The welcome party was meant to be warm and inviting, a way for new students and upper-year clubs to mingle beneath the glow of fairy lights and autumn lanterns. For the most part, it worked. The hall buzzed with soft music, polished wood gleaming beneath careful footsteps, and the laughter of students caught between nerves and novelty.
But not everything glittered like it should.
Elara's dance club opened the evening with an elegant showcase—yet beneath the shimmer of sequins and spotlights was a different story. Seraphina, the club leader, sang like a diva on her farewell tour, commanding the stage with the smug grace of a queen used to being adored. Elara danced perfectly, but too tightly, the weight of rehearsals and Seraphina's ambition evident in the strained line of her smile.
Mira and her friends clapped louder than anyone else, a small act of solidarity that Elara felt, even if she couldn't look.
Later, things softened. The performances gave way to mingling. Luca wandered off and returned beaming—he'd been recruited by Vincent, the cool-headed leader of the Movie Club. Camille, meanwhile, was clearly smitten with Noah, a composed violinist from Orchestra Club who played like he'd grown up with symphonies in his bones.
It was almost a perfect night—until the drinking game started.
9:15 PM – The Drinking Games Begin
The music faded into a low, pulsing beat as the lights dimmed slightly, casting a warm golden glow across the lounge. The crowd instinctively parted as Seraphina made her entrance—heels clicking with sharp precision, her dress catching the light with every step, a walking spotlight. Her signature smirk was in place, lips painted the exact shade of power. Behind her trailed a group of admiring first-year girls, hanging onto her every word, their eyes wide with awe.
She raised a crystal glass into the air like a scepter. "Time for the Queen's Challenge," she declared, voice rich and commanding. "Drink with style—or don't drink at all."
A circle formed around the central table as bottles were lined up, shot glasses placed like tiny soldiers awaiting orders. The rules were simple: each round, a name would be drawn at random. The Queen would issue the challenge.
And the first name drawn was: Elara.
All eyes turned. Elara stepped forward slowly, shoulders straight, but there was a flicker of annoyance in her eyes. Seraphina's smirk widened like a cat spotting a cornered bird.
"Let's see if elegance helps with alcohol," she purred, tilting her head mockingly. A few giggles bubbled up from her fanclub.
Before Elara could respond, Camille cut through the tension like a blade.
"She's not playing," Camille said coolly, stepping into the circle. "But I'll take your challenge."
Gasps. A pause. Then Seraphina gave a slow, amused clap. "Brave."
She stepped back with an arched brow and a smirk that didn't quite reach her eyes. "Let's see how long that courage lasts."
The table was reset. Shot glasses refilled. All eyes on Camille and Seraphina, who now stood across from each other like dueling queens.
First round: Tequila. Simple. A warm-up. Seraphina raised her glass, made a theatrical toast about "grace under pressure," and downed it with a flourish.
Camille didn't flinch. She lifted her glass, didn't say a word, and drank. Clean. Efficient.
The crowd murmured, impressed.
Second round: Vodka—no chaser.
Seraphina's smile sharpened. "Still in?" she asked sweetly, locking eyes with Camille.
Camille gave her a half-shrug, barely a nod. She wasn't going to waste words. She drank.
The students erupted—louder now. A chant started building in the back. Some were already filming.
Third round: A mystery mix. A glowing, ominous shade of blue.
Seraphina narrowed her eyes as she handed Camille her glass personally. "Not for the faint-hearted."
Camille took it. Held her gaze. "Good thing I'm not."
The girls drank. Seraphina's face stayed still, composed—but Camille caught the flicker of surprise when she didn't cough, didn't blink. Didn't lose balance.
Mira was at the edge of the circle, wide-eyed, whispering to Elara, "Okay she's terrifying—but in a good way, right?"
Elara, still stiff from earlier, let out a laugh. "She's insane."
Fourth round: Shot roulette. Random bottles, unknown contents. One of them would be brutal.
The two locked eyes. Seraphina's fanclub leaned in, tense. A beat passed. Then both girls downed their glasses simultaneously.
