The soft, venomous giggles continued from the front. Just loud enough to carry, just quiet enough to be deniable. Like always. Their voices a syrup-thick blend of fake concern and real pettiness.
"…Well, I heard he only got into this class because of family backing anyway."
"Right? His record's been crap for years. Honestly, the fact he thinks he can climb back now is almost adorable."
A scoff. "Maybe he thinks being mysterious will make up for being irrelevant."
That one earned a few snickers. Plastic and sharp.
Then came the louder voice.
Too clear. Too intentionally placed.
"Can't wait to see where all that arrogance lands him when the results drop," someone muttered, right in front of Damien.
Moren.
Of course.
The boy didn't turn around—he didn't need to. His shoulders were squared, voice pitched just enough to cut through the other conversations. Calculated. Weakly brave. The kind of courage people find when they think the room is on their side.
'There it is.'
