____________________________________
"A master manipulator makes a lie believable by mixing a small fraction of the truth with a large fraction of lies."
— Karrion kross on X
____________________________________
The 4:15pm meeting continues
"Hm… now what?" Tahir asked calmly.
Afreen smiled.
"Well… this is the part where I threaten you. And blackmail you into doing whatever I want."
Tahir nodded slightly.
"Hm. Alright. Go on. I'm listening."
Afreen folded her arms, eyes distant—not at him, but somewhere far behind him, as if replaying a memory only she could see.
"Well, first of all… let me tell you a short story."
She inhaled.
"Six months ago, I met a beautiful young lady during a training program. It was for a certificate in Computer Science, I.T., and Graphic Design. She sat next to me. At first, I ignored her completely."
Her lips curved faintly.
"But on the very first day, she dominated the entire room. Confidence. Wit. Sharp remarks. The instructor made her the class representative almost immediately. I thought she was just someone desperate for attention."
She paused.
"I was wrong."
Her voice softened—just slightly.
"A few days in, we started talking. I realized she was brilliant. Kind. Funny. Warm. The type of person who makes people want to listen. We became friends over the three months of training."
She glanced at Tahir, gauging his reaction.
"One day, she invited me to her house. I accepted. We had fun—laughed, talked—until she trusted me enough to tell me the truth."
Her expression darkened.
"She told me how she got expelled from C.A.A. How the other 8 elite schools rejected her afterward. How she had no choice but to attend a public school near her home."
Afreen's jaw tightened.
"She was ashamed. And even though her parents never said it outright… she knew they felt disgraced."
She laughed bitterly.
"All her life, she had one dream—to become a medical doctor. And she was terrified that writing her SSCE finals in a public school would destroy that dream forever."
Afreen's fingers clenched unconsciously.
"She said that despite everything—despite the shame, the pressure, the fear—she had one thing that kept her smiling. One thing that kept her heart from breaking."
Her eyes lifted, locking onto Tahir's.
"She rambled on and on about the guy she was dating. Honestly, I almost gagged listening to all that love-story nonsense."
A pause.
"Then she mentioned something… one detail that caught my attention."
Afreen stepped closer.
"She said your full name. The school you attend. She talked about your family—how strict they are. She said one day they might separate you if they ever found out about the two of you."
Her lips twitched.
"At that moment, I was 49% sure she was talking about you."
Tahir remained still.
"Her beloved Tahir. The charming boy she met 6 years ago. Back in the hospital. The pediatric ward. The boy lying unconscious in the room next to hers. The boy the doctors had already given up on."
Afreen's voice dropped.
"But two weeks later… he woke up."
Her eyes searched his face.
"The boy who spent over 2 months in that hospital. The boy whose eyes were grayish-blue before his illness—then turned deep ocean blue afterwards at least according to her narration. The boy she spent every day with during her stay. At least while he was conscious."
She exhaled slowly.
"She opened her phone gallery. Showed me a secret photo of the two of you. At a park. Like a date. The date on the photo showed it's was like 9 month ago"
Her voice hardened.
"You were smiling, Tahir. Genuinely smiling. I was shocked. That expression—it's rare on you."
Silence stretched.
"I was angry," Afreen admitted. "Because I remembered how you treated me."
Her gaze sharpened.
"And right there, I swore I would get to you through her."
She leaned back slightly.
"But before I left her house, she asked me to keep her relationship with you a secret. And I did."
Her smile returned—thin, cold.
"My parents and I traveled. We were away for 3 months. I didn't return early. Then three weeks ago, I came back and registered late at A.R.C."
Her eyes gleamed.
"I heard rumors about MiMie transferring from A.R.C to C.A.A. I heard about her fallout with Safeeyah. And I knew exactly what to do."
Her smile widened.
"I came after MiMie. But the moment I heard you were here too… I knew my prayers had been answered."
She laughed softly.
