At exactly 5 PM, the corridor outside Room No. 12 began to fill.
Students stood in uneven lines, some pretending indifference, others whispering too loudly to hide their nerves.
The counselling sessions were about to begin.
Keris stood near the wall, arms folded. Luther remained beside him, quieter than usual.
Eden was nowhere to be seen.
Samuel moved down the corridor with a clipboard, calling out names according to their allotted slots.
Marcus was already present.
He leaned against the window frame, watching the movement without appearing to.
"Where's Eden?" he asked casually as Samuel passed.
Samuel checked the list.
"He opted for online mode."
Marcus nodded once.
Keris glanced over. "How many chose online?"
"Fourteen," Samuel replied.
A few students nearby whispered.
"Marcus? He came for counselling?"
"I didn't expect that."
"What if Leon and Ethan are coming too?"
"Maybe they're attending online."
"No way. They're probably at the club."
Marcus caught fragments of the conversation but didn't react. His face remained unreadable.
"Marcus," Samuel called after a few minutes. "Your slot."
Marcus straightened and entered Room 12.
---
The air inside Room 12 felt deliberately calm.
Soft lighting and neutral colors muted the edges of the space.
Neutral colors. Two chairs placed at an angle rather than directly opposite. A small table between them. A notepad resting near a pen.
The man seated there looked composed.
Calm eyes. Relaxed posture. Observant, but not intrusive.
Marcus closed the door behind him.
"You're Dr. William?"
A small smile.
"Yes. And you must be Marcus."
Marcus took the seat slowly, scanning the room without making it obvious.
"You researched me?" the doctor asked lightly.
"Verification," Marcus replied.
Dr. William nodded. "That's fair."
A brief silence settled between them.
"I noticed you volunteered for this session," the doctor began. "What made you decide that?"
Marcus leaned back.
"Curiosity."
"About?"
"Whether talking helps."
Dr. William didn't challenge it.
"Has something felt heavy recently?"
Marcus's fingers interlocked.
"Not heavy. Just… noisy."
The doctor tilted his head slightly. "Noisy?"
"People. Incidents. Assumptions."
The pen moved quietly across the notepad.
"In the general session, you seemed attentive when we discussed family distance," Dr. William said gently. "Did that resonate with you?"
Marcus didn't answer immediately.
"Everyone reacts differently to distance," he said finally.
"Do you?"
A pause.
"Yes."
"How?"
Marcus's jaw tightened almost imperceptibly.
"I don't show it."
The doctor observed his posture — controlled, defensive.
"Has there ever been a moment when things felt out of your control?"
Marcus's gaze flickered.
The tower.
The fall.
The silence afterward.
"I don't focus on what I can't control," he replied.
"That's a skill," Dr. William said. "But sometimes control can also become armor."
Marcus's eyes sharpened slightly.
"You analyze quickly."
"It's my job."
Silence again.
"After the tower incident," the doctor continued carefully, "did anything shift for you?"
Marcus studied him.
He wasn't being accused.
He was being invited.
"Events change perspective," Marcus said.
"On people?"
"On everything."
The doctor nodded slowly.
"Do you ever feel pressure being part of a group that carries… influence?"
Marcus's hands tightened briefly before relaxing.
"I choose where I stand."
"And if one day you choose differently?"
Marcus held eye contact now.
"Then that would also be my choice."
For a second, neither looked away.
The doctor wrote something down.
The scratching of the pen sounded louder than it should have.
Marcus's gaze drifted to the notepad.
He caught fragments before the page shifted:
Guarded. High cognitive control. Emotional suppression tendencies.
His expression did not change.
But something inside him did.
"Before we end," Dr. William said gently, "you should know — change doesn't require betrayal. It requires awareness."
Marcus stood.
"I'm aware."
He walked out without another word.
---
The moment he stepped outside, the noise returned — but distant.
The corridor felt narrower.
Voices seemed distant.
The word suppression echoed somewhere in his mind.
He hated labels.
Especially accurate ones.
Without stopping anywhere else, he went straight to the Devil Trio's shared room.
Leon and Ethan weren't there.
The silence pressed in.
Marcus opened the drawer.
The bottle reflected the dim light.
For a moment, he simply stared at it.
Then he poured.
Not recklessly.
Measured.
Controlled.
Even his escape had structure.
---
A few minutes later, another name was called.
"Keris."
Keris entered with steady steps.
He sat down, shoulders stiff.
Dr. William observed quietly.
"You seem tense."
"Not really."
The doctor didn't argue.
"You were involved in the tower incident."
"Yes."
"What did it leave behind?"
Keris exhaled slowly.
"Annoyance."
"At?"
"Assumptions."
A small pause.
"You've been labeled a bully."
"I was one."
"Was?"
Keris's jaw shifted.
"I don't torture people."
"What did bullying give you?"
Silence.
Longer this time.
Keris looked at the floor.
"…Noise."
The doctor waited.
"When people are afraid," Keris continued, "they notice you."
"Not being noticed feels uncomfortable?"
"Yes."
Another note written.
"Why change now?"
Keris thought carefully.
"Because the people I tried to impress aren't here anymore."
"And now?"
"Now it feels pointless."
The doctor nodded.
"Guilt?"
"Not exactly."
"Then?"
Keris hesitated.
"…Clarity."
For the first time, his shoulders relaxed slightly.
The session continued — less confrontational, more reflective.
When Keris stepped out of Room 12, his expression wasn't pale.