Seraphina's eye twitched.
Camille smirked.
Someone shouted, "CAMILLE! CAMILLE!" and the chant caught on. The crowd was now undeniably on her side.
Seraphina's posture remained flawless—but her pride had clearly taken a hit. Her smile had gone tight. Her comments now clipped. But she didn't back down.
Round five: Camille raised her glass first this time. "For the ones who don't talk too much."
A roar of laughter.
They drank.
By now, the Queen's Challenge was no longer about alcohol—it was a duel of will, image, and nerve. And Camille, with her fire and silence, was chipping away at Seraphina's perfectly polished mask. Shot by shot.
And the whole party could feel it.
The seventh round hit hard. Even Camille, who had stood steady like a wall of fire, blinked twice after the last shot—something neon and wicked that burned like betrayal. But she didn't sway. She didn't even sit down.
Seraphina did.
Just for a second—just a brush of her palm to the table as she leaned for balance—but the crowd noticed. A few whispers broke through the chants.
"Is she okay?"
"Camille's still standing—"
But before anyone could speak it out loud, one of Seraphina's fan club girls stepped forward and clinked a spoon to her glass like a toast.
"That's the final round, everyone! Queen Seraphina wins!"
Cheers—mostly from Seraphina's circle—burst up, but the confusion in the air was palpable. People glanced around. Some clapped, some didn't. The energy dipped into hesitation.
Camille didn't protest. She wiped her mouth calmly and glanced back at Mira and Elara. There was something dangerous simmering behind her quiet smile, but she let it go. For now.
That's when Mira stepped forward.
She hadn't said a word the whole game. She had stayed at the edge of the crowd, arms crossed, eyes sharp. But now, she walked into the ring of students with quiet confidence, like the calm after a storm—and just before another one.
She glanced at the girl with the spoon. "Wait," she said simply, her voice not loud—but clear enough to make people stop.
"I thought this was a drinking challenge, not a drama club skit."
That landed. A few students snorted. Seraphina straightened in her seat.
Mira pointed calmly toward Camille. "She drank every round. She never backed down. Seraphina stumbled—twice."
Gasps. Some nods. Mira's voice grew steadier.
"If this is about who looks good in glitter, sure, Seraphina wins. But if it's about who held their ground, drank with nerve, and didn't try to twist the rules at the end?" She turned slightly. "Then you all saw who really won."
A long pause.
Then someone clapped.
Then a few more.
Then the chant started again—but this time louder, with new voices:
"CAMILLE! CAMILLE! CAMILLE!"
Seraphina's face froze, lips tight, fan club looking lost.
Camille didn't bask in it. She just raised her hand to Mira, palm out for a quiet high-five.
Elara burst into laughter, her earlier tension finally melting away.
And Mira?
She just gave Seraphina the faintest smile and said, "Better luck next party."
As the chant "CAMILLE! CAMILLE! CAMILLE!" thundered through the hall, Seraphina's radiant smile strained at the corners, flickering like a candle in the wind. Her loyal followers clapped a beat too late, visibly unsure whether to celebrate or retreat.
Scattered through the crowd, a few second-years leaned together, voices hushed but sharp with curiosity.
"Who are they?"
"The redhead? That's Camille. Journalism major. First year."
"And the one who called out Seraphina—Mira. She's the only full scholarship student in the International Department."
"What about the third girl? The one who danced earlier?"
"Elara. Business and Economics. Another scholarship student."
"Wow. Bold trio."
"They've got guts. First year standing up to Seraphina like that?"
"Brave. Way braver than we were."
Another added, "This new batch? Different vibe. Way more fire."
"Kind of loving it."
Elara, overhearing just enough, gave a glance to Mira and Camille. Mira just gave a casual shrug, as if to say we didn't plan this… but we're not backing down either. Camille, still catching her breath, sipped her water and grinned—satisfied, triumphant.
In the center of the ballroom, the atmosphere had changed. And everyone knew it.