"I humiliated MiMie yesterday. It felt good. But I want more."
Her voice dropped into something venomous.
"I want you and MiMie to suffer. I want you to feel the same pain you inflicted on me."
She tilted her head.
"But sometimes, you have to look at the bigger picture."
She straightened.
"I am thinking about transferring to C.A.A by end of 3rd semester or in sophomore year, And this time? You will be the ones running from me."
Her eyes burned.
"I will make both of you regret ever coming to this school."
She stepped closer—invading his space.
"And here's the deal. If you want me to keep your dirty little secret from MiMie … you will do whatever I want."
Her lips curled.
"I will make you humiliate MiMie. Just like she humiliated me. And you will protect me from all her plots and schemes. But not for now. At least until next semester."
She smiled cruelly.
"You'll be my eyes and ears, and you will do my bidding."
A beat.
"Understood… poor Tahir the loverboy?"
She laughed loudly.
"The look on your face right now is priceless."
Tahir finally spoke.
"Hm. Interesting threat," he said evenly. "But what if I walk over to MiMie right now and tell her about the girl?, Your leverage disappears instantly."
Afreen watched him closely.
Inside, Tahir was thinking—not of fear, but of timing. He didn't care if MiMie found out. He didn't care if Afreen exposed him. What he cared about was momentum.
The 9 Shadows.
He couldn't afford distractions.
If complying kept attention off him, so be it.
Afreen laughed softly.
"I thought you were smarter than that, Tahir. But what you just said is foolish, don't you think?"
She leaned in.
"I think If MiMie finds out you had a girl whom you have been hiding all along, she won't just feel hurt. She'll feel betrayed. And she'll do to that girl exactly what she had done to me."
Her eyes narrowed.
"And that's not even counting what she'll do to you."
Tahir exhaled faintly.
"Hm. Fair point. Then let's establish some ground rules—"
She cut him off instantly.
"No."
Her tone was absolute.
"I hold all the cards here. There are no ground rules. No exceptions. I decide everything. When. Where. How."
She paused, then added casually,
"But I'll give you one grace."
Tahir waited.
"I won't ask you to sabotage your school during the remaining elite competitions. You have my word. I don't care whether A.R.C wins or loses. I'm not loyal to any Elite school."
"Hmm…," Tahir replied. "Is that all?"
"For now," Afreen said lightly. "I think so."
She turned away.
"If you'll excuse me, I have other business to attend to."
She glanced back over her shoulder, smirking.
"I'll see you around, loverboy."
A soft chuckle escaped her as she walked away.
Tahir stood still for a second—then turned sharply and headed toward his class, hoping he could still catch Aysha before closing time.
The game had shifted.
And every piece was now in motion.
_____________________________
Haleemah's POV:
The day I met Afreen.
I met Afreen during a three-month computer certification program.
It wasn't where I thought my life would be.
A narrow building. Second floor. Old desktops humming like tired insects. Posters about "digital literacy" peeling off the walls. People there weren't dreamers—they were survivors. Students who needed something on paper to keep moving forward. At least some of us do.
I was one of them.
Afreen stood out the moment she walked in.
Not because she tried to—but because she didn't have to.
She moved like she already understood systems—how people arranged themselves, who watched whom, where power hid in silence. When she sat down, the room felt smaller. More alert.
She noticed me before I noticed her.
That surprised me.
Most people avoided asking questions when they sensed broken glass beneath the surface.
Afreen didn't.
At first, it was small talk. Assignments. Timings. Complaints about outdated software. Then she began sitting beside me regularly, leaning over my screen, pointing out shortcuts she already knew—but letting me explain anyway.
One afternoon, while the instructor stepped out, she asked quietly:
"What happened to you?"
The question landed gently—but it cut.
I stared at the monitor, lines of code blurring.
Afreen didn't hear the truth at the computer program.
Not at first.
There, we were careful versions of ourselves—polite, functional, guarded. We joked about slow computers and useless certificates. We shared snacks. We learned each other's habits.
