Ling stepped closer.
Too close.
"So listen carefully, Miss Nior," Ling said coldly, every word clipped and cruel. "I want one hundred applications."
The class froze.
Rhea blinked. "What…?"
"You heard me," Ling snapped. "One hundred. Handwritten. Proper format. No excuses."
She leaned down slightly, lowering her voice just enough to make it more dangerous—but still loud enough for the room to hear.
"In my office," Ling continued, "before the end of the university day."
Rhea's hands shook openly now.
"That's impossible," Rhea said softly, disbelief and hurt colliding. "There isn't enough—"
Ling cut her off instantly.
"I didn't ask if it was possible."
Her eyes were blazing. Wild. Controlled only by rage and restraint tearing at each other.
"I asked for obedience."
The word echoed.
Rhea swallowed hard. Tears burned, threatening to spill again, but she forced herself to hold them back. Her jaw tightened, defiance fighting desperation.
"You're abusing your power," Rhea said quietly—but the tremor in her voice betrayed her.
The room went dead silent again.
Ling stared at her.
For a second—just a second—something dark and wounded flashed across Ling's face.
Then it vanished.
"If you believe that," Ling said icily, "you're welcome to file a complaint."
She glanced pointedly at the torn papers on the floor.
"Oh—right," Ling added mockingly. "You like submitting things to the wrong authority."
A few students looked away, unable to watch anymore.
Rhea felt like the ground had vanished beneath her.
Her chest hurt. Her lungs burned. She felt small—not because she was weak, but because Ling knew exactly where to strike.
"You want to break me," Rhea said under her breath.
Ling heard it.
Her voice dropped. "You broke yourself."
That was the final blow.
Rhea nodded slowly, eyes glassy but blazing now—not pleading, not apologetic.
"Fine," she said. "I'll do it."
Ling straightened, satisfied on the surface—but her hands were clenched so tight her nails dug into her palms.
"You're dismissed," Ling said sharply. Then, to the class, "All of you—out."
Chairs scraped loudly. Students rushed to gather their things, not daring to look at either of them. One by one, they filed out, the room emptying until only Ling and Rhea remained.
The door shut.
Silence fell heavy and suffocating.
Rhea stood there, unmoving, staring at the torn pieces of paper on the floor.
Ling watched her.
Waiting for her to break.
Rhea finally bent down slowly, picking up the pieces—not to fix them, but to steady herself. Her hands were shaking violently now.
Without looking up, she said, "You hate me that much."
Ling didn't answer.
Rhea straightened, meeting her eyes at last. Tears finally slipped free, but her voice was steady.
"I'll give you your hundred applications," Rhea said. "But don't pretend this is discipline."
She stepped past Ling toward the door.
"This is revenge."
Her hand paused on the handle.
"And the worst part?" Rhea added quietly. "You're hurting me—and it's still you I want to run to."
Then she left.
The door closed softly behind her.
Ling stood alone in the classroom, staring at the empty doorway, her chest tight, her breath uneven.
Her knees felt weak.
Her hand shook as she pressed it to the desk.
"Damn it," she whispered hoarsely.
She hadn't wanted this.
She'd wanted Rhea in her office.
She'd wanted a fight.
She'd wanted an excuse to see her.
And now—
Now she'd torn her apart in public and called it obedience.
Ling closed her eyes briefly.
And for the first time since the freezer, since the hospital, since the lies—
She realized something terrifying.
She wasn't in control anymore.
And neither of them knew how to stop.
Rhea sat in the back row of the next class, head bent, pen moving nonstop.
She wasn't listening to the lecture.
She couldn't.
Her notebook wasn't filled with notes—it was filled with the same lines, again and again, written in tight, aching handwriting.
Application for leave…
Respected Professor…
I sincerely apologize…
Over and over.
Page after page.
Her wrist burned. Her fingers cramped. Ink smudged where her hand trembled. Still, she didn't stop.
She couldn't afford to.
Around her, the classroom buzzed—not loudly, but enough. Whispers slid across the room like knives.
"Did you see what happened in Professor Kwong's class?"
"She tore it. Literally tore it."
"Nior looked like she was about to faint."
"One hundred applications? That's insane."
"She must've done something really bad."
Rhea heard every word.
She didn't look up.
Her jaw stayed clenched, teeth pressed together so hard it hurt. Her eyes burned constantly now, tears threatening every few seconds. She blinked hard, forcing them back, refusing to give anyone the satisfaction of seeing her cry.
Her pen scratched faster.
I assure you this will not be repeated…
Someone leaned closer behind her.
"That professor is brutal," a girl whispered to her friend, not even lowering her voice enough. "But honestly, Nior always acts too proud."
Rhea's grip tightened.
The page tore slightly under the pressure.
She paused just long enough to steady her breathing—slow inhale, slow exhale—then turned the page and continued writing.
I understand the importance of discipline…
Her vision blurred.
She wiped her cheek angrily with the back of her hand, smearing ink across her skin. She didn't care. She didn't stop.
In the next class, it was the same.
She sat in the corner, notebook open, writing relentlessly while the professor droned on about slides she couldn't see through the haze in her eyes.
A boy leaned across the aisle, curiosity winning over tact.
"Hey," he whispered. "Is it true? About Kwong?"
Rhea didn't answer.
"People are saying she hates you," he added, softer now. "Like… personally."
Rhea's pen froze for half a second.
Then she kept writing.
"She doesn't hate me," Rhea muttered without looking up.
Rhea said quietly, voice tight. "Don't."
He leaned back, uncomfortable.
Her chest ached.
She remembered Ling's face as the paper tore. The sound of it ripping echoed in her head again and again. The way Ling's eyes had burned—not just with anger, but something worse. Something that had once been hers.
Her hand shook violently now.
Ink splattered the page.
Rhea closed her eyes for a second.
Don't cry. Don't stop. Just finish.
She kept writing through lunch.
Through breaks.
Through classes where professors glanced at her oddly but said nothing.