The professor cleared his throat and began the lecture, trying hard to pretend nothing unusual had happened.
"Today we'll discuss power dynamics in modern institutions," he said, turning toward the board. "Authority, perception, and control—"
Ling smiled.
Perfect timing.
She leaned back in her chair, one arm draped casually over the backrest, fingers tapping in rhythm with the professor's words.
"Interesting," Ling said aloud.
The professor paused. "Miss Kwong, is there a problem?"
"No," Ling replied smoothly. "Just an observation."
She turned her head slowly — deliberately — and pointed.
Straight at Rhea.
Every head followed the direction of her finger.
Rhea stiffened.
Ling didn't look angry. That was the worst part. Her expression was calm, almost curious, like she was dissecting a concept rather than a person.
"Sir," Ling said, eyes still on Rhea, "could you repeat what you said about perception?"
The professor hesitated, uneasy. "I said… authority often depends on how others perceive you."
Ling nodded. "Exactly."
She stood up.
The scrape of her chair echoed too loudly.
"Perception," Ling continued, pacing slowly in front of the class, "is fascinating. You can appear loyal while planning betrayal. You can appear weak while manipulating outcomes."
Rhea's hands tightened in her lap.
Ling stopped walking.
Right beside Rhea's row.
"Wouldn't you agree?" Ling asked lightly.
Rhea looked up despite herself. Their eyes met.
The room held its breath.
"I—" Rhea started.
Ling raised a hand.
"Rhetorical," she said coolly. "You don't need to answer."
Soft laughter rippled — nervous, forced.
Rina covered her mouth, amused. Mira leaned forward, eyes sharp. Rowen and Jian exchanged glances, enjoying the spectacle.
Ling turned back to the professor.
"So sir," Ling said, "when someone loses credibility… is it because others change their perception?"
She paused deliberately.
"Or because the person finally reveals who they really are?"
The professor swallowed. "That… depends."
Ling smiled.
"I thought so."
She walked back to her seat, then added casually, without even looking at Rhea:
"Some people survive on silence. Others on lies. Both collapse when exposed."
Rhea's face burned.
She stared straight ahead now, refusing to react, refusing to give Ling the satisfaction — but her pulse was loud in her ears.
Ling sat down slowly.
Crossed her legs.
Opened her notebook like nothing had happened.
The professor resumed, voice shaky, avoiding looking at either of them.
But the damage was done.
Everyone knew who the lecture had been about.
Ling hadn't named Rhea.
She hadn't accused her.
She hadn't raised her voice.
She had done something far worse.
She had made Rhea an example.
And Rhea understood, with a cold sinking certainty —
Ling Kwong wasn't attacking her in private anymore.
She was rewriting her in public.
The bell rang.
Chairs scraped back. Voices rose. The lecture dissolved into movement and noise — but the tension stayed, thick and clinging.
Rhea stood slowly, spine straight, face composed with effort. Her fingers were trembling, but she curled them into fists before anyone could see.
Zifa was beside her instantly.
"Rhea," she whispered urgently, eyes darting around, "don't walk alone."
Rhea exhaled through her nose. "I'm not scared."
Zifa swallowed. "You should be."
They stepped into the corridor together.
The moment Rhea crossed the threshold, the atmosphere changed.
It wasn't loud at first. It was worse — quiet, anticipatory. Students lining the hallway glanced at Rhea, then away, then back again. Some smirked. Some whispered. Some looked almost relieved it wasn't them.
Zifa leaned closer. "They saw the doll."
Rhea frowned. "What doll?"
Zifa stopped walking.
She turned fully toward Rhea, voice low, panicked. "The one in your locker. Rhea… that wasn't a prank."
Rhea scoffed weakly. "Then what was it?"
Zifa hesitated, then forced the words out.
"It's Ling Kwong's warning."
Rhea's stomach dropped.
Zifa continued quickly, almost pleading. "When Ling wants someone destroyed, she marks them. That doll means—"
A sudden crash interrupted her.
Something cold, wet, and foul hit Rhea's head and shoulders.
Rhea gasped.
Thick, filthy liquid soaked her hair. Rotting scraps slid down her back. Something sticky clung to her cheek.
Laughter exploded.
Not one voice.
Many.
Rhea froze.
Zifa screamed, "HEY!"
Students leaned over the railings above, grinning. Someone clapped slowly.
"Oops," a boy called out mockingly. "Slipped."
Another laughed. "Guess the doll wasn't joking."
Rhea lifted her hand slowly, touched her hair — and pulled away, fingers smeared with grime.
Her vision blurred.
Zifa grabbed her shoulders. "Don't react. Please. That's what they want."
But the laughter grew louder.
Phones came out.
"Look at her," a girl sneered. "Still acting proud."
"Queen without a crown," someone else said.
Rhea's lips parted. No sound came out.
Her chest felt tight — not fear, not yet — something heavier.
Humiliation.
Zifa snapped. "YOU THINK THIS IS FUNNY?" she shouted. "Touch her again and I swear—"
"Careful," a voice warned lazily from the crowd. "You'll be next."
Zifa faltered.
She knew it was true.
Rhea slowly straightened.
She wiped her face with shaking fingers, then looked around — really looked.
At the people laughing.
At the ones watching silently.
At the ones pretending not to see.
And over all of it, she felt Ling.
Not present.
But everywhere.
Zifa whispered, voice breaking, "We should go. Now."
Rhea nodded once.
They started walking.
Every step felt heavier.
Someone deliberately stepped in front of Rhea, blocking her path. A senior girl smiled sweetly.
"Bathroom's that way," she said mockingly. "You might want to clean up. Or—" her eyes flicked down Rhea's stained clothes, "—maybe you deserve it."
Zifa shoved past her. "Move."
The girl laughed but stepped aside.
As Rhea passed, someone murmured just loud enough:
"She should've known better than to touch what belongs to Ling Kwong."
Rhea's breath hitched.
Belongs.
They reached the bathroom.
Zifa slammed the door shut and locked it.
The silence inside was deafening.
Rhea stared at her reflection.
Filthy.
Humiliated.
Marked.
Her eyes burned.
Zifa turned on the tap, grabbing paper towels. "I'm so sorry. I should've forced you to hide. I told you—"
Rhea shook her head slowly.
"No," she said hoarsely. "This was meant to happen."
Zifa froze. "Rhea…"
Rhea met her eyes in the mirror.
"She wants everyone to see," Rhea continued quietly. "She wants to break me where it hurts. In public."
Zifa's voice cracked. "She's going too far."
Rhea laughed softly.
It sounded wrong.
"You don't know Ling," Rhea said. "She hasn't even started yet."
Outside the bathroom, laughter echoed faintly.
Inside, Rhea stood dripping, silent, proud — even as something inside her began to fracture.
And somewhere else on campus, Ling Kwong was changing for class, hands steady, expression blank —
Fully aware that the doll had been seen.
And satisfied that the message had landed.