Roy was still there, unmoving, as if the light streaming through the window had petrified him in the middle of the office. The glow outlined William's figure as he tilted the chair slightly, removing his feet from the desk with a slowness that felt deliberate. He crossed one leg over the other, fingers interlaced over his chest. His stillness was unnatural—precise, like something that watches and measures.
And the smile. That toothless smile, persistent, fixed, as if it didn't need muscles to hold it in place.
"Tell me your name and take a seat, please…" he said, with a politeness so polished it barely concealed anything.
Roy moved toward the sofas arranged at the far end of the room. He could feel William's eyes following him—not merely attentive, but clinging. Completely orange pupils, an impossible glow even in the dim light, as if the light were born inside them.
He sat without thinking. He opened his mouth, searched for a minimal sentence—a complaint, a reprimand, anything—that might justify the tremor in his throat. But nothing came. An involuntary submission ran through him, silent, lodged somewhere he couldn't identify.
"Roy… Roy Nigella…"
William straightened slightly, as though trying to focus more closely on what stood before him. He rested one hand against his cheek and swept back his long, silky hair. An almost coquettish gesture, though seemingly without intent.
"So you were running this place?" he said, never losing that pleasant tone. "What an honor."
"…I run it… and I cannot be replaced in my position. It is my responsibility to enforce the rules of this place…"
Roy released the words like an improvised speech, rigid, with a tremor that betrayed his nerves. Anger rose in his throat, rough and abrasive.
William, on the other hand, did not react. No retort, no shift in his smile. He even relaxed his eyelids, as if encouraging Roy to go on. That small gesture only heightened Roy's tension.
"And to begin with… who are you? Why did you claim to be the new president? What did you just do to me?" His voice no longer hid its irritation.
William still did not answer. His calm seemed unbreakable.
Then, without moving his head, he lifted his gaze—his pupils sliding toward the door. A minimal, unsettling gesture. There, the two assistants appeared: Rudy and Gary.
Both showed the same faint tremor in their eyes, entranced, as if something invisible had brushed against their awareness. Gary, unable to restrain himself, was the first to break the balance.
"But look at you… what's your name? With presidents like this, I'd even work overtime," he said, his usual insolence laced with a shadow of mischief.
William laughed. It was a clean, almost innocent laugh that, for a moment, erased any suspicion about his true nature. But the illusion ended when he spoke.
"William Bianca… didn't I say it over the loudspeaker?"
There was a spark of malice in his tone, as if he enjoyed watching Gary waver between surprise and disbelief.
Even Rudy let out a faint huff—a restrained laugh that dissolved into the air.
Gary shot Rudy a childishly defiant look, and William laughed again.
"Endearing," William said. "I have a weakness for women too… though, of course, my appearance doesn't always help."
"Then cut your hair!"
"Enough!" Roy intervened, slicing through the moment like a blade. "You didn't answer my question."
William turned the chair with almost calculated elegance—but only toward Roy.
"Is my name not enough for you? Do you want to get to know me better, perhaps?" he said, with his habitual coquettishness.
"First stop…" Roy faltered, losing himself in William's eyes. "…that strange behavior… it's—"
"Forbidden?" William interrupted effortlessly. "Yes, I know. Many things are forbidden here."
"Then why do you act like this?"
William did not answer. He merely shifted his pupils again toward Rudy and Gary, as if taking the temperature of the air in their gazes. He narrowed his eyes.
"Following the rules… hmm?"
The phrase seemed to touch them. A faint, almost embarrassed recognition. A shared weariness. William continued:
"Take a seat, boys. There's a lot to discuss."
They did—but out of comfort, not obedience.
"Hey!" Roy interjected again.
"Wait a moment and look… we even have beauties visiting us…"
Roy grew increasingly irritated by William's indifference, by that carefree tone that seemed to slide frictionlessly over everything. Even his gaze was elsewhere now—on the door. Roy decided to follow it.
It was Cinthia. And behind her, Lía. Both carried that unease in their eyes that William seemed to provoke without intending to.
"You know something," Cinthia said suddenly, direct as a blow.
William did not alter his expression by even a millimeter. He simply replied with his peculiar courtesy.
"Welcome to the council…"
And so they remained: six students gathered in a room far too important for them. Fate or coincidence—little did it matter. There was much to be said.