"I'm here... I actually ended up here."
Hua Rong sat stiffly at her desk, staring down at the polished wood as whispers filled the air. Forty-four students. Forty-three boys. And her.
No matter how many tis she repeated it in her head, it didn't change the reality.
Blackthorn Academy.
A school unlike any other—where elite institutions from across the country sent their worst, most reckless students in their final year. It was a last resort, a place for those who refused to follow the rules, and who caused too much trouble to be kept anywhere else.
Most students feared this place. And tried everything to avoid being sent here—so faked good behavior, others followed the rules religiously.
Yet, Hua Rong had still been sent here.
How?
It didn't matter anymore. She was here, and there was no turning back.
She tightened her grip on the desk's edge, trying to ignore the watchful eyes burning into her back.
...
The morning had started with a tense silence as Mr. Feng, the head teacher, took his place at the front of the classroom. Clipboard in hand, he scanned the sea of students, ensuring that no rival was seated too close to another.
"Zinchen Liu—first bench."
A tall boy with neatly styled black hair stood up, his movents precise, like he had already mapped out the entire room. His dark eyes assessed his surroundings before he took his seat.
"Qi Luoyan—last row, second seat."
A boy with ssy brown hair slouched lazily as he stood, hands in his pockets, moving without urgency. His entire deanor scread indifference.
One by one, the students took their places. So exchanged silent nods of approval; others glared as if assessing potential threats. Every movent, every glance, carried an underlying tension
One by one, students were seated. So exchanged silent nods; others locked eyes for a few seconds too long, as if testing dominance. Every movent, every glance, carried an underlying tension.
Then, Mr. Feng reached the last na on the list.
He barely hesitated before calling it out.
"Hua Rong."
The room fell silent.
Heads snapped toward the teacher, then toward the entrance. The shift in atmosphere was instant—sharp, heavy, suffocating.
"A girl?"
"No way."
"Did he just say a girl's na?"
Hua Rong stood at the door, her long, straight black hair cascading smoothly down her back. Her middle parting was neat, save for a few loose strands that had fallen onto her forehead. Her dark eyes, cold and piercing, swept across the room.
She wore the academy's pristine uniform—a white school skirt, crisp white shirt, dark blue jacket with the school emblem pinned to the chest, and a matching tie. Even in perfect uniform, she stood out.
Blackthorn Academy had never accepted a girl before.
Yet here she was.
Mr. Feng remained unfazed.
"First row, third bench."
Hua Rong's fingers curled slightly at her sides. She could feel the weight of every stare on her, pressing against her like a physical force.
But she didn't hesitate. Keeping her head down, she walked forward and took her seat.
The whispers began again, hushed but sharp.
"What the hell is a girl doing here?"
"How bad must she be to get sent to Blackthorn?"
"She doesn't look dangerous... but neither did the worst ones."
Hua Rong gripped the edge of her desk, staring at the polished wood. Her pulse pounded in her ears. This was her last year of high school, and instead of finishing peacefully at her old school, she had been thrown into a battlefield.
Blackthorn Academy.
A place where elite schools sent their most uncontrollable students in their final year. Most students tried everything to avoid being sent here—so faked good behavior, others followed the rules religiously.
Yet, Hua Rong was here anyway.
Mr. Feng shut his clipboard and gave the class one final look.
"That's it for today." With that, he exited, leaving behind forty-four students and a suffocating storm of unanswered questions.
No one moved.
No one spoke.
The silence was heavier than the whispers.
Hua Rong exhaled softly, lifting a hand to tuck a strand of hair behind her ear. Her gaze remained fixed on the desk, but she could feel their stares.
"One year. Just one year, and I'll be out of here."
But deep down, sothing told her it wouldn't be that simple.
Not in Blackthorn.
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