The bell rang sharply, cutting through the lingering murmurs in the classroom. A moment later, the door opened again, this time revealing a tall woman in her mid-thirties. She wore a neatly pressed blazer over her blouse, glasses perched low on her nose, and carried an air of authority that silenced even the rowdiest whispers.
"Good morning, class," she said, setting her books on the desk with a soft thud. "I am Ms. Harrington, your homeroom teacher. For the next three years, this classroom will be your second home, so let's start by knowing who we'll be sharing it with."
A ripple of nervous energy spread across the students. Some straightened their uniforms, others exchanged quiet glances.
Ms. Harrington adjusted her glasses and scanned the room. "We'll go row by row. Introduce yourself—your name, something about you, and what you look forward to this year."
The introductions began, voices mixing with awkward laughter.
When it reached the front row, the smaller boy who had been bullied earlier stood hesitantly. He clutched his notebook tightly, his voice shaky but clear.
"M-My name is Ethan Clarke," he said. "I… I like drawing, and I hope to make some friends here."
A few sympathetic nods followed, and Ethan sat down quickly, his cheeks flushed.
Then came the turn of the tall boy who had helped him. He rose with unhurried confidence, his gaze steady as he spoke.
"Adrian Vale," he introduced himself. "Sports. Reading. I'm looking forward to some competition this year."
There was no arrogance in his tone, just a quiet assurance that made his presence stand out even more.
Not long after, the two bullies reluctantly stood. The first, with messy dark hair and a smirk that hadn't quite faded, spoke first.
"Trent Mason," he said casually. "I play basketball. Don't get in my way."
His partner followed, a taller boy with a sharper expression. "Caleb Riker. Same as him. We'll see who's worth talking to." They dropped back into their seats with little care.
Ms. Harrington's lips pressed into a thin line, but she moved on without comment.
The line of introductions continued—some students shy, others overly eager, each name beginning to weave the picture of the class. From the back row, Greca and Daemon waited their turn, watching the dynamics unfold. Daemon stretched lazily,
At last, the introductions reached the back row.
Daemon rose first, sliding his hands into his pockets with casual ease. His grin was easy, almost playful, as if he were introducing himself at a party rather than in a classroom.
"Name's Daemon Crestfall," he said smoothly. "I like… breaking rules, occasionally following them, and keeping things interesting. Looking forward to not falling asleep in class—though I can't promise anything."
A small ripple of laughter spread across the room, some students exchanging amused glances. Even Ms. Harrington's stern expression softened slightly. Daemon sat back down, clearly satisfied with the effect.
Then it was Greca's turn. She stood with quiet grace, her movements composed, her face calm but unreadable. For a moment, the sunlight through the window caught her profile, giving her an almost untouchable presence.
"Greca Ashbourne," she said simply. Her voice was smooth, measured. "I enjoy reading and painting. I'm hoping for a peaceful year."
The room seemed to still for a second—not because of surprise, but because of the weight of her presence. Where Daemon's words had been playful and easy, Greca's introduction was short and cool, yet it carried an elegance that made people listen.
She sat down without another word, her expression returning to serenity.
Daemon leaned closer, whispering so only she could hear:
"Peaceful year? With me around, good luck with that."
Greca's lips curved, almost invisibly, into the faintest of smiles.
A quiet murmur rippled through the room once Greca sat down.
Daemon's playful words had earned him a few chuckles—especially from the more easygoing students at the front—while Greca's distant composure left a different impression. To some, she seemed elegant and mysterious. To others, she was already being marked as cold and untouchable.
Meanwhile, Trent Mason elbowed Caleb Riker and snickered. "Peaceful year, huh? Bet the princess won't last a week." Caleb smirked back, already filing away the thought as potential entertainment.
At the front, Ms. Harrington adjusted her glasses. "Thank you, everyone. That concludes introductions. Now, let's begin."
The atmosphere shifted as she launched into the day's orientation—rules, schedules, expectations. Pens scratched against paper as students half-listened, some doodling, others taking notes earnestly.
Daemon leaned back in his chair, already looking bored, tapping his pen against his notebook. Greca, on the other hand, listened quietly, her eyes drifting occasionally to the window. The chatter of introductions had faded, replaced by the steady rhythm of the school year's first lesson.
Yet beneath the calm surface of the classroom, impressions had already been made. Names remembered, rivalries sparked, and silent connections formed.
The year at Ashwood High had officially begun.