Ling sat in the professor's chair.
Not perched.
Occupied.
Feet on the table. One ankle resting over the other. Elbows loose, posture careless in the way only power could afford. The chair looked smaller under her—like it had always known it didn't belong to the professor today.
Rina leaned against the front row desk, laughing openly.
Jian and Rowen stood nearby, arms crossed, enjoying the show.
"So," Ling drawled, tapping a pen against the desk, "anyone here want to explain why they think attendance equals intelligence?"
A few nervous laughs.
Most eyes stayed down.
"Didn't think so," Ling continued. "Because fear improves memory. You're welcome."
Rina clapped slowly. "Educational as always."
Ling smirked.
The door opened.
Rhea Nior walked in.
No hurry. No apology.
The room inhaled as one.
Ling's smile sharpened immediately.
"Well, well," Ling said lazily, tilting her head. "Look who graced us with her mighty presence."
She leaned back further, chair creaking slightly.
"Miss Attitude herself."
Rhea stopped midway down the aisle.
"I wasn't aware this was your circus," she replied coolly. "Otherwise I'd have brought popcorn."
A few students gasped.
Rina's eyes lit up. "Oh, this is going to be good."
Ling stood.
Slowly.
The chair scraped back just enough to announce intent.
"You walk in late," Ling said, voice calm but edged, "and still think you're allowed sarcasm?"
Rhea met her gaze without flinching. "You sit in a professor's chair and think you're allowed to talk about rules?"
A beat.
Ling laughed—but it wasn't amused.
It was furious restraint.
"Careful," Ling warned. "I don't repeat myself."
Rhea stepped forward another row. "Funny. Neither do I."
Ling felt it then.
Not fear.
Something worse.
The shift.
The room wasn't orbiting her alone anymore.
That infuriated her.
"You enjoy provoking me," Ling said sharply. "That's your only talent."
Rhea tilted her head. "And you enjoy dominance because without it, you don't know who you are."
The words hit.
Hard.
Ling's jaw tightened.
Rina stopped laughing.
Jian and Rowen exchanged glances.
Ling descended from the podium, boots striking the floor with controlled precision until she stood directly in front of Rhea.
Too close.
"You don't get to analyze me," Ling said low. "You exist here because I allow it."
Rhea's voice dropped just as low. "Then why does it feel like you're the one struggling to breathe?"
Silence.
Pure. Taut. Watching.
Ling's hand curled slowly at her side.
She could feel it—her dominance fraying, her control slipping every second Rhea refused to bow.
And that made her reckless.
"Sit down," Ling snapped. "Before I make an example of you."
Rhea smiled.
Not sweet.
Not defiant.
Certain.
"Do it," she said softly. "Everyone's already watching."
Ling froze.
Rhea's last answer landed like a blade.
Calm. Precise. Unafraid.
Ling snapped.
In one brutal step, she was there—hand at Rhea's throat, fingers tightening, teeth clenched so hard her jaw trembled. Her eyes were wide, furious, unrecognizable.
"You don't get to speak to me like that," Ling hissed.
The room erupted.
Gasps. Chairs scraping back. Someone cried out.
Rhea's hands shot up—not panicked, not helpless. She grabbed Ling's wrist, twisted sharply, and shoved with all her weight.
Both of them lost balance.
They fell.
Hard.
Ling hit the floor first. Rhea came down over her—
—and the world stopped.
Their lips pressed together fully.
Not soft.
Not planned.
Not gentle.
A collision.
Both of them froze—eyes wide open, breath locked in their chests, hearts racing so violently it felt audible. For one suspended second, there was nothing else: no classroom, no power, no rage—just shock and heat and the undeniable reality of how close they were.
The class exploded into chaos.
Mira's face went white—then red with rage. "LING—"
Rina staggered back, stunned for half a heartbeat—
Then she burst out laughing.
"Oh my god," Rina choked, clapping a hand over her mouth. "I leave you alone for five minutes—"
Ling shoved Rhea away instantly, scrambling to her feet, fury warring with something far worse: awareness.
Rhea sat up slowly, fingers brushing her lips as if to confirm it had happened. Her expression was unreadable—but her pulse was visible at her throat.
The room shook with whispers.
Mira was livid, eyes burning holes into Rhea. Jian and Rowen stood frozen, unsure whether to intervene or disappear.
Ling's chest heaved once.
Twice.
Then the mask slammed back into place.
"Out," she barked. "Everyone. Now."
No one hesitated.
Students rushed out instantly.
The classroom emptied in seconds, footsteps echoing like a retreat.
Ling didn't answer.
Her eyes stayed locked on Rhea as the room emptied.
Rina lingered at the door, grinning shamelessly. "So," she called back, "still 'never'?" Rina leaned closer, whispering, "You good?"
Ling didn't answer.
She couldn't.
Her eyes were locked on Rhea—standing now, composed again, chin lifted like nothing had shaken her.
But both of them knew the truth.
That wasn't dominance.
That wasn't rivalry.
And nothing—absolutely nothing—was going to be the same after it.