Friendship grew quietly.
It wasn't until weeks later—after familiarity replaced caution—that I invited her to my house.
My house was small. Too quiet. The kind of quiet that comes from people learning how not to speak about disappointment.
Afreen noticed everything the moment she stepped inside.
The way my mother avoided the living room.
The framed certificates turned face-down on a shelf.
The absence of visitors' shoes by the door.
She didn't comment.
She never does.
We sat in my room—on the edge of my bed—light spilling through half-closed curtains. Outside, children laughed somewhere far away. Inside, the air felt heavy, like it knew what was coming.
That's when I told her.
Not all at once.
Truth never comes out like that.
"I used to be a C.A.A student," I said quietly.
Afreen looked at me—but didn't interrupt.
"I didn't leave," I added. "I was expelled."
Her posture shifted—just slightly.
I told her about the rumors.
How they spread.
How they mutated.
How they didn't need proof—only repetition.
"The League of 9 Shadows," I said, finally naming them.
The words tasted bitter.
"They didn't accuse me directly," I explained. "They never do. They just… leak things. Let people connect imaginary dots."
I told her how teachers stopped calling on me.
How classmates whispered when they thought I couldn't hear.
How my parents were summoned—not to discuss evidence, but damage control.
"They weren't angry," I said softly. "They were embarrassed."
That silence hurt worse than shouting ever could.
I told her how the other 8 elite schools never replied to my applications.
Not rejection letters.
Not explanations.
Just nothing.
"They didn't want trouble," I said. "And I became it."
My hands were clenched in my lap before I realized it.
"The only reason I'm still standing," I continued, "is because of someone I met 6 years ago."
Afreen leaned in.
"At a hospital," I said. "I was diagnosed with leukemia, when I was 9 years old"
The smell of hospital came back instantly—sterile, sharp, unforgettable.
I told her about Tahir.
"He had greyish-blue eyes," I murmured. "Not cold. Just… aware. Like he saw more than people wanted him to."
How he spoke to me like I wasn't fragile.
How he never looked at me with pity.
How he treated survival as a given—not a miracle.
I told her how, one night, I said I wanted to become a medical doctor, a pediatrician.
"And he didn't smile politely," I said. "He said it like it was inevitable."
I reached for my phone and showed her the pictures.
Old photos. New photos
At the park. At the fountain.
Awkward angles.
One where he wasn't even looking at the camera.
Afreen froze.
Her breath caught.
"That's him…" she whispered.
I looked up. "You know him?"
She nodded slowly.
"I've met him before," she said. " in A.M.A. Almost 3 years ago. He was my schoolmate."
Something in her expression changed.
"That's the same boy."
The room felt smaller.
I locked my phone.
"And now," I said, forcing steadiness into my voice, "I'm here. Doing a three-month computer certificate."
I gave a weak laugh.
"Do you know what that does to medical school chances?" I asked. "To scholarships?"
I shook my head.
"People say it's slim to none."
My throat tightened.
"I still study," I admitted. "Late at night. Biology. Chemistry. Anatomy videos."
I stared at the wall.
"But sometimes it feels like I'm running toward a door that was locked long before I reached it."
I finally looked at Afreen.
She wasn't pitying me.
She was seeing me.
And I realized then—what scared me most wasn't failure.
It was the possibility that hope itself might one day get tired of me.
And yet…
Tahir's voice still echoed somewhere in my chest.
Like a promise that hadn't expired yet.
Even if everything else had.
It's bothers me,— How the 9 Shadows targeted me
They didn't come for me loudly.
That's the first thing people misunderstand about the 9 Shadows.
They don't accuse. They don't confront.
They don't attack head-on.
They notice.
And once you are noticed, everything else becomes inevitable.
I didn't know the moment I became a target.
That's the cruel part.
