Maya now had her phone out. Recording. Of course she did.
"This is pure gold," she said, zooming in on his expression of quiet despair. "Sierra's going to watch this on loop for a week."
"Maya."
"Already sent to her."
"Maya."
"Too late. It's immortalized. The harem demands tribute."
Phei stared down at the pink box in his hands—another brick in the growing monument to his accidental celebrity. He glanced back at the cafeteria: a sea of staring faces, flashing phones, a few more girls dabbing at their eyes like he'd just proposed to the entire room.
He sighed, long and world-weary.
Somewhere in the distance, a boy muttered, "Lucky bastard," with the bitter awe of someone who'd accepted defeat before the battle began.
Phei couldn't even blame him.
This wasn't Charm Speech. This wasn't Dominance Aura overtime.
