—They mistook silence for weakness. Now, silence belongs to him.
Heinrich Von Falken University — IT Department, 3rd Semester Class
The Next Morning, 9:00 AM
The hallway outside the 3rd semester IT classroom sounded like a marketplace. Shouts, laughter, someone beatboxing near the lockers, a soda can fizzing, and a Bluetooth speaker carelessly blasting trap music. Inside, the scene was worse.Total chaos.The classroom was in a state of teenage anarchy—half the students weren't in their seats. Some were lounging on desks, two were filming a TikTok near the windows, others throwing paper balls at the ceiling fan. A group of girls near the front row had their compact mirrors out, adjusting makeup mid-gossip. Some boys were arm wrestling on the last bench, and Henry's seat—empty, along with those of Felix, Timo, Max, and Jonas.No one noticed when the door opened.
No footsteps.
No knock.
No warning.Lukas Richard—or Professor Lukas Schneider, dressed in a fitted grey formal shirt, black trousers, and watch ticking like a countdown—stepped into the classroom with the stillness of a loaded gun.
He took exactly four steps forward.Still no one looked.Until—
"SILENCE."His voice didn't need a microphone.It didn't even need to rise again.
The air changed.The girls froze mid-sentence.The arm wrestlers let go instantly.
The boy filming dropped his phone.
The speaker was shut off with a terrified slap.
One second of stillness.Two.Then all thirty-seven students slowly turned to the front.
Lukas stood beside the teacher's desk, one hand on his pocket, eyes sweeping the room like he was counting graves.He didn't smile.
He didn't move.He just stared."Sit down. Now."Chairs screeched back into place. Desks were cleared in record time. Even the most arrogant of boys sat upright, confused but wary. A few girls exchanged glances, biting their lips—not out of fear but from the undeniable magnetism he carried. Tall, sharp-jawed, deadly calm. He looked more like a mafia CEO than a college professor.
And they had no idea how close that was to the truth.After a long pause, he finally spoke.
"I am Professor Lukas Schneider. From today onward, I am the sole authority over this department—your main subject, your internal marks, your attendance, your discipline, and your future. If you were expecting another clown to tolerate your noise, skip classes, or tolerate your influencer auditions—"His eyes scanned the crowd."—You're in the wrong film."A few students shifted in discomfort. A few smiled nervously.Lukas didn't blink.
He clicked a button on the desk. His laptop lit up.He opened a spreadsheet.Every student's name listed. "Let's begin with attendance. I will call your name. Say 'Present'. If you're not here—congratulations, you've just failed your first test."He began the roll-call.One by one, voices echoed:
"Present."
"Here."
"Yes, sir…"
Until—
He reached the names that weren't answered."Henry Vinson."
Silence."Felix Arendt. Silence. "Timo Berger.""Jonas Klein."
"Maxim Reidel."Lukas didn't react.
He finished the list, closed the file, and looked up."Interesting. Some of your classmates have decided that class is optional."He leaned forward slightly, eyes burning colder. "Let me make this clear—from tomorrow onward, every student is expected to be in class, on time, in uniform, and ready to work. You miss a class—don't bother entering until I say so."Gasps. Whispers."What if someone's sick?" one boy dared to mutter.Lukas turned his head slowly. "Bring a hospital certificate. And if it's forged, I'll personally call the hospital."The girls at the front had stopped blinking. One of them whispered, "He's scary hot."
Another muttered, "He's giving... mafia boss energy."Lukas closed his laptop and stood straight."Any questions?"No one answered.
"Good. That's the only time I will ask."He turned and walked out, his steps calm, precise, and unhurried.Behind him, silence reigned. Even the rowdy ones who'd mocked professors before now sat like stunned statues.And across the absent list...
Henry Vinson's name was underlined. Twice.
Lukas smirked as he walked the corridor.
"Let's see how the golden prince handles his first dent in the throne."
Vinson Mansion – Berlin's Elite Zone, 9:04 PM
The grand chandelier cast warm light across the marble floors as the heavy oak door creaked open. A cool breeze followed in the footsteps of Henry Vinson, his blazer slung over one shoulder, shirt half untucked, and a half-smirk still lingering on his face from whatever mischief had colored his evening.
The Vinson Mansion, known across Berlin's elite as a symbol of wealth, legacy, and near-political power, stood silent under the weight of its legacy. Floor-to-ceiling glass windows overlooked a private rose garden. The silence was velvet, only broken by the soft tick of the clock and the flipping of paper.
In the sunken living room, Alex Vinson sat with his legs crossed, wearing a steel-grey suit even at home, a tumbler of water beside him, and a leather file opened across his lap. His sharp eyes scanned the documents—until the moment his son strolled in.
He didn't look up at first. He just spoke—calm but clipped. "It's nine, Henry."
Henry kicked off his shoes, tossed his bag on the bench near the stairs, and sank onto the couch across his father, exhaling.
"Yeah, I know. Got late. Classes, friends, terrace stories. The usual."Alex Vinson looked up now.Sharp. Silent. Piercing.
The kind of gaze that built empires and crushed boardrooms.But tonight, it was aimed at his only son. "You eat dinner with us every night. That's the rule. Not just because I said so—because it matters."
