Isabella waved once before turning away, disappearing into the flow of students.
Marcus remained where he was, his hand still raised a second too long. Even now, doubt lingered in his chest. Someone like him being noticed by Isabella didn't feel real.
Before he could overthink it, a translucent screen flashed into existence.
[System Recommendation Detected]
Evaluation: Host Presence — Inadequate
Modules Available:
• Look & Presence
• Seduction Control
Purpose: Preparation for incoming task.
Marcus stared at the screen for only a moment before accepting.
The response was immediate.
The system moved smoothly, as if wired directly into his thoughts. A faint heat spread through his muscles—controlled, efficient, not painful. His breathing steadied. His shoulders straightened naturally.
Look & Presence: 2/5
Seduction Control: 1/5
SP Balance: 1
By the time he started heading toward the lecture hall, he felt different. Not stronger—yet—but more aware.
That was when someone slammed into him.
"Hey."
Marcus stumbled half a step back and looked up.
Chase Armstrong.
Chase's lips curved into a mocking smile. "So," he said lazily, "you really thought they'd expel him?"
Marcus's eyes narrowed.
Chase stepped closer, lowering his voice just enough to make it personal. "Doesn't matter who you report to. The dean. The staff. Anyone." He scoffed. "Nothing's going to happen."
Then came the strike.
"You don't have the spine for this place," Chase said. "And you definitely don't belong here."
Marcus's mind snapped to attention. The dean's office. He had walked out barely minutes ago.
How did he already know?
Chase straightened, clearly satisfied with the effect. "Try harder next time."
He walked off laughing, his voice echoing down the corridor.
Marcus stood still, shock slowly giving way to something colder. Information didn't spread this fast by accident.
The screen flickered again.
[New Task Issued]
Target: Isabella Quinn
Objective: Secure private counsel
Requirement: Arrange or attend one confidential meeting
Affection: 30/100 → ≥55/100
Time Limit: 3 Days
System Note: Target's influence detected as a viable countermeasure to hostile factions. Emotional leverage increasing.
Isabella Quinn sat alone in the dimly lit Student Council office long after the building should have been empty.
Whitmore's words echoed in her mind.
"Because of the potential consequences," he had said evenly. "Donors. Alumni. Board members. This university survives on relationships."
Her jaw tightened.
Two years ago, she'd heard almost the same thing about Mia.
Mia Torres—her best friend since middle school. A bright scholarship freshman. Invited to one of Brody Kingston's "exclusive" parties.
She'd woken up in the ER with no memory of the night. Toxicology showed traces of something conveniently labeled "inconclusive."
A month later, Brody's father donated a new wing to the science building.
Case closed.
Mia never came back to Cresthaven. She transferred, cut contact, and Isabella had carried the guilt ever since—sharp and constant, like a blade between her ribs.
Now history was repeating itself.
Isabella opened the secure student database—access limited to presidents and senior advisors. She typed Marcus Reed's name.
His file appeared instantly. Contact details. Emergency numbers. Class schedule.
She stared at his phone number for a long moment.
This time, she wouldn't stand by.
Her thumb hovered, then pressed call.
It rang twice before going to voicemail.
She hung up and switched to text.
Isabella: This is Isabella Quinn.
The dean's office just briefed me on your report.
We need to talk. In person. Tonight, if you're free.
Student Council office. 8 PM. Come alone.
Please.
She sent the message, set the phone down, and exhaled.
This time, someone had survived Brody long enough to fight back.
And she intended to make sure they won.
Marcus's phone buzzed in his pocket.
Unknown: This is Isabella Quinn.
The dean's office just briefed me on your report.
We need to talk. In person. Tonight, if you're free.
Student Council office. 8 PM. Come alone.
Please.
Marcus's grip tightened around the phone.
The interface pulsed again, unprompted.
[Opportunity Alignment Confirmed]
[Acceptance Recommended]
He swallowed, thumbs hovering over the keyboard.
For the first time since waking up in that hospital bed, doubt wasn't the loudest voice in his head.
Resolve was.
Marcus: I'll be there.
The interface pulsed once in approval.
[Task Timer Started: 72 Hours Remaining]
Later that evening, Marcus sat on the worn couch in his small off-campus apartment.
Leo sprawled on the floor with a bag of chips. Calvin occupied the armchair, scrolling through his laptop. Tyson leaned against the kitchen counter, arms crossed.
Marcus had told them everything—Chase's taunt, the buried report, the subtle changes in his body, and finally… the text from Isabella Quinn.
Leo sat up straight. "Wait—Isabella Quinn? The Isabella Quinn? Student Government President? Basically runs the school and never talks to anyone below senior level?"
Calvin lowered his screen. "How the hell did she even get your number?"
Tyson's eyes narrowed. "And why is she suddenly so invested? She's never stuck her neck out like this."
Marcus rubbed the back of his neck. "She saw the video. And she's interested in the case. As president, she has access to the secure student database—contact info, schedules. It's not hard if you have clearance."
Leo whistled softly. "Still feels fast."
Tyson pushed off the counter, voice low and serious. "You sure this isn't a setup? Brody's crew could be pulling strings—making it look like you're stirring trouble with the council."
Marcus shook his head. "I don't think so. The way she texted… there was a 'please' at the end. That doesn't sound like someone playing games."
Calvin snorted. "Or it's perfect bait."
Silence stretched.
Then Tyson spoke again, quieter but harder. "Brody and his gang aren't walking away from this. Not if we have anything to say about it."
Leo nodded fiercely, crushing a chip. "They put you in the hospital. Filmed it. Posted it. They don't get to breathe easy."
Calvin closed his laptop with a snap. "I'll start digging tonight. Quietly. Old posts, party pics, deleted complaints—anything that shows a pattern. If Isabella's really on your side, great. If not… we'll know."
Tyson met Marcus's eyes. "Watch your back tonight. Promise me."
Marcus nodded. "I will."
Leo forced a grin. "And text us the second you're out. Group chat explodes if you go dark for five minutes."
Marcus managed a small smile. "Deal."
He glanced at the clock.
7:42 PM.
Time to go.