It wasn't shaken.
It was thoughtful.
---
As Keris walked past, Luther remained near the staircase, staring at nothing in particular.
"Luther."
The voice was calm.
Adrian stood a few steps away.
Luther straightened slightly. "Sir."
"You cancelled your session."
"Yes."
"It was scheduled for 5:40."
A pause.
"Yes."
Adrian's gaze remained steady, not accusatory, just precise.
"You confirmed attendance yesterday," he continued. "Then cancelled twenty-three minutes before your slot."
Luther's fingers twitched faintly before stilling.
"Something changed?"
"No, sir."
Adrian watched him for a few seconds longer.
"Most students cancel early," he said evenly. "Late cancellations usually come after hesitation."
Silence stretched between them.
Luther finally spoke, voice low.
"Sometimes speaking creates problems that silence avoids."
Adrian's eyes sharpened slightly.
"And sometimes silence allows problems to grow."
For the first time, Luther looked directly at him.
"I didn't feel like talking today."
Adrian studied his expression — guarded, but not fearful.
"Very well," he said after a moment. "The door remains open."
Luther nodded once and walked away.
Adrian did not move.
He simply watched.
---
One by one, doors opened and closed — but something else was shifting quietly.
Some students walked out lighter.
Others avoided eye contact completely.
Whispers floated in the corridor.
But something else was happening.
Names were being crossed out.
Slots were being cancelled.
---
Later that evening, Room 12 was quieter than before.
The corridor noise had faded. The chairs remained slightly angled, untouched.
Dr. William sat alone, reviewing his notes.
He didn't rush.
He never did.
The first page.
Marcus.
Highly controlled. Guarded responses. Strong cognitive discipline. Emotional suppression patterns. Avoidant but observant.
He paused briefly.
Then underlined one word.
Observant.
Next file.
Keris.
Identity conflict. Validation-driven behavior. Emerging self-awareness. Defensive humor masking insecurity.
The pen hovered again.
He tapped it lightly against the paper.
Then he opened the attendance sheet.
Crossed-out names.
Late cancellations.
Mode switches.
He compared timestamps silently.
Timestamps grouped too tightly.
Close intervals.
Too precise to be random.
He leaned back slightly.
Students avoid counselling for many reasons.
Fear. Pride. Shame.
But coordinated hesitation?
That was different.
He wrote one final line at the bottom of the page:
Noticeable resistance pattern among enrolled students. Monitor discreetly.
He closed the file.
For a brief moment, he looked toward the door — as if expecting it to open again.
It didn't.
Something was shaping their silence.
And it wasn't coming from inside this room.
---
While students spoke behind closed doors, Adrian watched from elsewhere.
Adrian sat at his desk as Samuel entered.
"Sir, many students attended," Samuel reported. "But about sixty percent cancelled their sessions before their allotted time."
Adrian's fingers paused above the keyboard.
"Sixty?"
"Yes, sir. Some switched to online mode first… then cancelled entirely."
"Eden?"
"High chance he didn't attend. He requested a slot shift."
Adrian leaned back slowly.
"That isn't anxiety," he murmured. "That's coordination."
Samuel stayed silent.
"Prepare a list," Adrian said. "Sort by cancellation time."
Minutes later, the filtered list appeared on his screen.
Clusters.
Close timestamps.
Patterns.
He forwarded it to Dr. Vale with a short message:
Discreetly check whether any of these students received unusual contact or benefits recently.
A reply came shortly after.
Vale attached one student profile.
Harry Brook.
Age: 24.
Background: Farmer's family.
Adrian opened the CCTV feed.
Harry's movements replayed across the screen.
Near the storage room.
Near the administrative corridor.
Near Samuel.
No audio.
But posture spoke.
Harry's stance was defensive.
Samuel's gestures were minimal — but his eyes moved often.
Adrian replayed the clip again.
And again.
"Something is moving beneath the surface," he said quietly.
---
A knock came at the office door.
Adrian didn't look up immediately. "Come in."
"I won't take much of your time," Eden's father said calmly. "I was informed counselling sessions began today."
"Yes."
"My son agreed to attend."
Adrian folded his hands on the desk. "He opted for online mode."
"He was prepared," the man replied. "Until this afternoon."
Adrian's gaze sharpened slightly. "What happened this afternoon?"
A brief pause.
"He received a call."
"From whom?"
"I don't know. He didn't say." His tone remained controlled. "But after that call, he requested a slot shift. Then avoided the session entirely."
Silence settled between them.
"He didn't appear distressed," his father continued. "Just… cautious."
Adrian leaned back slightly.
"That is interesting."
Eden's father met his eyes.
"If these sessions are meant to help them, I hope nothing is discouraging participation."
"Nothing officially," Adrian replied.
The man gave a small nod. "Officially is rarely the issue."
After he left, Adrian remained still for several seconds.
Then he reopened the cancellation list.
Clustered timestamps.
Late withdrawals.
Mode switches.
A phone call.
Students hesitating.
His fingers slowly curled against the desk.
Someone was influencing them.
Not loudly.
Not directly.
But effectively.
Adrian's gaze hardened.
Someone doesn't want them talking.
---
Evening settled over Hillcrest.
Behind closed doors, conversations had ended.
But reactions had only begun.
One student drank to silence his thoughts.
Another walked lighter than before.
Several avoided rooms they had booked themselves.
And somewhere inside the system —
A pattern was forming.