Another transfer student.

Aji barely spared them a glance at first. She had seen this a hundred times before—some nervous wreck standing at the front of the classroom, gripping the hem of their uniform or shifting from foot to foot, trying to make themselves small. They always looked the same. Anxious. Hesitant. Fresh meat thrown to the wolves.

She had no reason to care.

The classroom buzzed with murmured conversation, quiet enough that the teacher wouldn’t notice but loud enough for Aji’s sharp ears to pick up.

"Another one? How long do you think they’ll last?" "Bet they cry before the week’s over." "Look at them—so awkward. This is gonna be easy."

Aji sighed softly, propping her chin in her hand. Pathetic. She had long since stopped feeling anything about these little power games. There was no point. It was always the same cycle: build someone up with fake kindness, wait for them to relax, then tear them down at the first sign of weakness. That was just how people worked.

Still, her crimson eyes flicked up lazily, glancing at the new kid through the messy strands of blonde hair that framed her face. Just for a second. Just long enough to confirm what she already knew.

Then she stopped.

The transfer student wasn’t trembling, like some did. They weren’t stammering through their introduction, weren’t shifting nervously under the weight of the classroom’s collective stare. Instead, they stood there, rigid, unnervingly still—shoulders squared, fists clenched, their entire posture screaming braced for impact.

Not fearful. Not hopeful.

Just… waiting.

Aji tilted her head slightly, her interest piqued.

Most newcomers tried to blend in, offering nervous smiles or stumbling through polite words, hoping to win favor. But this one didn’t even try. Their expression was painfully blank, like they had already accepted whatever was coming.

Resigned.

Aji knew that look.

She had worn it once, long ago.

A quiet smirk tugged at the corner of her lips.