I woke up with the echo of that voice still ringing in my ears: "You are the chosen one. Rise, and reclaim your fate."
It didn't feel like some random dream. It felt like an order. All the chaos from the last few days—the swap, the embarrassment, the humiliation—suddenly snapped into this terrifying kind of sense. If I really was the chosen one, then being stuck as Elias Finch wasn't some punishment. It was a trial. The gold had to be stripped away so the steel could be forged.
I moved through the morning routine with this weird, sharp focus—folding the shirt, taking out the trash, listening to Eli's mom's silence. The greasy smell from the Wok Stop and the grimy walls of Eli's world didn't feel like a cage anymore. They felt like a disguise.
When I walked into AP Physics and sat down in my usual spot in the back, the buzz hit me right away. It wasn't the easy admiration Marcus Sterling used to get. This was slower, heavier—resentment mixed with suspicion.
I caught the whispers from the girls behind me.
"Did you see his score on the midterm? Finch? No way he didn't cheat," one said, not even bothering to whisper properly.
"Exactly! He can barely string a sentence together. He must've copied off Sarah. The grades are ridiculous."
The guys were even worse, shooting me sideways looks. I caught pieces of their muttering: "He's trying to show off, man. Teacher's pet. Look at him, grabbing attention."
That kind of shame used to sting. Now it just slid off. Their hate wasn't a wound anymore—it was proof. Proof my plan was working. They couldn't ignore the numbers, so they went after my character instead. Marcus Sterling knew this game. He'd just never had to play it from the bottom rung.
Then the bell rang and the class calmed down. Mr. Jensen cleared his throat, wearing that fake pep-rally smile.
"Alright, settle down everyone. We have a new face joining us today."
The door opened. Noise spiked.
She walked in.
Her hair was this perfect dark wave, shining like she'd stepped out of some ad. Small frame, but she carried herself like she was born to own the room. Perfect uniform, huge expressive eyes, and a nervous little smile that somehow made her even more magnetic. She wasn't just pretty—she had that quiet, electric pull you can't fake.
All the guys who'd just been trash-talking me leaned forward like starving dogs. The girls froze, their faces going tight with jealousy. She was clearly a threat to their pecking order.
"Class, this is Yui," Mr. Jensen said. "She transferred in this morning. Please make her feel welcome. Yui, you can take the empty seat right here in the back."
He pointed straight to the desk next to mine.
I froze.
The prettiest, most charismatic girl to show up all year was being seated next to the school's biggest punchline. It was absurd.
Yui walked down the aisle, not even flinching at the attention. When she got close, her eyes met mine. Calm. Smart. Older than her age somehow. Not pitying, not disgusted—just… knowing.
She slid into the seat, quiet and smooth. As she set her bag down, she moved so quickly, so naturally, nobody else would've caught it. Her hand dipped under the desk and when it came back up, a tiny folded note was sitting on my side.
Then she turned to Mr. Jensen like nothing had happened. Posture perfect.
My heart was going insane. This wasn't a love note. Not with the way she'd looked at me. My clumsy fingers shook as I unfolded it under the desk. The handwriting was perfect, nothing like Eli's messy scrawl.
I read it once, then again. A cold rush shot through me—fear, hope, everything all at once. The voice from my dream was gone. But this? This was real.
Marcus, I know who you are. We need to talk.
To Be Continued....