation… a debate."
Are you sure? That means no control over the audience's reactions."
"That's the interesting part." His lips barely curved. "Let's see if you can handle it."
Mira didn't take the bait—at least not visibly. But there was a spark in her eyes, the unmistakable fire of someone who thrived on the challenge.
"Let's see if you can."
For the first time in a long while, Adrian felt something stir beneath his usual indifference.
Anticipation.
Mira, however, was caught on something else entirely. A debate. In front of an audience. She had assumed—like everyone else—that Adrian avoided crowds because he disliked them, maybe even feared them. It was easy to believe. He never lingered after discussions, never engaged with people unless he had to. Some thought he was shy. Others believed he considered social interaction beneath him.
But now, watching the way his eyes glinted with something almost predatory, Mira realized the truth was far more dangerous. She gathered her things slowly, mind still turning over the shift in his tone—that glint in his eyes she hadn't expected. Not fear. Not pride. Something sharper.
She had thought she understood Adrian Vale. Cold, distant, untouchable. But now she saw it—he wasn't hiding from the spotlight.
He was choosing when to step into it.
Mira slung her bag over one shoulder, casting a glance back at the table where he'd sat, calm as ever.
This wasn't just a project anymore.
It was a game.
And she had just agreed to play.
❧