Morning arrived at Westbrook Academy without mercy.
The sky was still bruised with night when Anna Carter's alarm vibrated softly beneath her pillow. She silenced it immediately, sitting up before the second buzz could escape. Discipline had taught her this: never let noise announce you. Never let anyone know how hard you were working.
She swung her legs down, feet touching the cold floor, and inhaled deeply.
Today mattered.
Every day mattered.
She braided her hair with practiced speed, pulled on her training clothes—simple, clean, worn thin by use—and laced her sneakers carefully, tugging each loop tight like she was tying herself to the future.
Outside, the campus slept.
Inside her chest, everything was already awake.
Anna stepped into the narrow space at the back of her dorm room, clearing just enough room to move. The walls bore no posters, no decorations. Her world was compact. Focused. Purpose-built.
She stretched slowly, methodically, counting her breaths.
One.Two.Three.
Her muscles warmed. Her mind emptied.
She dropped into defensive slides, feet gliding quietly across the floor, arms positioned just right. She imagined an opponent in front of her—faster, taller, stronger. She imagined stopping them anyway.
Sweat gathered at her temples.
She welcomed it.
This was the part no one saw.
This was the part that mattered most.Across campus, the academy stirred.
Students gathered in training gear, yawning, stretching, murmuring complaints about early schedules. Coaches moved with clipboards and coffee cups. Assistants checked lists.
Then the administrator arrived.
His voice carried across the courtyard, amplified and official.
"Attention, students."
The chatter died down.
"There has been a report this morning regarding a missing item from a private hostel."
Whispers rippled.
"Due to the nature of the report," the administrator continued, "security will be conducting a routine inspection of all dorm rooms. Male and female hostels included."
The word security landed heavier than the rest.
Eyes shifted. Unease crept in.
"At this time," he said, "please remain where you are."
Two black-clad figures stepped forward.
Ben walked slightly ahead of the others.
His expression was neutral. His posture controlled.
He had done this before.Anna did not hear the announcement.
Music played low in her earbuds—instrumental, steady, grounding. Her body moved through drills she'd memorized long before Westbrook ever existed in her world.
Pivot.Sprint.Jump.Land.
Her breathing deepened.
Her mind narrowed.
She was in the place where nothing else existed—where doubt dissolved and the future felt close enough to touch.
When her phone vibrated on the bed, she ignored it.
Training first.The search began methodically.
Rooms were entered with polite knocks, quick inspections, respectful distance. Bags opened. Drawers checked. Nothing unusual.
Students grew restless.
Some annoyed. Some amused. Some nervous for reasons they didn't understand themselves.
Ben watched.
Waited.
He knew which room came last.
Anna Carter's.She wiped sweat from her brow and dropped into push-ups, counting silently. Her arms trembled slightly by thirty. She pushed through anyway.
Stronger than yesterday, she reminded herself.
Footsteps echoed faintly outside her corridor.
She didn't notice.
She rose, grabbing her towel, turning toward the small desk near her bed.
That was when the knock came.
Firm.
Official.
She froze.
Pulling out her earbuds, she frowned slightly.
"Yes?" she called.
The door opened before she could move.
Security filled the doorway.
Ben stepped inside.
Anna blinked, startled, heart jumping for reasons she couldn't name.
"Is something wrong?" she asked.
Ben didn't answer immediately.
His eyes moved through the room—over the bare walls, the neatly folded clothes, the absence of excess.
This didn't look like the room of someone who took what didn't belong to them.
Still, he walked forward.
Anna stepped back instinctively, confusion tightening her chest.
"What's happening?" she asked again.
The administrator's voice carried from the hall.
"This is the final room."
Anna's pulse quickened.
Ben moved with purpose now.
He went straight to the corner near her bed.
Straight to the spot.
He knelt.
Anna stared, breath caught halfway.
"What are you—"
Ben's hand reached behind the storage trunk.
Pulled something free.
The room tilted.
The item lay in his palm—polished, unmistakable, expensive.
A hush fell over the hallway.
"It's here," Ben said calmly.
Anna felt the words hit her like a blow.
"What?" she whispered.
The administrator stepped inside, eyes narrowing.
"Well," he said grimly. "There it is."
Anna shook her head slowly.
"No," she said. "That's not— I've never seen that before."
Her voice sounded distant to her own ears.
"This must be a mistake."
Ben stood.
Security exchanged glances.
"This item was reported missing from the private hostel," the administrator said. "Specifically from Chris Donovan's room."
The name landed like a verdict.
Anna's stomach dropped.
Chris Donovan.
The boy she hadn't looked at.
The boy she hadn't bowed to.
Her knees felt weak.
"I didn't take anything," she said, louder now. "I was training. I've been in this room the whole time."
Silence answered her.
