A day of classes flew by faster than anyone expected.
The whole Purple Star Academy was buzzing—Anya again, of course. Rumors fluttered through the hallways like restless butterflies.
"Hey… isn't that Anya from Grade 2, Class F? One of the infamous R4? I heard she nearly threw down with Lucian, Master of Class A, today."
R4—the dreaded four. Not a club, not a squad, just… trash. Literally. And guess who proudly claimed a spot? Anya.
"She… she has guts, huh? I'd be crying in the corner if it were me. How does she even fight back?"
"Who knows… oh wait, look—there! That's Anya!"
A girl poked her friend and pointed. And there he was, a boy sculpted from a 'buy-a-movie-ticket-and-stare' kind of handsome. Cold though. Very cold. Like he ate ice cubes for breakfast.
"She… she… she's really Anya?" The girl's round face went slack in shock.
"Yeah… hey, you okay?"
"My whole life… and it's just been a face-love trap… I'm doomed," she muttered.
Anya strolled toward the main gate and froze. Among the line of luxury cars, one shimmered under the sunlight, screaming for attention. She'd driven past it before. And this one? Parked like royalty—literally. Reserved for visiting VIPs, people who breathe differently than normal humans.
People watched from afar, whispering quietly, careful not to approach. Some lingered, then slinked away. Most knew not to mess with people born in silver spoons, growing up in elite circles.
Anya smiled lightly, almost amused. It wasn't the car that caused the stir. No. Definitely not. It was him.
Ethan, leaning against the car, cigarette dangling from his fingers, blew smoke that curled like lazy serpents. His face, half-hidden in haze, looked wickedly untouchable.
He could have waited inside. Sure. But he worried Anya might not find him. So there he was, visible, deliberately.
Luke grimaced. Seriously, Master? Does it have to be THIS obvious…?
When he saw the slender figure finally emerge, Ethan smirked. The impatience on his brow softened. Fingers crushed the cigarette, tossing it to the pavement.
A handkerchief, faintly scented, floated into his palm from Luke. He wiped his hands, tossed it back, and walked straight toward Anya.
Anya scanned her surroundings, torn—should she hitch a ride with Flynn or jog home? Legs capable… maybe. But Ethan waited. And who knew what he was thinking?
"Are you looking for me?" The tall figure appeared out of nowhere.
Anya lifted her chin; a faint tobacco scent curled around her, subtle, teasing. Not unpleasant.
"No." She adjusted her backpack and prepared to run. Weak? Slightly. But training. Whatever.
Ethan frowned. "Then what exactly are you doing?"
"Going home," she said.
"Get in the car," he said, flat, commanding.
"For what?"
Tall for a girl, even surpassing some boys in height. But standing there? Ethan radiated a pressure that made her tilt her head. Annoying.
"Taking you home." His grin was subtle, mischievous, almost like a private joke.
"No, thanks. I can go myself."
She moved to run.
He glanced down at her legs. And then—snap—she was hoisted onto his shoulders. Just like that. The road looked like… hell, I dunno, like someone tried to pave a war. His strides carried her effortlessly toward the car.
Spectators gasped. Boys hooted. Girls sighed with jealousy. "Why her? Why him?" But the woman Ethan carried? That was his.
Anya didn't react immediately. Only when her feet left the ground did reality hit.
"Ethan! What the hell?!" For the first time since rebirth, she couldn't control her emotions.
He smiled, bright as sunlight. "Taking you home. Don't wanna go home? Mine works too."
She could do nothing. His strength was absurd. Only resignation.
And… humiliation. Once top commander in Eastern Global forces. Now? Carried like a sack of laundry.
He reached the car door in a few strides, dropped her inside. Luke nearly lost it. Slammed the door, started the engine. God forbid Master's Anya escape.
The car roared away from Purple Star Academy.
Flynn, leaning against his own ride, watched. Disappointment flashed across his eyes. Then he got in and drove home.
"Miss Luna, are we going straight home?"
She clenched her teeth, eyes burning. "Follow that car."
"Yes, Miss," the driver replied.
"Ethan!" Anya spat the name like venom.
He smirked, oblivious. "Look at you. Alive. Livelier than before. Always gloomy… like someone owed you millions."
He reached out—pinched her cheek. Soft. Dangerous. Eyes gleaming. Like discovering a treasure map on her face.
Tried to go again, but—slap. Anya pushed him off.
"Don't even think… or I swear—"
Her eyes, cold and deadly. Real steel under skin.
Luke, vigilant, glanced at a small drawer in the car, tension tightening.
Ethan leaned back, hands behind his head. "Girls shouldn't talk about killing all the time. Not healthy."
Anya just stared. Didn't sense hostility, didn't care.
Still… what was he planning?
"Where are you taking me?"
"I said, home. Didn't I?"
She frowned. Really. What. Was. This.
"Master, someone's tailing us." Luke said quietly.
Anya peeked back. Face darkened. "Is it her?"
Ethan glanced at her, then rearview mirror. "Shake 'em off. Don't worry."
Luke nodded. "Yes, Master."
The bodies were everywhere. I counted—actually no, I stopped counting; didn't matter.