Finley walked down a quiet, tree-lined path, the brim of his baseball cap pulled low. Groups of students passed by without recognizing him, chatting in low voices. "Henry was one of Finley’s guys. Do you think he was acting under Finley’s orders?" "Honestly? Probably. I mean, come on—would Henry really have the guts to pull something like that on his own?" "Yeah, Henry can be a jerk, but I just don’t think he’s got the guts to shake down Arthur for money—especially not with that many people involved." "A bunch of those students were funded by Finley, too. And even the ones who weren’t? They’re all in his circle." "I’m convinced Finley had something to do with this. No way Henry acted alone." "Same here." "And remember what happened last time with Kent? I wouldn’t be surprised if Finley was behind that too." "I’m telling you, I saw Finley’s face that day. He didn’t look innocent at all." The nonstop murmuring made Finley’s fists clench at his sides. He wanted to shut them up right then and there—but he couldn’t afford to slip. A bunch of nobodies—who the h*ll do they think they are, talking about me behind my back? But he couldn’t blow his cover. Let them gossip. They didn’t have any solid proof. As long as he kept up appearances and played the nice guy, they’d go right on admiring him like always. He turned off onto a narrower path, away from the noise, just wanting to clear his head. But just a few steps in, he bumped into someone—hard. The path was too narrow for two people to pass. Finley, still lost in thought about how to take Arthur down, stepped aside to let the other guy through. But the guy didn’t move. Finley’s jaw tightened, and he looked up, annoyed—only to freeze. Zac.Standing right in front of him was Zac Gray—his father Solivair’s newest favorite. Anyone could see it—Solivair clearly held him in high regard. Finley’s mood soured on the spot. He didn’t like Zac. Not even a little. They were about the same age, but Zac was more composed—calmer, more confident, and always in control. And the worst part? Solivair clearly favored him Finley couldn’t explain it, but he felt threatened. Zac held out a hand. "Mr. Finley. Looks like we’re classmates now." Finley stared at the outstretched hand. He didn’t move. Finley let out a quiet laugh. “You’re only standing here because someone gave you a shot—not because you deserved it.” He leaned in, his voice low and cold. “Don’t get ahead of yourself. The same people who brought you in? They can drop you the second you stop being useful. So don’t fool yourself into thinking you’re replacing me.” Zac’s expression froze for a moment. But he quickly pulled himself together. A faint smile crossed his face. “Of course. I know my place. I came to Governance University to support you—no doubt about it.” Finley stared at him for a long beat. Zac’s expression didn’t waver. Humble. Respectful. Never overstepping. And yet… Finley couldn’t shake the feeling that something was off—like something was lurking beneath Zac’s calm, respectful front. Something quiet but dangerous. Maybe he was imagining it. Finley lifted his chin with a hint of arrogance. “As long as you know your place.” Zac nodded calmly. “Of course.” He kept smiling, but it never reached his eyes. And as he lowered his head, something sharp flickered across his gaze. Inside the student council president’s office... Once the others had left, Ashley closed the door behind them.She helped Arthur sit down, her hands trembling just a bit. Arthur’s wounds had been treated again, freshly covered with clean bandages. He chuckled lightly. “I’m fine. They didn’t really hurt me.” He meant to ease Ashley’s worry—but she wasn’t buying it. “Fine? Are you kidding me? Look at you—you’re still bleeding!” She snapped, clearly frustrated. She kept fussing, her voice rising as she scolded him. “You really don’t know how to take care of yourself, do you? I know you wanted to use this as a chance to take them all down, but just look at you! You’re still covered in injuries! One wrong move and you’ll tear those stitches wide open!” As Arthur sat down, Ashley rushed to get him a cup of warm water, carefully holding it up for him to drink. Still, she kept going. “Next time you pull something like that, you better tell me first! It’s just my arm that’s hurt—I can still do plenty. You should’ve let me handle it. You know I could’ve.” Arthur drank from the cup she held out—he really was thirsty. And through it all, Ashley’s voice kept going—relentless, worried, and full of care.