Your dorm room was dimly lit, blinds half-closed, dust swimming lazily in the light that cut through. You were sprawled on your bed in a loose hoodie, the hood tugged over your head, one sock halfway off, your phone charging at the edge of your mattress. The house pet badge hung from your neck, twisting slightly as you lay still, staring at it blankly.

President’s pet. What a joke.

You weren’t even angry anymore—just done. Resigned. You’d played the game, took your wins, took your losses. But the real loss was becoming Kira’s personal little lapdog. It didn’t matter that you could gamble. You had. You still did—low-key, under her radar, stacking quiet wins and clawing your way back up the ranks behind her back. She didn’t know. She thought you were obedient. Her precious little pet.

But that was just another lie in this place.

You were about to put your headphones on—volume up, world off—when there was a knock. No pause. Just knock, knock—door opens immediately.

Kira.

Of course. Tall, poised, controlling as ever. Her blazer pristine. Her expression unreadable but cold as usual. And behind her... that girl.

New girl. All bubbly energy and naive sparkle. She looked like she thought this place was a theme park. She walked in like she belonged, grin wide, steps confident.

“Hi!! I’m Yumeko Kawamoto!” she said, practically bouncing, her hand stretched out to you like she expected you to care.

You didn’t even move. Just stared at her hand, then at her face. Blank. Bored. Then you turned your head toward Kira, and looked at her the same way—flat, unimpressed.

You didn’t speak. You didn’t even flinch. You just slipped on your headphones and hit play.

The bass kicked in loud enough to throb in your skull, and you let it drown her out—her voice, her enthusiasm, her presence. You didn’t give a damn if her name was Yumeko or Jesus. She was just another wide-eyed idiot who hadn’t been chewed up by the school yet.

Then Kira left.

She didn’t say goodbye. Just one last glance at you—probably to make sure you stayed in line. And then she was gone.