The auditorium was a cathedral of judgment.
Velvet drapes. Golden spotlights. A stage elevated like a throne room. Rows of students packed shoulder to shoulder, whispering in anticipation. Phones were already out, ready to record every word. Every slip.
At the center of it all sat the podiums—five in total.
Four were occupied by well-rehearsed smiles and speech cards.
One remained empty.
Until now.
The back doors creaked open.
And Veronica Lin walked in.
Her steps were slow, deliberate. Heels silent against the marbled floor. She wore the standard school uniform—blazer crisp, skirt immaculate—but somehow, on her, it looked like armor.
Gasps followed her like shadows.
"She showed…"
"Did you see her expression?"
"She's not nervous at all."
She stepped onto the stage without hesitation. Met the moderator's nod. And took her place behind her podium, third from the left.
Between two enemies.
Victoria Shen to her right, spine stiff, lips curled in a smile too sharp to be genuine.
And on her left, Darren Fu—junior council treasurer, known for his passive politics and easily bought loyalties. His eyes avoided hers.
Smart. He already sensed the power shift.
Veronica took a slow breath.
Let the silence settle.
And then—
The lights dimmed.
The debate had begun.
Round One: Vision Statement
The moderator's voice echoed like a gavel. "Candidates, please give a one-minute opening speech on your vision for student government."
Victoria spoke first.
Her voice was honeyed. Confident. Practiced.
She spoke of tradition. Order. Respect. Her family had donated three new science labs this year. How Elite High's prestige must be maintained "through exemplary leadership, not chaos."
She ended with a bow that made the front row swoon.
Scattered applause followed.
Then came the others—candidates spewing recycled goals: better vending machines, free club snacks, organizing more dances.
It was all noise.
And then, it was Veronica's turn.
She didn't take out a script.
Didn't look at the audience.
She simply tilted her head, as if listening to something only she could hear.
Then she spoke.
"When I woke up from my coma two weeks ago," she said calmly, "the first thing I remembered was how powerless I had felt the moment before I died."
The silence was immediate.
"I remembered all the smiling faces that watched me collapse. The hands that didn't reach for help. The ones who called themselves friends."
Somewhere in the crowd, Chloe Yuan stiffened.
"I realized this school doesn't just need leadership. It needs reckoning. Not in the form of punishment. But transparency. Equity. Access."
Her voice didn't rise.
It didn't need to.
"I'm not here to decorate the walls with promises. I'm here to flip the floorboards. If you want a student council that smiles and nods, vote for someone else. But if you want to change that cuts deep…"
She looked directly into the camera lens, her eyes sharp and unreadable.
"…then let's begin."
The auditorium was dead silent for a heartbeat.
Then—
Thunderous applause.
Backstage: Victoria's Panic Room
"She's manipulating them," Maya hissed. "That trauma card—it's so obvious!"
Victoria's jaw clenched. "And effective."
She paced the hallway like a caged tiger, eyes glued to the monitor. Veronica was handling the Q&A session now—answering financial questions with brutal clarity, quoting budget spreadsheets line by line.
"She's outflanking us."
"She's rewriting the playbook," Maya snapped. "Should we deploy Phase Two?"
Victoria's eyes narrowed.
"No. Not yet. Let her win this battle."
She turned slowly.
"Because we're going to bury her during the celebration."
Final Question: Integrity in Leadership
A student council senior raised the final question: "What does integrity mean to you—and how will you prove it when you're elected?"
Victoria straightened. Delivered a polished speech about honor and discipline. She name-dropped her mother's philanthropic work and quoted ancient philosophers.
Veronica waited for her turn.
Then stepped forward.
Her fingers lightly touched the edge of her podium.
"I used to think integrity was about never breaking."
She smiled faintly. "Then I broke."
Soft murmurs rippled across the hall.
"Integrity isn't about perfection," she continued. "It's about choosing the right path even when you're bleeding. When the people closest to you betray you. When no one is watching."
She held up her student ID.
"People say I came back different."
She nodded. "They're right. I did. I've buried a version of myself no one fought for. Now, I fight for others."
She stepped back.
"And that… is my proof."
Not a single word of it was rehearsed.
And yet, when the final vote was tallied—
She was leading.
That Night: Lin Mansion Balcony
The stars above were clear for once.
Veronica leaned against the wrought-iron railing of her balcony, phone glowing in her palm.
"Top trending topic: #RebirthOfAmyLin."
Her lips curled.
Not Amy.
Not anymore.
Lucas stood in the shadows by the glass door behind her, arms crossed, gaze steady.
"You handled yourself well today," he said after a long pause.
"I handled a skirmish," she corrected. "The war hasn't started yet."
Lucas stepped closer, stopping just behind her.
"And when it does?"
She didn't turn to look at him.
"I'll burn the masks off every one of them," she whispered. "Until there's nothing left but truth and ash."
Lucas's voice dropped. "And if they come for you first?"
She smiled, eyes reflecting the stars.
"Then I hope they brought body bags."
Flashback: 3 Years Ago – Sicily
Gunfire. Screams. Smoke.
A teenage Veronica—face bloodied, arms trembling—stood over the body of a traitor in a mafia safehouse.
"You did well," a man said behind her. Her mentor. A voice like gravel and steel. "But next time…"
He handed her a black mask.
"…don't show your face until the final move."
Present Day: Elite High Security Room
Lucas inserted the flash drive.
Footage loaded.
Surveillance clips. Medical files. Confidential voice logs.
And one photograph.
Veronica Lin.
Wearing the same mask from Sicily.
Lucas stared.
Then leaned back, jaw tight.
"So you really are her…"
He picked up his phone. Dialed a number he hadn't used in years.
"This is Falcon," he said into the receiver. "Subject V has been confirmed. Operation Ghost Rose is greenlit."
A pause.
Then a gravelly voice replied: "Protect her. But don't forget…"
"…if she turns—terminate."
Lucas didn't answer.
He already knew his choice.