Henry rolled his eyes slightly, like the spoiled golden heir he was known to be. "I grabbed food on the way. Fries, burgers, maybe a little pizza. I'm not starving, Dad."That was when a new presence glided into the room.
Clara Vinson.The queen of cold elegance.
Wearing a silk ivory robe that flowed around her like mist. Her heels clicked softly on the tiles. Her face held grace carved in porcelain—beautiful, distant, unreadable.She paused at the entry of the lounge, wiping her hands with a linen napkin."You didn't tell the chef you weren't coming," she said, her tone light but sterile, as always. "They prepared your favorites. Do you want anything heated?"
Henry stood up quickly, stuffing his hands into his pockets."I didn't know I'd be late. Sorry, Mom. But no—I'm full. Really."
Clara nodded once and turned. "I'll ask them to clear the table then."Her tone had no anger. No guilt. Just the cold precision of a clock ticking.But Alex leaned forward, the file forgotten."Henry. Sit."Henry sat again, sighing like a tired celebrity."Son," Alex said, his voice quieter this time, "you can be the richest boy in that college, the smartest in your class, the face everyone turns to… but if you can't take time for your family—then you're building your life on glass."Henry didn't respond immediately. He looked down at his hands, flexing his fingers slowly."I wasn't avoiding you," he finally said. "I just… didn't think you'd notice."Alex's expression didn't change. "I notice everything about you, Henry. Because you're mine. This family runs on loyalty, not just name and money. Don't make your legacy heavier than you can carry."Clara returned briefly, watching both men in silence, then turned without a word and disappeared down the corridor like a ghost in silk.Henry leaned back, quieter now. The arrogance gone from his shoulders for once."Sorry, Dad. I'll be home tomorrow night. Dinner. Promise."
Alex gave a short nod, and his eyes softened just a bit. "Make sure you do. You're not just carrying your name out there, Henry. You're carrying ours."As Henry walked upstairs moments later, tossing his blazer on the bannister, he paused midway and looked down into the glowing lounge below—his father back to reading files, his mother's presence fading behind hallway shadows.He didn't know why, but his chest felt heavy.
"Family of statues," he muttered to himself, before heading to his room. "But somehow, I'm still afraid to crack one."
Vinson Mansion — Henry's Room, 9:37 PM
Where arrogance sleeps like royalty.
The door opened with a quiet hiss—sensor-activated, of course.Henry Vinson, still in half-wrinkled college clothes and smelling faintly of expensive cologne and rebellion, stepped into his private kingdom. The hallway lights dimmed behind him as he walked in, tossing his phone on the floating digital charging dock near the door.He didn't even look around as he stretched both arms wide and flopped onto his massive king-sized bed, the silk comforter folding around him like a personal cloud. The mattress was memory foam, custom-designed to match his body posture. His ceiling shifted color with every word he spoke. "Lights on."
A warm violet glow slowly rose across the ceiling panels, transitioning into cool blues along the edges of the walls. "AC on, 20 degrees."A gentle hum began instantly as cool air began to seep into the space. "Curtains… open."The floor-to-ceiling glass balcony curtains slid open with an elegant whisper, revealing a breathtaking night view of Berlin's skyline—city lights glittering like stars fallen to earth. Below, the private garden's sensor lights flickered on, illuminating the marble statues and trimmed hedges.Henry exhaled deeply, staring at the stars for a second before sitting up slowly, his shirt clinging to his toned chest.The room wasn't just a room.It was a technological sanctuary.To his right: A massive curved monitor setup with dual gaming PCs, LED-backlit keyboards, and a command desk built to resemble a private control center.
To the left: A full Hot Wheels collection arranged like a shrine—every car sealed in display glass, some rare enough to be auctioned.Behind him: A holographic video game station, projected controls and games loaded via voice.His wall: 3D art shifting with sensor mood lighting, playing soft instrumental music now.His fridge: Stocked with energy drinks, bottled water from Italy, and snacks you'd only find on elite flights.
He walked to the bathroom for a quick face wash, muttering to the mirror:"Too much fun today. And still not enough."Water splashed. Steam curled. His reflection blinked back.
When he returned to the bed, a soft notification beeped from the transparent touch-screen table beside him. It displayed:
Attendance Alert: 3rd Semester IT — Absence marked. Note from new faculty: "Entry denied for next class."Henry's brows rose. "New faculty?" he murmured, amused.
"Denying me entry?"He tapped the note. No picture. Just the name:Professor Lukas Schneider.Henry stared at it, a half-smile forming. Something about it… felt sharp.
"You must be new to the script, professor," he chuckled to himself, tossing the tablet onto the bed. "But I always play the lead."
With a smirk, he pulled out his phone and scrolled to a message group:
"Royal Trouble Squad "
Henry: Tomorrow. We walk in like kings. No one blocks me. Let's see who this 'Lukas' thinks he is.He leaned back again, folding his arms behind his head, eyes on the ceiling where shifting lights now formed abstract clouds."Let the fun begin."And just outside his balcony, the night wind whispered through the trees…Unaware that the game Henry thought he was playing—
Was already Lukas's battlefield.