Zane walked like nothing in the world had changed.
Hands in his pockets, pace lazy, eyes half-lidded as if the academy itself was mildly inconvenient. Mira, Luna, Celeste, and Asher followed beside and behind him, forming an odd little procession that drew far more attention than any of them wanted.
Whispers followed them.
That was new.
Students slowed as they passed, pretending not to stare while very obviously staring. Some looked at Zane with awe, others with suspicion, and a few with something closer to fear.
The boy with no power.
The one who fought a teacher.
The Dorm God.
Zane ignored all of it.
He didn't even acknowledge the looks as they turned down a quieter corridor, one that led away from classrooms and toward faculty offices.
Asher frowned. "You know… this doesn't make sense."
Zane hummed noncommittally.
"You fought Professor Livia," Asher continued. "She's not exactly known for forgiving people."
"I'm not asking for forgiveness," Zane said calmly.
Mira glanced at him. "Then what are you doing?"
Zane stopped walking.
He turned slowly, face perfectly serious—too serious.
"This," he said, lifting two fingers, "is vengeance."
The girls blinked.
Asher stared. "Vengeance… for what?"
Zane exhaled sharply, as if reliving a deep personal trauma.
"My hoodie."
There was a pause.
Zane leaned forward slightly, voice dropping into something dramatic. "Do you have any idea how much one costs?"
He raised the two fingers again, shoving them inches from Asher's face.
"Two. Gold. Coins."
Luna let out a small laugh before she could stop herself. Celeste covered her mouth, shoulders shaking. Even Mira's lips twitched.
Asher, however, looked genuinely shaken.
"Wait," he said slowly, "you're telling me… this is about money?"
"I will be collecting it today," Zane said solemnly. "With interest."
The girls burst into laughter.
Asher rubbed his temples. "I have never—never—seen you this serious."
Zane straightened and resumed walking. "That's because most things are temporary."
He glanced back at them, eyes unreadable.
"Gold is not."
They stopped in front of a door.
A simple plaque read:
Professor Livia
Zane raised his hand.
Knock. Knock.
The corridor went silent.
"Showtime," Zane muttered.