The next morning, the medical university stood sharper under daylight.
Ling arrived precisely on time.
No hesitation. No spectacle. Just quiet authority wrapped in black.
The dean was already waiting outside his office, posture straighter than usual, tie adjusted twice before Ling even reached him.
"Good morning, Ms. Kwong," he said, offering a respectful nod.
Ling inclined her head slightly. "Good morning."
He gestured inside. "Please."
The office smelled of fresh files and old pressure. Ling didn't sit until invited. When she did, it was controlled, composed—her presence filling the room without effort.
The dean slid a folder across the desk. "These are your assigned classes. Core subjects. Some advanced modules. Mostly second and third year."
Ling opened it calmly, eyes scanning without hurry.
"Your schedule is… flexible," he added carefully. "We've adjusted things to suit you."
Ling didn't look up. "I don't need accommodation. Just clarity."
"Yes. Of course."
He cleared his throat. "There is one more thing I should mention."
Ling finally raised her gaze.
The dean hesitated. "Some classes here are… difficult."
Ling waited.
"Students who are reckless," he continued. "Overconfident. Loud. They test limits. We've had complaints. Professors requesting transfers."
Ling's lips curved—just barely.
"Which classes?" she asked.
He pointed to two entries on the schedule. "These."
Ling glanced at them once.
"That's all?" she asked.
The dean blinked. "Pardon?"
"You mentioned reckless students," Ling said evenly. "I assumed more."
He laughed nervously. "I don't doubt your capability. It's just protocol to inform—"
Ling closed the folder and placed it neatly on the desk.
"I built this institution," she said quietly. "You think I haven't dealt with worse?"
The dean straightened immediately. "Of course not. I only meant—"
Ling stood.
"I don't require warnings," she continued. "If they're loud, they'll learn silence. If they're careless, they'll learn precision."
Her tone wasn't threatening.
It was factual.
The dean nodded, almost reverently. "I'll inform the departments."
Ling turned toward the door, then paused.
"Oh," she added calmly, "tell them I don't tolerate phones, excuses, or disrespect."
"Yes, Ms. Kwong."
"And," Ling said, glancing back once, "tell them attendance is no longer optional."
The dean swallowed. "Understood."
Ling walked out.
In the hallway, staff instinctively stepped aside. Whispers followed her again, quieter now—more cautious.
"That's her."
"She starts today."
"God help us."
Ling heard none of it—or chose not to.
She stopped outside an empty lecture hall, pushed the door open, and stepped inside alone. The room was large. Tiered seating. A podium waiting at the front.
She walked to it slowly, resting one hand against the wood.
"So," she murmured to herself, almost amused, "reckless students."
A faint smile touched her lips.
They had no idea.
Ling straightened, adjusted her glasses, and turned away.
In moments, the rooms would learn her name.
And the students who believed themselves untouchable—
Would learn exactly what control looked like.
The lecture hall was already loud when Ling entered.
Not with learning—with arrogance.
Chairs were turned sideways. Feet rested on desks. Phones glowed openly. Laughter bounced off the walls without restraint. A group of boys in the middle rows were especially animated, voices sharp, careless, deliberately disruptive.
Ling stopped just inside the doorway.
She simply stood there.
The noise didn't die immediately. It took a few seconds—long enough for her presence to register, for instinct to ripple through the room like a warning signal. One by one, heads turned. Whispers faltered. Someone muttered, "That's her."
One boy laughed anyway. Loud. Purposeful.
"So that's the new professor?" he said, not bothering to lower his voice. "Doesn't look old enough."
Another snorted. "Maybe she's here to scare us with silence."
A third added crudely, "I'd still skip."
Ling walked forward slowly, heels clicking softly against the floor. Each step was measured. Controlled.
She placed her bag on the podium and looked up at the class.
"Good morning," she said calmly.
No response.
The same boy leaned back in his chair. "Attendance mandatory now?" he asked mockingly. "That's cute."
A few laughs followed.
Ling's gaze settled on him. Then shifted—to the three beside him.
"You," she said, voice even. "And you. You. And you."
She pointed once. Precisely.
"All four of you," she continued, "come down here."
The laughter spiked—nervous now.
"Why?" one of them challenged. "We didn't do anything."
Ling tilted her head slightly. "You spoke. That counts."
The boy scoffed. "And if we don't?"
Ling smiled.
It was faint. Cold. Unamused.
"Then I will come to you," she said. "And that would be worse."
Something in her tone shifted the air.
They stood—slowly, reluctantly—and made their way down the steps, still posturing, still loud.
The first one stopped too close. Invading space on purpose.
"You think you can—"
The slap landed before the sentence finished.
Sharp. Clean. Loud.
The sound cracked through the hall like a gunshot.
The boy stumbled back, stunned more than hurt, hand flying to his cheek.
"What the hell—" he started.
He didn't finish.
He lunged.
Ling moved.
Not with anger—with precision.
She caught his wrist, twisted, stepped in, and dropped him to the floor in one smooth motion. His back hit hard. Breath knocked out of him.
The second boy rushed forward, shouting, "You can't touch him—"
Ling turned, drove her elbow into his chest, pivoted, and sent him down with a calculated sweep. He crashed beside the first.
The third hesitated. The fourth didn't.
He swung wildly.
Ling sidestepped, grabbed his collar, and slammed him into the podium hard enough to splinter the wood. He slid down, groaning.
The last one tried to run.
Ling caught him by the shoulder and threw him—cleanly, efficiently—onto the floor with the others.
Four bodies.
Four seconds of absolute control.
The lecture hall went dead silent.
No whispers.
No phones.
No breath loud enough to hear.
Ling straightened her coat, adjusted her glasses, and looked down at them.
"Get up," she said.
They didn't move.
"Class," Ling said, turning back to the room, "this is what disrespect costs."
She looked at the boys again. "Leave. And don't return to my class until you learn how to sit, speak, and listen."
They scrambled to their feet and fled without a word.
Ling faced the room fully now.
"Anyone else?" she asked calmly.
Silence.
She waited.
Ten seconds passed.
Nothing.
Ling smiled—slow, deliberate.
"Good," she said. "Now sit properly. Phones away. We begin."
She turned to the board and picked up the marker like nothing had happened.
Behind her, not a single student dared to breathe wrong.
The lesson started.
And the university learned—
Control didn't always arrive quietly.