Rina arrived like she always did — unbothered, sharp-eyed, reading chaos as entertainment.
She took one look at the courtyard:
students lined up, some crying, some shaking, security rigid, Jian and Rowen standing like executioners.
Rina whistled low.
"Well," she said cheerfully, hopping onto the hood of the Rolls-Royce, legs swinging. "This looks… fun."
Ling was standing in front of the car, arms crossed, posture straight, face carved from ice.
"Define fun," Ling replied without looking at her.
Rina leaned back on her palms. "Public humiliation, academic terror, Mira looking like she swallowed glass?" She grinned. "Yeah. My kind."
Ling's jaw didn't move. "They earned it."
Rina nodded. "Obviously."
She scanned the line again — then froze.
"Wait," Rina said slowly. "Isn't one person missing?"
Before Ling could respond, a ripple moved through the crowd.
Heels.
Fast.
Unsteady.
Rhea walked in late.
Hair loose, eyes swollen, face pale — not dressed for war, not prepared for this. She stopped short when she saw the line, the fear, the cameras gone but the damage still vibrating in the air.
Her gaze landed on Ling.
For half a second — just one — something flickered.
Then Ling's face went completely blank.
No softness.
No recognition.
No history.
Ling lifted her hand.
And pointed.
Like Rhea was nothing more than another body.
"Get in line," Ling said coldly.
The courtyard froze.
Rina's smile vanished instantly. "Ling—"
Rhea laughed once, disbelieving. "Are you serious?"
Ling's eyes didn't leave her. "You heard me."
"I'm not one of them," Rhea said, voice tight. "You don't get to—"
Ling stepped forward.
The air shifted.
"You don't get to decide what you are." Ling said sharply.
Rhea's breath hitched. "This isn't about them. This is about you punishing—"
Ling's voice snapped — loud, raw, uncontrolled.
"GET. IN. LINE."
The shout cracked across the courtyard like a gunshot.
Everyone flinched.
Rhea went still.
Her mouth opened — then closed. Her hands curled into fists. Her eyes shone, but she refused to let the tears fall.
Rina slid off the hood immediately, lips curving.
"Anyone who argues," Ling continued, voice deadly calm again, "joins the front."
She held Rhea's gaze.
"Move."
For a moment, it looked like Rhea might fight her — might walk away, might say something reckless.
Then she swallowed.
And stepped forward.
The line parted unwillingly.
Rhea took her place among them.
Humiliated.
Exposed.
Silent.
Ling watched her do it without blinking.
Rina stared at Ling, disbelief written all over her face. "You're serious."
Ling's eyes never left Rhea.
"Yes," she said. "Very."
Rhea lifted her chin, trying to hold onto dignity. "If this is what you need," she said quietly, "then fine."
Ling's lips curved — not into a smile.
"This isn't what I need," Ling replied. "This is what you deserve."
Rhea flinched like she'd been struck.
Rina stepped closer to Ling, lowering her voice. "You're crossing a line of mercy."
Ling finally looked at her cousin.
"I already crossed it," Ling said flatly. "The night she laughed."
Silence fell again.
Ling turned back to the students.
"You all wanted equality," she said. "Congratulations."
Her eyes flicked to Rhea — deliberately, publicly.
"No one here is special."
Rhea's chest rose sharply.
That was the lie that hurt the most.
Ling stepped back toward the hood, reclaiming her place like a throne, voice steady, merciless.
"Stand straight," she ordered the line. "If anyone cries, kneels, or collapses — start over."
Rina watched Rhea standing there, breaking in slow motion, and for the first time since knowing Ling Kwong her entire life, she felt something close to fear.
Not for the students.
For Rhea.
And for what Ling had turned herself into to survive her.
Ling didn't look at Rhea again.
That was the cruelty.
She turned away from her like Rhea had already been processed, categorized, filed under irrelevant. Like the real punishment was not attention — it was delay.
Ling walked slowly along the line.
Boots against stone.
Measured.
Unhurried.
She stopped in front of the first boy — the one whose hands were shaking so badly his phone kept slipping.
"You," Ling said softly. "Smile."
The boy swallowed. "K-kwong, I—"
"I said smile."
His lips twitched upward in something grotesque and terrified.
Ling tilted her head, studying him. "That's the smile you had when you posted the video. Do it properly."
"I—I didn't mean—"
Ling leaned in just enough for him to smell her perfume. "Intentions are for people without consequences."
She straightened and raised her voice slightly so everyone could hear.
"Name."
"R-Rohan."
"Rohan," Ling repeated calmly. "You laughed at a woman who was bleeding and intoxicated."
She paused. "Explain why you're still standing."
Rohan's knees buckled. "Because—because I'm sorry."
Ling hummed. "Wrong answer."
She gestured to Jian. "Hold him."
Jian grabbed Rohan's arm, forcing him upright.
Ling continued, unbothered. "The correct answer was: because Ling Kwong hasn't decided yet."
She turned to the next student — a girl with mascara streaks down her cheeks.
"You cried in the comments," Ling said. "Little hearts. Little sympathy emojis."
The girl nodded frantically. "I was supporting you—"
Ling laughed once. Short. Sharp.
"Support doesn't monetize pain," she said. "Attention does."
The girl sobbed. "Please—"
Ling raised her hand.
Silence snapped into place.
"You will all learn something today," Ling said, pacing again. "Mockery is cheap. Survival is expensive."
She stopped midway down the line.
"And I am very, very expensive."
Rina leaned back against the hood, arms crossed, eyes flicking once — just once — to Rhea.
Rhea stood rigid.
She hadn't moved.
She hadn't cried.
She hadn't spoken again.
Ling knew.
That knowledge sat heavy in her chest — but she didn't touch it. Not yet.
She was still watching everyone else.
Deliberately.
Because the one person she hadn't touched yet—
—was the one who could still destroy her.
And Ling Kwong never rushed a kill.