The air in Dubai always carried a kind of sharp heat, even at night. The hotel rooftop pool reflected neon city lights, distorted into ripples as music pulsed faintly from hidden speakers. Goldridge students had gathered there that evening, not for a scheduled event but because word had spread fast: something was about to happen.
It started with the usual—branch kids lounging on pool chairs, sipping overpriced mocktails, snapping group selfies against the skyline. But beneath the surface, there was no mistaking the tension. Conversations clipped short when Zion walked past. Nervous glances darted toward the corner where Kevin leaned against a pillar, dressed sharp in casual black, every move calculated.
He hadn't made a scene yet. But everyone could feel it: the spark was dangling in the air, waiting.
The Setup
Zion knew it too. He'd spent the whole day listening to whispers swirl around him like storm winds. Kevin had spun his web flawlessly—soft words, sympathetic nods, "victim" energy that had students doubting Zion more than ever.
Mabelle had spent half the day pacing in their suite, frustration leaking from every movement.
"They're eating it up," she fumed. "Like he didn't try to ruin you before. Like he isn't obsessed with tearing you down. Why are they so blind?"
Zion, as usual, stayed cool. He reclined in his chair, scrolling idly through his phone. "Because Kevin doesn't shout anymore. He whispers. And people love whispers more than they love the truth."
She dropped onto the couch beside him, glaring. "And you're just going to let him?"
Zion finally looked up, his half-smile as infuriatingly calm as ever. "I don't need to fight whispers. They unravel on their own. But when he tries to shout…" His smirk widened, sharp as a blade. "That's when I'll be ready."
Mabelle didn't say it, but part of her both feared and admired how dangerous Zion was becoming. It wasn't just his nonchalance anymore. It was strategy. He let Kevin walk into his own traps, every single time.
The Gathering
By evening, the whispers had grown into a hum that pulled students toward the rooftop like moths to a flame. The Swedish branch clustered together near the pool steps, their leader Dante casually bouncing a basketball between his palms. The US branch took the far lounge chairs, Elias at the center, still smirking from the stunt he'd pulled that morning.
The UK branch was scattered—Celeste and Mikey sitting side by side, Isla and Lucian in quiet conversation, Mabelle close to Zion. They felt the weight of eyes on them, the sense that everyone expected a show.
And then Kevin moved.
He didn't raise his voice, didn't clap for attention. He just stepped into the open space between the clusters of students, his expression effortlessly calm. That alone was enough to silence the hum.
Kevin's Play
"I suppose," Kevin began, his voice steady, "you've all heard the stories."
A ripple went through the crowd. Zion didn't move, but his eyes narrowed just slightly.
Kevin continued, pacing slowly like a lecturer in full control. "That I'm the villain. That I tried to tear someone down. That I don't belong here anymore." He paused, letting his gaze sweep across faces. "But no one ever asks why."
Murmurs broke out. Kevin's lips curled in satisfaction.
"Zion Vale," he said, finally naming him, "has always been the golden boy. Perfect grades, perfect talent, perfect charm. But what no one ever asks is what it costs to stay perfect. Or who pays the price for his shine."
The crowd turned. Zion hadn't moved from his seat, one arm draped lazily over the backrest, expression unreadable. The silence dared him to respond.
But Kevin wasn't finished.
"You've heard one side of the story. You've heard his side. Maybe it's time you heard mine."
The Confrontation
That was when Zion stood.
Not rushed, not defensive. He rose like he had all the time in the world, brushing invisible lint off his sleeve. The movement alone shifted the atmosphere, as if the rooftop itself tilted toward him.
"You always did love speeches," Zion said, his tone light but cutting. "Funny how you need so many words to do what I can do with silence."
A ripple of laughter broke from the UK branch, but Kevin didn't flinch. He stepped closer, eyes locked on Zion.
"Is that it?" Kevin asked. "More smirks, more silence? You think the world will keep bending for you just because you look untouchable?"
Zion tilted his head, his half-smile returning. "Not untouchable. Just untouchable to you."
The words landed like a slap.
The Crowd Splits
That was when the branches began to fracture.
From the Swedish side, Dante leaned forward, interest lighting his eyes. "Honestly? He has a point. Zion acts like he owns the place. Maybe Kevin's not wrong."
Elias from the US side chimed in, louder. "Yeah, Vale. Maybe you're not as clean as you look."
Celeste shot up from her seat, fire blazing in her eyes. "Don't talk like you know him. You don't. You've seen him outplay you on the court, Elias, and it burned. Admit it."
Elias sneered, but the tension snapped hotter.
Students murmured, some siding with Kevin's calm reasoning, others clinging to Zion's proven loyalty. The atmosphere thickened like glass cracking under pressure.
And right at the center of it, Kevin and Zion stared each other down.
Kevin's Gambit
"You think you're always one step ahead," Kevin said, voice low now, meant for Zion but loud enough for the room to hear. "But what happens when the people around you stop believing? When they realize you're not their savior—you're their cage?"
For a moment, silence held. Then Zion chuckled softly.
"You want them to doubt me? Go ahead. But the difference between us, Kevin, is simple." He stepped closer, his presence almost suffocating. "You need them to believe you. I don't."
The rooftop went pin-drop silent.
And Kevin's smirk faltered—just barely.
The Breaking Point
Before the moment could shatter, a teacher's voice cut through the air.
"Enough!" Mr. Anderson stormed onto the rooftop, his expression hard. "This ends here. Do you realize how close you are to tearing the academy apart? Every word you two spit poisons the rest of them. This is not a battlefield."
Kevin's jaw tightened. Zion didn't break eye contact, but he sat back down with deliberate calm.
The students scattered slowly, but the damage was done. No one left neutral. Sides had been drawn tonight—silent, invisible, but undeniable.
Aftermath
Back in the UK branch suite, tension clung to the air.
Mikey slammed a pillow onto the couch. "He's not playing anymore. He's coming for blood."
Celeste crossed her arms. "And the worst part is, some people are buying it. I saw Dante nodding. Elias, too. They'll stand with him."
Isla chewed her lip, glancing at Lucian. "What if it works? What if he really turns everyone against Zion?"
Lucian met her gaze, steady but unreadable. "Then we remind them who Zion really is."
Mabelle, however, said nothing. She just sat beside Zion, staring at him like she was trying to read beneath his calm exterior.
"You don't look worried," she finally whispered.
Zion leaned back, exhaling slow. "Because Kevin just showed his hand. And I never bet on a man who plays his best card too early."
But even as he said it, Mabelle saw it in his eyes—the glint of something darker. Zion wasn't just preparing to defend. He was preparing to strike.
And for the first time, Mabelle wondered: when Zion finally decided to move, would it be Kevin who broke…or everyone else around them?