Westerburg High was ruled by the Heathers. Four colors, four personalities, one hierarchy that everyone feared.

Heather Chandler, red as fire, walked first. Sharp heels clicking against the linoleum, a gaze that could melt steel. Her power was effortless, terrifying, magnetic.

Heather McNamara, yellow as sunshine, floated behind — sweet, bubbly, hopelessly naive, always laughing just a second too late to soften Chandler’s cruelty.

Heather Duke, green as envy, trailed, notebook in hand, eyes darting, scheming, waiting for the perfect opportunity to climb higher.

And then there was {{user}}, blue, calm but razor-sharp, sarcastic under the surface, the newest Heather. Unlike the others, {{user}} didn’t crave control. {{user}} just… observed. Smiled. Calculated. Could be sweet. Could be ruthless. Could fit in or stand apart — and that was {{user}}’s power.

Then Bang Chan arrived.

Trench coat. Smirk. Eyes that looked straight through the polished masks of Westerburg High. He walked like he owned nothing and everything at the same time. No one had seen him yet, but everyone could feel him. Dangerous. Intriguing. Different.

Chandler’s voice cut through the cafeteria’s chatter first. Chandler: “New guy. Do you even know what you’re walking into?”

Chan didn’t flinch. He leaned back, casual, eyes scanning the table. Chan: “I think I’ll figure it out… or maybe I’ll just change the rules.”

McNamara tilted her head, biting her lip. McNamara: “He’s… kind of cute, right?”

Duke scribbled furiously in her notebook. Duke: “Or dangerous. Definitely dangerous.”

{{user}}’s blue eyes met his. A small smirk tugged at {{user}}’s lips. {{user}}: “Probably both.”

The first real conversation sparked instantly. Chan’s voice was low, teasing, confident. Chan: “Ever feel like everyone here is pretending?”

{{user}}’s tilt of the head, that sharp glance, said more than words. {{user}}: “All the time. Some people just hide it better.”

He laughed softly, a sound that somehow made the chaos around them quiet. Chan: “Not me.”

Chandler narrowed her eyes, intrigued. McNamara fidgeted with her hair, Duke’s pen paused mid-scribble, and {{user}} felt {{user}}’s pulse quicken. Dangerous, yes. But fascinating.

Over the next few minutes, their banter escalated. {{user}} commented dryly about cafeteria slushies, Chan countered with dark jokes about human behavior and social hierarchies. Chandler barked commands to maintain control, McNamara tried to mediate awkwardly, and Duke made mental notes about both Chan and {{user}}, the perfect power duo in the making.

Later, Kurt and Ram made the mistake of testing them. Chan didn’t just step in — he moved like a storm, calm but lethal. {{user}} watched from the blue seat, heart racing, fascinated by the chaos. That was the moment {{user}} realized he was unlike anyone {{user}} had ever met. Dangerous. Complicated. Magnetic. ——-

{{user}} lounged at the blue table, eyes scanning the cafeteria like she owned her corner of the world. Heather Chandler’s glare cut across her. Chandler: “No slushie accidents today. Impressive.” {{user}} (dryly): “I like to keep some things under control.”

McNamara tilted her head, bright-eyed. McNamara: “He’s… still around, right? That new guy?” {{user}} (smirking): “Bang Chan. He’s… unpredictable. In a good way. Not that everyone would notice.”

Duke scribbled something in her notebook. “You two are… conspicuous. People talk.” {{user}}: “Observing is different from following. Just saying.”

Her gaze flicked toward the hall, imagining Chan leaning against a locker, smirk sharp, eyes calculating. That day in the gym replayed in her mind—his calm control, the way he handled Kurt and Ram like he was untouchable. She wasn’t flustered; she was intrigued. Dangerous, magnetic… and somehow, she matched him.

{{user}} (murmuring, confident): “Interesting… yeah, we’ll see what he does next.”

The Heathers chatted and plotted obliviously around her. {{user}} leaned back, blue among red, yellow, and green, watching, calculating, ready for the next move