The professor's conference room was quiet in a way only academic spaces ever were—polite, controlled, layered with authority. Sunlight filtered in through tall glass windows, reflecting off the long polished table where files were neatly stacked. The air smelled faintly of coffee and paper.
Ling stood near the window, arms folded behind her back, posture rigid as always. Her expression was unreadable—calm on the surface, cold underneath. She wasn't waiting for anyone in particular. She never did. People came to her.
The door opened.
A woman stepped inside.
She was composed, mid-thirties perhaps, dressed in a muted beige blazer with a slate-blue blouse underneath. Her heels clicked softly against the floor as she walked in, eyes sharp but curious. There was confidence in the way she carried herself—not loud, not demanding. Observant.
Another professor, older and familiar, followed behind her.
"Professor Kwong," he said warmly, gesturing toward the woman. "This is Dr. Marley. Marley was on leave."
Ling turned.
Her gaze landed on the woman—and stayed there for half a second longer than necessary.
"Dr. Kwong," the man continued, smiling, "this is Ling Kwong."
Marley straightened slightly, then smiled, professional and courteous. "I know who you are," she said, extending her hand. "It's an honor."
Ling glanced at the offered hand before taking it briefly. Her grip was firm, controlled. No warmth, no hesitation.
"Likewise," Ling replied flatly.
Their hands separated.
Marley didn't show it, but something subtle shifted inside her. The aura around Ling wasn't just authority—it was gravity. The kind that pulled attention whether you wanted it or not. Cold elegance. Sharp eyes. A presence that filled the room without effort.
So this is her, Marley thought.
She had heard the stories—strict, ruthless, brilliant. Owner of the university. Untouchable. But seeing Ling in person was different. There was an intensity there that made it hard to look away, even harder to misunderstand.
Marley masked the flicker of interest behind professionalism.
"I'll be covering the advanced modules," she said, turning slightly toward Ling. "I've reviewed the curriculum and your standards. I'll align with them."
Ling nodded once. "See that you do."
No pleasantries. No encouragement.
The older professor chuckled lightly, trying to ease the atmosphere. "Dr. Marley has an excellent track record. We're lucky to have her."
"I don't believe in luck," Ling replied. "Only results."
Marley smiled again, smaller this time. "Then we'll get along."
The remark was subtle—but bold.
Ling's eyes flicked to her briefly. Not offended. Not amused either. Simply assessing.
"Good," Ling said. "Because students here don't need comfort. They need discipline."
Marley inclined her head. "Agreed."
Inside, however, Marley felt something unexpected—interest sharpened by challenge. Ling wasn't just intimidating. She was… compelling. Dangerous, even. The kind of person who didn't invite admiration but commanded it.
The discussion moved on to schedules, lecture halls, evaluation protocols. Marley listened attentively, responding when needed, careful not to overstep. Ling spoke little, but when she did, the room followed.
Marley noticed details.
The way Ling's jaw tightened when standards were mentioned.
The way her fingers curled slightly when authority was challenged, even hypothetically.
The way she never sat—always standing, always ready.
At one point, Marley glanced at her again, then quickly looked away, schooling her expression.
Don't be stupid, she warned herself internally. This isn't admiration. It's curiosity. Nothing more.
But curiosity lingered.
The meeting wrapped up shortly after. Files were gathered, chairs pushed back.
"Welcome to the faculty," the older professor said to Marley. "If you need anything, you know where to find us."
"Thank you," Marley replied.
Ling was already turning toward the door.
As she passed Marley, she paused just long enough to speak—voice low, precise.
"Your first lecture is tomorrow," Ling said. "Be punctual."
Marley met her gaze. "I always am."
Ling didn't respond. She walked out without another word.
Marley stood there for a moment longer after the door closed, her expression thoughtful now, the professional mask finally loosening just a fraction.
She exhaled slowly.
Interesting, she thought.
Then she straightened, picking up her files, reminding herself—whatever she felt, whatever she noticed, Ling Kwong was not someone you approached lightly.
Especially not with anything other than control.
The classroom settled slowly as students took their seats, the usual low hum of chatter filling the air. Rhea sat near the middle row this time, notebook open, pen resting between her fingers but unmoving. Her posture was straight, expression neutral—carefully neutral. It had become habit.
The door opened.
Dr. Marley walked in.
She wasn't unfamiliar to the students. A few heads lifted in recognition, some whispers passed—she's back, her leave ended. Marley placed her bag on the desk calmly, surveying the room with an easy, practiced gaze. No rush. No stiffness. She belonged here.
"Good morning," she said evenly.
A chorus of greetings followed.
She adjusted her glasses slightly, flipping open the attendance register but not calling names yet. Instead, she leaned back against the desk, arms loosely crossed, tone casual—almost conversational.
"Before we begin," Marley said, "I want to ask something. Just… out of curiosity."
The class stilled a little. Students exchanged looks.
"How many of you attended lectures last week under the new professor?" she asked lightly.
A few hands went up. Some hesitated, then raised theirs too. Rhea didn't move. Her eyes remained on the page.
Marley nodded, as if noting data, nothing more.
"And," she continued, "how would you describe her teaching style?"
A pause.
One student laughed nervously. "Strict."
"Very strict," another added quickly.
Marley smiled faintly. "Strict how?"
There was a beat of silence before someone answered, "No nonsense. Very… intense."
A few murmurs of agreement followed.
Marley tilted her head, thoughtful. "Intense doesn't always mean ineffective," she said. "Did you find the lectures clear?"
"Yes," a girl near the front said. "Painfully clear."
That drew a ripple of restrained laughter.
Marley chuckled softly, waving a hand. "I'm not asking for complaints," she said. "Just understanding the environment. Academic ecosystems change when leadership shifts."
Her gaze moved briefly across the room—and lingered, just for a second too long, on Rhea.
Rhea felt it. Her shoulders stiffened almost imperceptibly.
Marley looked away as if nothing had happened.
"Some professors demand discipline through fear," Marley continued calmly. "Others through structure. Both can be effective. It depends on the student."
She picked up a marker, uncapped it slowly.
"And," she added, voice still neutral, "some students respond strongly to authority. Positively or negatively."
Rhea's grip tightened on her pen.
A boy at the back spoke up, half-joking, "She's scary, ma'am."
Marley raised an eyebrow. "Scary professors don't last long unless they're exceptional."
That shut him up.
She turned toward the board then, finally beginning the lecture. Diagrams appeared, terms flowed smoothly. Marley taught with clarity and ease, her voice steady, confident. Yet every now and then, she asked questions—small ones, indirect ones.
"Did the previous lecturer emphasize this?"
"Was this explained differently last week?"
"Were examples given, or were you expected to infer?"
Each question sounded academic.
None of them were.
Rhea answered only when directly asked. Her voice stayed controlled, her expressions guarded. She never used Ling's name. Not once. Just the professor. Just last lecture.
Marley noticed.
She noticed the tension in Rhea's shoulders, the way her eyes avoided certain phrases, the way her answers were clipped—precise, defensive.
Interesting.
By the end of the lecture, Marley capped the marker and faced the class again.
"Alright," she said. "That's all for today. Read the next chapter before our next session."
Students began packing up.
As they stood, Marley added casually, "And remember—authority in academia isn't personal. It only feels that way when something else is already bleeding underneath."
A few students frowned, confused.
Rhea froze for half a second.
Then she closed her notebook, stood, and walked out with the rest—face calm, heart anything but.
Behind her, Marley watched the door long after Rhea had disappeared, her expression thoughtful, controlled.
She hadn't asked for gossip.
She had asked for patterns.
And she had found one.