To me, it was just another ordinary week at C.A.A—exams piling up, teachers pushing harder, expectations growing heavier by the day. I was tired, but proud. I was doing well. Too well, apparently.
It started with small things.
A teacher once paused while calling attendance, eyes lingering on my name longer than necessary.
A prefect asked for my ID twice in the same day.
A friend went quiet mid-conversation when someone else entered the room.
I thought it was stress.
I was wrong.
The league of 9 Shadows didn't select me because I broke rules.
They selected me because may be I didn't.
May be it's because I ranked high without belonging to any influential clique.
May be it's because my parents weren't amongst the donors. I wasn't protected by legacy names. But legacy name or not, that doesn't usually stop the 9 Shadows.
And worst of all—
I was visible.
Top grades.
Teacher recommendations.
A medical school track trajectory.
In elite schools, visibility without backing is a provocation.
I bet It began in their private channels.
Not with my name probably.
But with questions.
"Who's the girl consistently scoring above projections?"
"No sponsorships?"
"Any known affiliations?"
"A sacrificial lamb"
"Let's use her as an example"
I bet they cross-referenced everything.
Family background. Digital footprint. Social connections.
They found nothing significant.
Which made me a target, a sacrificial lamb.
_______________
The first rumor was harmless.
Or so it seemed.
Someone casually suggested I was getting "special attention" from a teacher.
No names. No accusations.
Just curiosity.
By the second week, curiosity evolved.
Why was I allowed into the lab after hours?
Why did a senior help me once with coursework?
Why did I always leave campus late?
The league of 9 Shadows understood something fundamental:
People don't need lies. They need patterns.
And patterns can be manufactured.
They planted inconsistencies.
Screenshots—cropped, contextless.
Timelines—edited just enough to look suspicious.
Anonymous tips sent to the right people.
Never to administration directly.
Always through intermediaries.
Class reps. Parents' groups.
Alumni forums.
By the time the rumors reached authority, they weren't rumors anymore.
They were concerns.
The breaking point came when someone "accidentally" leaked a fabricated chat log.
It wasn't even explicit. That was the genius of it.
It was ambiguous enough to let imagination do the damage.
I was called into a meeting.
Not an interrogation.
A discussion.
They spoke gently. Sympathetically.
They said words like "image," "precedent," and "reputation."
No one asked me if it was true.
They asked me if I understood why it looked bad.
________________
My parents were summoned next.
I watched my mother shrink into her chair.
I watched my father nod silently—not in agreement, but in defeat.
The decision had already been made.
The 9 Shadows never push for expulsion directly.
They make staying unbearable.
_________________
By the time the official letter came, the school was already done with me.
Friends avoided eye contact.
Teachers distanced themselves.
Students whispered like I was contagious.
The rumor no longer needed maintenance.
It was self-sustaining.
That's how the 9 Shadows operate.
They don't destroy you.
They convince everyone else to do it for them.
______________
The final cruelty?
The silence from the other elite schools.
Applications unanswered. Emails ignored.
Recommendations quietly withdrawn.
I was marked.
Not guilty.
Just inconvenient.
By the time I understood—
I was already expelled. Already isolated.
Already erased. All except one thing.
The promise.
The one Tahir made.
The one he never forgot.
That one day, he will find a way to reverse my expulsion.
He will bring me back to C.A.A
And now, I realize something chilling:
I wasn't the first target of the 9 Shadows.
I was just another victim
And what they have been doing for years.
…was never meant to end with me.
__________________
Inside SS1-Alpha
Tahir stepped into their classroom quietly.
Aysha was still there.
She sat in her seat, her head resting sideways on the desk, cheek pressed against the cold surface. Her eyes were unfocused, staring out the window as the late-evening light bled into orange and gold. She hadn't noticed him yet.
For a moment, Tahir simply watched her.
Then he spoke.
"Hm… hey, Aysha."
She flinched.
Aysha lifted her head too quickly, turning toward him, eyes wide with surprise—and worry.
