In university.
They still walked like they owned the place.
Rina,
Zifa,
Rowen,
Jian—
four names that still made people move out of hallways without being asked.
Conversations still dropped when they passed. Eyes still followed. Fear didn't disappear just the queen did.
"Why are they still together?" someone whispered near the lockers.
"They always are," another replied. "That's the squad."
"Where's Ling?"
No one answered.
Rina walked ahead today, hands in her jacket pockets, posture loose but eyes sharp. She laughed at something Zifa said—too loud, too fast, like she was trying to fill space that didn't need filling before.
Zifa smirked, arms crossed, watching the crowd like prey. She was still sharp. Still dangerous. But she didn't provoke fights anymore. She just observed.
Rowen dribbled a basketball beside them out of habit, letting it bounce once, twice—then stopped. He frowned at the empty court ahead.
"No practice," he muttered.
Jian didn't reply. He never did now. His gaze kept drifting to the bleachers, the spot where Ling used to sit—legs spread, elbows on knees, watching like the game existed only to obey her.
The court felt wrong without her.
Basketball season had started.
No captain announcement.
Football tryouts ended in chaos—arguments, power plays, no one bold enough to take control. Coaches argued. Teams fractured. No one wanted responsibility that heavy.
"No Kwong," someone said from the stands. "Figures."
The words weren't mocking.
They were disappointed.
At the trophy display near the administration wing, the glass case had a gap. Polished. Empty. Waiting.
Student of the Year.
Everyone knew who it was supposed to be.
"She would've won again," a girl said softly, almost reverent.
"Of course she would've."
"She ran half the damn campus."
"No," someone corrected. "She ran all of it."
Rina stopped walking when they passed the case.
For a moment, she just stared at the empty space.
Zifa noticed. Didn't say anything.
Rowen bounced the ball once—harder this time. "She hates empty things."
Jian finally spoke. "She hates disorder."
"Did she transfer?" someone whispered near the notice board.
"No. She left."
"Who?"
The answer came slower than it should have.
"Both of them."
Rina's steps didn't falter, but her jaw tightened.
Zifa heard it. Always did.
Rowen kicked a loose pebble across the floor, watched it spin uselessly. Jian's eyes stayed forward, fixed on nothing.
Football practice ended early again.
Too many arguments. Too many people trying to lead at once. Too many people afraid to.
"She used to decide everything," a player muttered. "Even when she wasn't playing."
"Yeah," another said. "And when she laughed, you knew you were safe."
The trophy hall was quieter than usual.
Students slowed as they passed the glass case at the center—polished, spotless, untouched.
Last year's plaque still gleamed.
LiRhea
Under it.
Two names.
LING KWONG
RHEA NIOR
Side by side.
For the first time in the university's history, Student of the Year had been awarded to two people. Not because of rules. Because no one could justify separating them.
Someone had etched it smaller beneath, almost playful:
LOVERS FOREVER
Rina stopped.
So did everyone else.
Zifa folded her arms, eyes narrowing at the reflection in the glass. "They never bothered to remove it."
"Who would?" Rowen said quietly. "You'd have to explain why."
Jian's voice came low. "And no one can."
A group of freshmen passed, staring openly.
"Why aren't they here?" one asked.
"They both left?" another said, incredulous. "Together?"
"No," a third corrected. "Separately."
That hurt worse.
Rhea Nior had withdrawn a week after Ling left. No announcement. No farewell. Her name vanished from class lists. Her seat stayed empty long enough that people stopped looking at it.
Ling Kwong never returned at all.
No goodbye. No statement. Just absence.
"It's like the campus lost gravity," someone murmured.
The squad moved again, slower now.
No one told them where to sit.
No one told them when to leave.
No one made them laugh in the middle of a bad day or scared the wrong people into backing off.
As they turned the corner, a voice followed them, half-joking, half-broken:
"So… who's Student of the Year now?"
No one answered.
Because everyone knew—
There was no replacement for a title that had been carved with two names and sealed by a love the campus had watched burn itself alive.
The bell rang.
Students moved. Life continued.
The four of them stood there longer than necessary, like they were waiting for someone to tell them where to go next.
No laugh cutting through the noise.
No voice deciding plans.
No hand grabbing a collar and dragging someone back into line.
They were feared.
They were respected.
They were leaderless.
And the campus felt it.
As they walked away, someone muttered behind them, not quietly enough:
"It's like the crown's still there."
A pause.
"But the ruler's gone."
None of them turned around.
Because if they did, they might have to admit the truth—
That without Ling Kwong,
they weren't a squad.
They were just survivors of her absence.
The glass reflected four figures walking away.
And two ghosts who had ruled everything.