No one expected it, but when Emily Blair heard the school's decision, she actually felt relieved.

Even if the school hadn't forced her, she would've volunteered to switch classes anyway.

Given the choice between staying in a room full of hostility or moving to a less desirable group, she'd rather take her chances with the latter at least there, she wouldn't have to deal with all the drama and toxic people.

So the school's verdict played right into her hands.

She was more than happy to oblige.

The homeroom teacher regarded her with a frosty stare. "Emily Blair, do you have any objections?"

Emily was already quietly packing up, not bothering to look up when he spoke. She kept her head down, hands moving deftly as she gathered her things.

"Nope. I can move right now."

The teacher frowned, mistaking her lack of eye contact for resentment or defiance, convinced she was sulking about the decision.

He pressed his lips together. “Emily, you should be grateful. This is a pretty lenient outcome, all things considered."

He gave her a stern warning. “Don't try to fight the school on this. Just follow the rules and go."

Emily answered breezily, "Understood."

But her casual tone only sounded like stubborn resistance to the teacher.

His frown deepened. “Emily Blair, you'd better behave."

Emily didn't understand why he was dragging this out-she was already packed and ready to go, but he just kept talking.

She stood, slung her backpack over one shoulder, and scooped up the rest of her books in her arms.

In front of the entire class, she looked more eager to leave than even the teacher or her classmates.

The teacher blinked in confusion.

Her classmates stared, speechless.

Wait-wasn't she supposed to cry and beg to stay?

Why was she leaving so decisively?

A strange feeling crept over the room.

It was as if the girl they'd always looked down on, the one they thought needed their approval to survive, suddenly strode right past them-head held high, not a trace of regret.

It was like Emily Blair had never cared about them at all.

They couldn't wrap their minds around it, couldn't understand why she wasn't pleading to stay.

So they just watched her go, eyes glued to her retreating figure, half-expecting her to turn back any second and beg for a second chance.

But Emily never looked back. She marched right out of sight, never hesitating.

It was almost as if, compared to how much they wanted her gone, she wanted to leave even more.

A few classmates scoffed. "What's she trying to pull?"

By lunchtime, word had already spread that Emily Blair had been transferred to Class 7, and the whole school was buzzing with schadenfreude.

Everyone knew Class 7 had a reputation—a rowdy bunch of misfits, notorious troublemakers, fighters, party animals, students who drank and snuck out, and teachers who'd long since given up trying to manage them.

Class 7 was a dumping ground. A place the hopeless. If Emily ound up there, her grades would nosedive, and she'd probably be bullied nonstop.

And sure enough, just as the rumors promised, Emily hadn't even set foot in the door before a piece of broken chalk came whizzing through the air.

She was weighed down by a heavy backpack and a mountain of books, with no chance to dodge.

The chalk hit her square in the forehead before clattering to the floor.

Before she'd even opened her eyes, the raucous noise of Class 7 hit her-shouting, laughing, chaos.

Emily picked up the chalk, opened her eyes, and, without hesitation, flung it right back toward the girl who'd thrown it.

The girl smirked, tilting her head just enough to let the chalk sail past.

She wasn't wearing the school uniform, just a baggy t-shirt and faded jeans. A cheap metal cross hung around her neck, and two silver studs gleamed on her lower lip, dark plum lipstick highlighting her smirk.

She sat sprawled in the center of the group, legs crossed, chin raised, her face sharp and striking-someone you'd think twice about crossing.

"Emily Blair, right?"

"I don't care who you were before. In Class 7, you answer to me."

Every eye in the classroom was fixed on Emily.

She stared calmly at the girl.

Only Emily knew how her heart was racing.

She'd met this girl before-just not here, not in school, but out there in the real world.

Her name was Elizabeth Wilson. Brilliant. Cunning. Exceptionally gifted. One day, she'd become a tech giant, founder of a company destined to go head-to-head with Andrew Lane's I&A.

Even Andrew Lane, with his sky-high standards, had admitted Elizabeth was a force to be reckoned with a prodigy who clawed her way up from nothing.

If Andrew hadn't eventually convinced her to let I&A buy her company, who knew which of them would've come out on top.

And the rest of these so-called delinquents in Class 7? Most of them would one day become key players in Elizabeth's tech empire.

That was the real reason Emily wanted to be here.

She looked at Elizabeth, adrenaline surging.

If she could win Elizabeth over, she'd have a fighting chance against Andrew Lane.

She wanted to be her friend-desperately-but now wasn't the time. Elizabeth still saw her as an outsider, maybe even a threat. Emily couldn't tip her hand.

From what she remembered, Elizabeth hated pushovers. She respected fighters, people who stood their ground.

So if Emily wanted to earn her respect, she had to show some spine. No bowing her head. No backing down.

She strode to the front, dumped her books on the teacher's desk, grabbed a piece

of nearly-spent chalk, and lobbed it straight at Elizabeth.

Elizabeth moved like she'd had martial arts training-quick as lightning.

Not surprisingly, Emily missed again.

But that was fine. She could see the interest spark in Elizabeth's eyes.