[Emma's POV:]

I go through mood swings—no point denying that.

It doesn't depend on my periods or any other reason. My moods just… shift. Randomly.

Over the years, I've learned to keep them hidden, to lock everything behind a calm face so no one can tell what I'm really feeling.

It wasn't a choice, though. It was survival. In my past life, people used me—took advantage of my emotions every time I let them in.

But this life is different.

Now, I've learned how to mask my feelings. How to stop others from getting inside my head.

…Most of the time, at least.

Right now, however, that control is slipping.

Because I have an urge.

To pluck out a pair of eyes.

Yes, it sounds insane, but the thought feels oddly satisfying. Those disgusting, lust-filled eyes—I want to rip them out myself, maybe even with my own fingers, just to make sure it hurts.

"Tame that temper, tigress, or those stares will only grow worse," William murmured beside me, handing me a fruit drink.

He wasn't wrong. I could feel my temper simmering as that woman's gaze lingered on him like she owned him.

"She's the heiress of Duke Greyhound," I muttered, taking a slow sip. "Father can handle that much."

William blinked, caught off guard. "Wait, Emma—what exactly are you planning?"

I met his eyes. "What do you think?"

He sighed softly, already guessing where my thoughts were going. "If you're that angry because someone's ogling me, then I should probably start a massacre. Half the people here have been staring at you too—especially that guy from Gladiator's Den."

He looked past me, mildly annoyed.

I didn't bother turning to see who he meant. I was used to the attention—used to the hungry eyes that followed me everywhere.

But this… this was different.

"Should I just pin you to the wall and kiss you right here to make it clear you're mine?" I asked, half teasing but mostly serious.

William raised a brow. "Then shouldn't I be the one lifting you up and keeping you right here—in the middle of the hall?"

"Works for me," I shrugged. And honestly? The idea sounded kind of hot.

Our eyes locked, and the air between us grew heavier. His gaze burned into mine, and for a moment, I thought he might actually do it.

But then—

"Excuse me, dear students."

A voice cut through the tension, snapping me back to reality.

That's when I realized—my heart was racing.

Oh, god, I am becoming crazier each day because of this man.

And the funny part, I don't hate even a bit of it.

….

[Third Person POV:]

Everyone turned toward the stage as a middle-aged man with finely combed grey hair appeared.

He stood tall—his clothes crisp, his posture balanced between relaxed and firm. His yellow eyes swept across the hall, calmly studying every face, both young and old.

Then, in a clear and steady voice, he began,

"First of all, I would like to congratulate all of you for being selected for this prestigious contest. Over thousands of students wished to stand here—to represent their academies and make a name for themselves. But only you, the twenty-five elites, have managed to reach this stage, where you can leave your mark on the world. So, please, give a round of applause for yourselves."

The students obeyed, though not all with the same enthusiasm. Only a few clapped with genuine excitement; most did it out of courtesy. Many had long expected to stand here one day, so the moment felt less like a surprise and more like a formality.

For some, this was just another day. For others, it was a milestone they'd dreamed of reaching.

William had mixed feelings about it all, so he stayed quiet, simply watching everyone else.

The man on stage resumed, "Normally, this contest focuses on team battles and group work. But this year… we've decided to make a few changes."

That single sentence shifted the atmosphere.

Surprise flickered across every face. Even the most confident ones tensed slightly—less from curiosity and more from caution.

Still, the man continued unfazed, "We have decided to add a personal milestone grade this year. That means, along with your team's performance, your individual achievements will also matter."

A wave of murmurs spread through the hall. Shock. Excitement. Anticipation.

Many had always believed that their potential was buried under the weight of teamwork—that they were never given the spotlight they truly deserved.

Now, finally, this was their chance.

A golden opportunity to prove not just what their teams could do… but what they could become.

The man gave them a few moments to let the murmurs fade and the excitement settle before he spoke again.

"Now, that's all you need to know for the first assessment," he said, his tone calm yet firm. "Which will begin in a few moments."

A brief silence followed—then the hall erupted.

"Huh?"

"Right now?"

"Wasn't this supposed to be a ceremony?"

"What about my dance…?"

Whispers and protests filled the air. Even the teachers looked taken aback, exchanging uncertain glances. None of them had been told that the students would face an assessment on the very first day.

They hadn't prepared strategies, hadn't even discussed how to approach the contest. And now, with the sudden addition of personal milestones, everything seemed even more complicated.

The man, however, remained composed. His expression didn't waver as he raised a hand to calm the crowd.

"I understand that many of you have questions—perhaps even complaints," he said evenly. "But I am merely a spokesperson, entrusted with the task of delivering the council's decisions. What happens next is beyond my authority."

His words left no room for argument. The air grew tense again, as everyone slowly realized—this wasn't going to be a smooth or predictable contest.

The man's eyes hardened, his earlier calm replaced by a sharp edge of authority.

"So," he said, his voice cutting through the silence, "shall we go over the details of the first round? Or is there anyone who wishes to back out now and give up this opportunity?"

The hall fell still.

No one moved. Not a single step forward, not a single hand raised.

This might have come as a surprise, but retreat was never an option for those standing here. Every one of them had fought to reach this point—and none were willing to throw it away.

They weren't here to hesitate.

They were here to fight.

To win.

Around the hall, faces hardened with determination. Yet amid that sea of focus and resolve, one expression stood out.

William's lips curved into a grin—wild, almost thrilled. His eyes gleamed with a spark of madness as he whispered under his breath,

"Unpredictability is such a fun trait to have. Now *this*… this is one hell of a welcome."

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A/N:- Thanks for reading.

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