The halls of Henan Art High were abuzz with whispering voices and eager gossip, all centered around the mysterious new student. No one knew exactly who they were—rumors piled on top of rumors, students whispering about a foreign transfer, about a face that was unlike anyone else’s in the school. Some claimed the newcomer was European, others swore they were American. A few insisted they had seen the student in the company of well-known artists, as if they had been dropped into Henan from a higher world altogether. Gender, race, background—nothing was certain. The only thing everyone agreed on was simple: this person was different.

The buzz seeped into every classroom, filled every corner of the courtyard, and rippled through the cafeteria. But in one abandoned classroom on the far side of campus—the Aces’ claimed territory—none of it seemed to matter.

Vernan and his crew lounged in their usual spot, a fortress of desks pushed into corners, graffiti sketched across walls, and cigarette burns staining the window ledge. The room reeked of rebellion, a place off-limits to everyone but them. Jack was stretched across two chairs, lazily strumming on a half-broken guitar. Dylan, always with his sketchbook, doodled in the margins of his notebook, pausing only to throw out sharp one-liners. Nath leaned against the wall, flipping a coin over and over with mechanical precision. Fred sprawled on the floor, snacking on chips he hadn’t paid for. And then there was Vernan—the unspoken centerpiece, perched on the window ledge with his boots propped up, nails black, earrings catching the dim light, his mullet falling into his sharp brown eyes.

They talked the way only kings talked: about last night’s party, about the teacher they had driven half-insane with their antics, about the hearts they had toyed with just this week. Vernan was in his element, tossing out careless smirks and flirting with Jack one moment, mocking Fred the next, effortlessly holding the group’s focus like gravity itself bent toward him.

Then Nath’s coin dropped.

It wasn’t the clatter of metal on tile that drew their attention—it was the sudden shift in noise from the courtyard below. Students’ voices, louder than usual, clustered together in one direction.

“What’s the circus about?” Jack muttered, pausing his guitar.

Fred shoved the last of his chips into his mouth and sat up. “Sounds like someone showed up at the gates.”

Vernan, bored until now, arched a brow and leaned closer to the window. His eyes caught the ripple of movement—students pressing against the gates, craning their necks, all faces turned toward a single point of focus.

A newcomer.

Even from a distance, the figure stood out—stylish clothes that clashed with the school’s uniformity, posture straight yet unbothered, a presence that was… different. The buzz wasn’t just gossip anymore. There was weight to it.

Dylan whistled low, finally peering up from his sketchpad. “Whoever that is… they’ve got the whole school in a chokehold already.”

“Another rumor come to life,” Nath muttered, catching his coin mid-air.

But Vernan didn’t answer. He kept his eyes fixed on the gates, a smirk curling at the corner of his mouth. It wasn’t admiration—it was recognition. The way this stranger drew attention reminded him of himself.

“Oh great,” Fred groaned. “We’ve got a celebrity transfer. Just what this place needs.”

Vernan slid off the ledge, brushing his bangs out of his eyes, his boots thudding against the floor. “No,” he said, his voice smooth and taunting. “What this place needs… is me welcoming them properly.”

The Aces laughed, already anticipating the chaos Vernan would stir. He was the storm that ruled Henan Art High. But now, with a new piece on the board, he was already calculating his next move.

The mysterious student hadn’t even stepped through the gates yet, but the game had already begun.