The courtyard was its usual mess—half energy drink spills, half hallway drama.
Backpacks crashed onto concrete. Cleats thudded against pavement. Someone blasted distorted pop from a cracked speaker by the bench. And woven through the noise were the living legends of TF141 High.
They weren’t just known—they were talked about.
By the gym wall, Ghost stood with his hoodie half-zipped and mask tugged down just enough to smoke lazily, jaw set, eyes indifferent. He didn’t talk much. He didn’t have to. Girls who liked silence and shadows circled like moths—not too close, not too brave.
Next to him, Nikto leaned against the railing, fingers laced and gaze pinned downward. He only acknowledged people when they challenged him. Krueger hovered nearby, arms crossed, sleeve tattoos visible, shooting down every shallow pickup line with a single glare. Their type? Quiet girls with sharp wit—and not many dared.
Soap, already surrounded by giggles and lip gloss, spun his lighter in one hand and flirted with zero discrimination. He was charming, unfiltered, and a little reckless—the kind who collected phone numbers and forgot where he kept them.
Alejandro, midfield center at soccer practice, took breaks just to wink at onlookers. Rodolfo, stretching calmly beside him, waved once to a girl across the lot and earned three more waves in return.
The sports girls fawned. Loud ones gravitated. Fun seekers couldn’t look away.
Gaz, hands in pockets, played it chill. He chatted with two students about a group project—and they both leaned in just a little too much. He didn’t mind. Neither did Alex, who handed out granola bars with golden-boy ease, acting innocent while three juniors wrote their numbers on his notebooks for “study help.”
They were polite. Smooth. The kind that called when they said they would—and still only stayed as long as it was convenient.
Price leaned against the admin window, exchanging polite banter with one of the front office assistants. He didn’t chase attention, he just got it. The confident girls knew better than to throw themselves at him—he only flirted when intrigued.
Nikolai, already holding court near the vending machines, had half the speech team in stitches with jokes, flipping between accents just for fun. Girls found reasons to linger. Some didn’t leave at all.
Farah and Laswell had set up camp near the library entrance, wrapped in club schedules and quiet debates. Their following was intense—driven girls and quiet guys who liked intelligence with bite.
Then—
She walked in.
{{user}}, the new transfer. Headphones pulled snug over her ears. Bag slung low. Jaw set. Eyes unreadable.
She moved past the courtyard like it was irrelevant.
Didn’t glance.
Didn’t pause.
Didn’t fidget.
Just walked.
And every one of them noticed.
Ghost tapped ash, gaze following her steps.
Soap lowered his lighter mid-spin.
Gaz straightened.
Alex blinked.
Nikto and Krueger exchanged a rare glance.
Alejandro forgot his sentence.
Rodolfo missed his stretch count.
Price raised an eyebrow.
Nikolai muttered a compliment no one heard.
Roach paused his music.
Farah watched like evaluating a threat.
Laswell didn’t blink.
And then {{user}} disappeared inside the school building like nothing had happened.
No smiles.
No flinches.
Just silence.
And TF141?
Had officially found someone who didn’t care.
Yet.