"Hey—are you okay?" she asked immediately. "I saw my brother punch you. I'm… I'm sorry. I didn't try to stop him."
"Hm. I'm fine," Tahir replied evenly. "Don't worry about it."
She hesitated, then her voice cracked.
"Tahir… I think someone overheard our arrangement earlier. They spread rumors to Amar. He broke up with me—without even listening to my side."
Her hands trembled as she clenched them together.
"I couldn't stop crying. Somehow… my brother saw me. And he jumped to the conclusion that you were the reason."
She swallowed hard.
"And… I let him believe that."
Tahir's eyes sharpened slightly.
"I did it to protect Amar," she continued quietly. "That's why Sadiq rushed to beat you up. But since everything happened in public—since there were witnesses—he only punched you once."
Her voice dropped.
"I'm really sorry. My brother won't let this go, Tahir. He will come after you eventually."
Tahir exhaled softly.
"Hmm… Aysha," he said, lowering his voice. "It was Afreen. She overheard our conversation earlier."
Aysha froze.
"She said you did something to her," Tahir continued. "So I want you to tell me—exactly what she's talking about."
Aysha looked down, conflicted.
"…Okay," she finally said. "But it's a long story."
She glanced toward the door.
"And we should probably leave. Let's visit Mustyy at the hospital on the way."
Tahir nodded.
They packed their bags in silence and walked out of the classroom together, heading straight toward the school gate.
As they walked, Aysha began explaining—everything.
What really happened between her and Afreen. The misunderstandings. The resentment. The things she never thought would come back to haunt her.
Tahir listened carefully, his expression unreadable.
But even as he listened, one part of him stayed alert—his eyes constantly scanning their surroundings.
For Sadiq. For footsteps. For shadows. For impact.
None came.
Unbeknownst to them, from the third floor—where the SS3 classrooms were—Sadiq stood by the railing, watching them walk together.
He squinted slightly… then relaxed.
"Huh," he muttered to himself, a faint smile forming. "Guess they made up already."
He chuckled quietly.
"And now that Tahir guy's scared of me… good. He better not hurt my sister again."
His smile faded just a little.
"Next time, though—I won't go easy on him."
He turned away, stretching his arms.
"I should get going too," he said casually, glancing at the sky. "Wow… look at that sunset. That's so cool. Ooh man… I wished I had a girlfriend too."
And with that, Sadiq walked off—unaware that the storm he thought had passed was only just beginning.
__________
At the Hospital
The hospital smelled faintly of antiseptic and silence.
Aysha and Tahir walked down the corridor, their footsteps echoing softly until they reached the last bed by the window.
Mustyy was awake.
The moment he saw them, his face lit up like a switch had been flipped.
"Tahir! Aysha!" he grinned. "You guys actually came."
His right arm was wrapped in a thick POP cast, suspended in a sling. It looked heavy, awkward—foreign on someone so energetic. Still, his smile didn't fade.
"Hmm. Of course," Tahir replied calmly, stopping beside the bed. "How's the forearm?"
Mustyy shrugged with his free shoulder. "Hurts like hell. But I'll survive. The doctor said I'll be out for a while, though. No sports."
Aysha winced sympathetically. "I'm sorry, Mustyy."
He waved it off. "Forget that. What happened today? I got rushed out before the match ended. Don't tell me A.R.C pulled something."
Aysha glanced at Tahir, then smiled.
"C.A.A won."
Mustyy's eyes widened. "Wait—seriously?!"
"Hmm," Tahir said. "After you were taken away."
Mustyy leaned forward eagerly. "So who scored?"
Tahir answered without emotion. "Well, James did, and I scored a lucky goal. The Final goal."
For a second, Mustyy just stared at him.
Then—
"NO WAY!"
He laughed, careful not to jostle his arm.
"I knew it! I knew you'd pull something like that!"
Aysha laughed softly beside them.
"And that's not all," she added. "MiMie crushed the Elite Quiz today."