The administrator sighed.
"We'll need you to come with us."
Anna stared at them.
Her room—her small, honest space—felt suddenly hostile.
Her training towel slipped from her fingers, hitting the floor unnoticed.
Outside, students watched as she was escorted down the corridor.
Whispers bloomed like bruises.
"She stole it?""No way.""Isn't she on scholarship?""Figures."
Anna's head spun.
She searched faces for understanding.
Found none.
Across the courtyard, Chris Donovan stood at a distance, arms folded, expression unreadable.
He watched Anna Carter walk past him without looking up.
Without knowing.
And in that moment, power smiled back at him.
The administrator's office smelled faintly of polish and paper—clean, controlled, indifferent.
Anna Carter stood in the center of the room, her damp training shirt clinging slightly to her back, her pulse still racing from the walk across campus. She hadn't been given time to change. No one had thought it necessary.
The door closed behind her with a soft, final click.
She flinched.
The administrator did not invite her to sit.
He remained behind his desk, hands folded, expression carefully arranged into something that resembled disappointment but felt closer to resignation.
"Anna," he said at last.
Her name sounded heavier in his mouth than it ever had before.
"I am highly disappointed in you."
The words landed slowly, each one pressing into her chest.
She stared at him, unable to speak.
"I never thought," he continued, "that you would involve yourself in something like this."
Her breath hitched.
"I didn't," she whispered.
Her voice cracked immediately, betraying her.
"I swear—I don't know anything about it."
The room felt too large, the silence stretching wider than she could reach across.
The administrator sighed and looked down at the file on his desk, flipping it open as though the pages contained something safer than her eyes.
"The item was found in your room," he said. "Placed deliberately. Hidden."
Anna shook her head, tears blurring the edges of the room.
"I was training," she said desperately. "I wake up early every day. I was in my room the whole time. I don't even know what that thing is—"
Her voice broke completely then.
She tried again, but the sound collapsed into sobs she could no longer control.
"I would never steal," she cried. "Never. Please—you have to believe me."
Her hands trembled as she pressed them together, as if holding herself upright.
The administrator did not move.
"I understand this is difficult," he said, though his tone suggested distance rather than empathy. "But intent does not erase evidence."
Anna felt something inside her begin to give way—not dramatically, not all at once, but like a rope fraying strand by strand.
"This scholarship," she said through tears, "is everything to me. My family gave up everything for me to be here. I wouldn't risk that. I wouldn't destroy my own life."
He finally looked at her then.
And for a brief moment—just a flicker—she thought she saw doubt.
But it passed.
"Anna," he said quietly, "this academy operates on trust."
She took a step forward.
"I didn't break that trust," she pleaded. "Someone did this to me."
Silence.
The administrator closed the file.
The sound echoed louder than it should have.
"You are hereby expelled from Westbrook Sports Academy," he said.
The words did not register immediately.
They hovered in the air, unreal.
"No," Anna whispered.
Her knees buckled.
She dropped to the floor before she realized she was moving, the impact sharp and humiliating. She didn't care.
She knelt.
"I'm begging you," she sobbed, palms flat against the polished surface. "Please. Give me time. Investigate. Talk to my coaches. Check the cameras. Please—I have nothing without this."
Her tears fell freely now, splashing onto the floor between them.
"I will do anything," she said. "Anything."
The administrator stood.
His chair slid back.
The sound felt like another door closing.
"It's too late," he said.
Anna looked up at him, eyes red, face crumpled by disbelief.
"You have one hour," he continued, voice firm, official. "Pack your belongings. Leave the academy premises."
She stared at him, mouth open, as if language itself had abandoned her.
"One hour?" she echoed faintly.
"Yes."
She rose slowly, legs shaking, dignity scattered but not gone.
"I didn't do this," she said again, quieter now. Not pleading. Not shouting. Simply stating a truth she needed someone to hear.
The administrator looked away.
The door opened.
Security waited.
The walk back to her dorm felt endless.
Every step echoed.
Every whisper stabbed.
Students paused mid-conversation as she passed. Some stared openly. Others pretended not to see her. No one spoke to her.
Her room looked exactly the same as she'd left it.
The same neat bed.The same folded clothes.The same dreams she'd rehearsed in this small space.
She packed mechanically.
Shoes first.
Books.
Her training journal—she hesitated, then pressed it to her chest briefly before placing it in her bag.
Her hands moved faster as the reality settled deeper.
This was real.
This was happening.
When she finally stepped outside with her bag slung over her shoulder, the campus looked unchanged.
The courts gleamed.
The banners fluttered.
Westbrook continued breathing without her.
At the gate, Anna stopped.
She turned once.
Not to beg.
Not to scream.
Just to look.
Then she walked away.
Behind her, the academy gates closed.