Mustyy froze.
"…Crushed?"
Aysha nodded. "All the subjects. All of them. Single-handedly. C.A.A overtook A.R.C completely."
Something shifted in his expression.
Pride. Awe. And something warmer—something unguarded.
"That's… that's insane," he said quietly, a smile spreading slowly across his face. "That's so MiMie."
He looked down, suddenly shy.
"I wish I was there," he admitted. "I wanted to celebrate with her."
He paused.
Then realized something.
The feeling in his chest wasn't just admiration anymore.
It was deeper.
"…I think I like her," he murmured, almost to himself.
Aysha noticed the faint pink creeping into his cheeks.
Mustyy reached for his phone with his good hand.
The screen lit up.
A message notification.
MiMie💫
He opened it.
Get well soon, hero. Don't worry—we won today.
I'll come visit you if I can (heart emoji)
His breath caught.
The blush deepened instantly, spreading all the way to his ears.
"She… she texted me just now," he said, smiling helplessly. "She wants to visit."
Tahir watched him quietly.
Hope sat plainly on Mustyy's face—raw, honest, unfiltered.
Mustyy leaned back against the pillow, staring at the ceiling now, heart racing.
"…I can't wait," he whispered.
And for the first time that day, despite injuries, betrayals, and quiet wars brewing beyond the hospital walls—
Someone was simply happy.
____________
The Shock
The moment didn't shatter all at once.
It crept in.
Aysha's phone buzzed first.
Then Mustyy's.
Then Tahir's.
A sharp, synchronized vibration—like a warning bell no one had asked for.
Aysha frowned, unlocking her screen.
Her breath hitched.
Mustyy noticed immediately. "What is it?"
She didn't answer. Her face drained of color as she read.
Tahir had already seen it.
So had Mustyy.
Across the hospital room, three screens glowed with the same message—bold, official, merciless.
CENTRAL ELITE COMMITTEE — OFFICIAL NOTICE
C.A.A has been fined with immediate effect for allowing a violent incident to occur on school grounds during the Elite Tournament Week.
A student of C.A.A (Sadiq) was recorded assaulting another student (Tahir) near closing hours.
Elite institutions do not tolerate such conduct, especially during tournament periods.
Penalty Issued:
– 25% deduction in School Value Points
Ranking: (Before the penalty applied)
1st — C.A.A
2nd — A.R.C
3rd — A.U.N
4th — A.M.A
5th — C.C
6th — E.K.I.A
7th — A.I.A
Updated Rankings:
1st — A.R.C
2nd — A.U.N
3rd — C.A.A
4th — A.M.A
5th — C.C
6th — E.K.I.A
7th — A.I.A
The 6th and the 7th are eliminated.
This decision is final.
Silence flooded the room.
It was thick. Heavy. Suffocating.
Mustyy's fingers trembled around his phone. "W–what…?"
His smile from moments ago was gone. Replaced by disbelief.
Aysha's eyes welled up. "This… this is because of my brother…"
Tahir said nothing.
He simply stared at the screen, jaw tight, eyes unreadable.
Then—
Footsteps.
Fast.
Urgent.
The door swung open.
MiMie walked in.
She didn't greet them. Didn't smile. Didn't speak.
She stopped in front of them, holding her phone up.
The same message glared back.
Her face was something else entirely—anger, shock, calculation, and a deep, simmering hurt twisted together. Anyone else might have missed it.
But Tahir didn't.
He knew that look.
It was the look MiMie wore when something precious had been stolen right in front of her.
"So this is it," Mustyy muttered. "After everything…"
MiMie lowered her phone slowly.
"…Afreen," she said quietly.
Aysha looked up. "What?"
MiMie's eyes darkened. "During the quiz. She wasn't distracted because she was losing."
Her grip tightened around her phone.
"She was planning this."
Tahir finally spoke. "Section 11."
MiMie's gaze snapped to him.
"Violent Offense Act," Tahir continued calmly. "Point deduction is the minimum. Worst case—school suspension from tournaments for a semester. Or more."
Aysha's breath caught. "You mean… C.A.A could've been banned?"
"Yes," MiMie said. "And this was a warning shot."
The room fell silent again.
Then MiMie's phone buzzed.
Once.
She frowned. "Unknown number."
She opened it.
The message appeared—plain text, no sender ID.
She read.
And froze.
Her pupils shrank. Her shoulders went rigid.
Tahir noticed immediately. "MiMie."
She swallowed.
Then turned the screen toward him.
The message began to fade even as he read it.
MiMie, did you really think you won today?
Everything that happened was orchestrated perfectly—to show you and Tahir exactly what I'm capable of when I'm motivated.
This is only the beginning.
A small repayment—especially for you, MiMie—for stealing the Math Club from me 3 and 1/2 years ago.
Brace yourself.
Tomorrow's Female Sports.
I'll see you at A.R.C grounds—where your failure began.
Ironically, where Safeeeyah and I will finish you.
The message vanished.
Gone.
One-time.
Mustyy stared. "Who… who sent that?"
MiMie didn't answer right away.
Her hands were shaking—but her eyes were steady now. Sharp. Burning.
"…Afreen," she said finally.
Aysha felt sick. "She did all this… just for revenge?"
"No," Tahir said quietly.
Everyone looked at him.
"She did it to make a statement," he continued. "To show power. To tell us she can hurt the school, not just individuals."
MiMie's lips curled—not in fear.
In resolve.
"So tomorrow," she said softly, almost smiling, "she wants a stage."
Tahir met her gaze.
"She'll get one."
Outside the hospital window, the evening sky darkened.
And somewhere beyond those walls, the next move was already in motion.
______________
The room didn't explode into panic.
It hardened.
That was the terrifying part.
Mustyy shifted on the bed, the POP cast resting heavy on his forearm. "So… tomorrow's Ladies's sports day," he said slowly. "That's where she plans to strike."
MiMie nodded once. "Female Lawn Tennis. A.R.C vs C.A.A."
A pause.
"She wants it public. Symbolic. Clean enough to look like competition—dirty enough to humiliate."
Aysha wrapped her arms around herself. She said "… To finish you off."
MiMie exhaled through her nose. "I bet She's been saying that to herself for years. She just finally has the nerve to try."
Tahir leaned against the wall, eyes half-lidded, mind already several steps ahead. "No. She has permission now."
That made MiMie look at him.
"The Committee's message today," Tahir continued. "It told every Shadow watching that chaos works. That violence—even indirect—moves rankings."
Mustyy frowned. "Shadows… as in the League of 9. Are they even real.?"
"Yes," Tahir replied. "This wasn't just Afreen flexing. This was bait."
Aysha's voice was small. "For who?"
"For all of them," Tahir said calmly. "Tomorrow is a test. They'll watch how MiMie responds. If she breaks—A.R.C wins more than points."
MiMie's fingers curled slowly. "And if I don't?"
Tahir met her gaze fully now. His blue eyes were sharp, reflective—dangerously awake.
"Then they escalate."
Silence.
A nurse passed by outside the cubicle, footsteps echoing down the room. Life continued, oblivious.
Mustyy finally spoke, trying to lighten the weight. "Well… if they wanted fear, they picked the wrong girl." He turned and looked at MiMie with a smile that says everything will be fine.
MiMie smiled faintly. "You're biased."
"I'm serious," he insisted, cheeks warming. "You don't lose when it matters."
She glanced at him, surprised by the sincerity, then softened. "Get better fast. I might need a cheerleader."
He laughed quietly, then winced at his arm. "Deal."
Aysha looked between them, guilt still pressing on her chest. And the heartbreak still fresh. "This is my fault too. Afreen hates me. She overheard us. She—"
"No," Tahir interrupted gently. "This isn't on you."
She looked up, startled.
"Afreen would've moved regardless," he continued. "You were just the spark she chose."
Aysha swallowed. "What do we do?"
Tahir straightened.
"We don't react," he said. "We prepare."
MiMie tilted her head. "Meaning?"
"Meaning," Tahir replied, "tomorrow you play exactly the match she expects—until you don't."
A slow grin spread across MiMie's face. The kind that hadn't been seen since her A.R.C days.
"So you're saying… let her think she's in control."
"Yes," Tahir said. "Let her overextend. Let her reveal who's backing her."
"And Safeeeyah?" MiMie asked.
Tahir's gaze darkened. "She's already compromised. Fear makes people sloppy."
Aysha hesitated. "And… me?"
Tahir looked at her for a long moment—really looked.
"You observe," he said. "Say nothing. Do nothing reckless. And trust that you're stronger than they think."
She nodded slowly, even if she didn't fully believe it yet.
MiMie checked the time on her phone. "Tomorrow decides a lot."
"Yes," Tahir agreed. "Not just rankings."
He turned toward the window.
The hospital air still lingered heavy with tension as Tahir, MiMie, and Aysha stepped out through the sliding glass doors. Mustyy waved weakly from his bed, surrounded by his anxious family, who were fussing over his cast and asking him a hundred questions at once.
Tahir gave a brief nod. "Please take care of him," he murmured, eyes scanning the horizon. MiMie waved back, her usual calm composure layered with the simmering determination that had been building ever since Afreen's message. Aysha stayed close, silently adjusting her backpack, her mind replaying every word from earlier.
Outside, the warm glow of the setting sun painted the school grounds in amber. The hospital gate had already become a small hub of activity; each of them had a driver waiting, engines idling, ready to whisk them away.
Tahir's black SUV waited closest to the entrance. He opened the door, slipping inside with the casual precision of someone who had done this countless times. As the driver pulled away, Tahir leaned back, fingers steepled, eyes narrowing slightly. His mind already cataloging contingencies, mapping out Afreen's next move, and weighing tomorrow's threats.
MiMie's car followed shortly after, a sleek silver sedan. She sat rigidly in the passenger seat, phone in hand, re-reading a screenshot of Afreen's ominous message, she screenshotted it before it had disappeared. Her jaw tightened. The closer she got to home, the more she allowed herself to visualize tomorrow—every serve, every point, every calculated moment she would use to bait Afreen. Her body tensed with anticipation, a mix of adrenaline and strategic focus. But her main goal wasn't just Afreen, it is revenge on Safeeyah.
Aysha's driver waited a little farther down the hospital driveway. She slid into the backseat, still pale from the earlier confrontation with Amar, and absentmindedly rubbed her arms as though warding off the lingering shame and hurt. But even amidst the whirlwind of guilt, fear, and confusion, a flicker of resolve burned quietly. She would follow Tahir's instructions, observe, learn, and stay out of danger—but deep down, she was beginning to understand that she was stronger than she had ever given herself credit for.
As the three vehicles separated, each carrying its passenger toward their respective homes, the city's streets began to glow with streetlights. Tahir's gaze remained fixed ahead, calculating, patient, unbothered by the chaos around him. MiMie's fingers tapped rhythmically on her phone screen, plotting, rehearsing, anticipating Afreen's next move. Aysha leaned against the window, watching the scenery blur past, her mind replaying Tahir's words: "You're stronger than they think." Tears started rolling down from her eyes, somehow she can't control it again.
And above it all, the shadow of Afreen's schemes loomed, waiting, watching, poised to strike—but Tahir, MiMie, and even Aysha were ready in their own ways. The quiet before the storm stretched across the horizon, each of them carrying the weight of strategy, vengeance, and survival, all set to collide in the very near future.
Tomorrow would not just test skill or luck—it would test resolve, cunning, and the ability to survive a battlefield where nothing was truly as it seemed.