The courtyard outside the dorm building basked in the late afternoon light, golden warmth stretching long shadows across the flagstones.
The scent of cut grass filled the air, mixing with the metallic tang of sweat.
Viktor’s shirt clung to his back, dark with perspiration, sleeves rolled up to the elbows as he unleashed a rhythmic storm of punches into the training dummy.
Each strike was landed with purpose. His breath came heavy — focused and determined. His rusty red hair swayed with every burst of movement.
On the sidelines, Irina sat quietly on a bench, holding a water bottle in both hands like a prayer.
She toyed with the ends of her strawberry-blonde hair, eyes following Viktor with the kind of quiet adoration that lived in silence and second glances.
She had brought the bottle for him. And she had been waiting for this exact moment — when he’d finish training and look at her with that rare tired smile of his.
But that moment never came.
Because someone else entered the scene.
Celene Foster.
She was a high-ranked Cadet in their batch. And unbeknownst to Viktor or Irina, she had been hired by Juliana.
It didn’t take much to convince her.
Celene needed a very specific type of Spell Card.
Juliana offered it to her.
So, here she was.
She didn’t strut. She didn’t announce herself. She simply existed, walking into the scene like she belonged there.
Her violet hair was tied in a lazy bun, a few intentionally loose strands framing her sharp cheekbones.
She carried a book in one hand and a half-whistled tune on her lips as she eased herself under the shade of an old cherry tree.
Sitting cross-legged, she cracked open the book to read and leaned back comfortably, looking like a picture of effortless grace.
Viktor glanced once.
Then again.
Irina caught the second glance. And her smile faltered a little.
Meanwhile, Celene tilted her head ever so slightly, though her eyes never left the page.
And then, with almost suspicious timing, the book slipped from her fingers and landed between her and Viktor. She didn’t look up. Not until he stepped forward to retrieve it.
“Oh, my? Careful, handsome,” she said with a soft laugh, just shy of flirtation. “You should handle books with more care. They can be dangerous.”
He smirked, handing it over. “Yeah? You planning to weaponize it?”
Celene flashed him a grin that seemed to hold a hundred secrets. “Only if you don’t return it nicely.”
Irina scowled and looked down, her grip tightening around the bottle. When she looked up again, Viktor was still watching Celene.
That… was the first crack.
The stage was set now.
The game would begin soon.
•••
Evening settled across the Academy like a blanket.
The courtyard had long since emptied — save for Irina still sitting there alone on the bench, hugging her knees to her chest.
She stared down the path Viktor had taken earlier, the way he and Celene walked off together — “to help her return that book to the dorm library,” he’d said casually.
The lie stung more than it should have.
Soon, a voice reached her. “Hey… you okay?”
It was gentle, almost hesitant. And it belonged to one of her childhood friends — Ivan.
He stood a few feet away, hands tucked into his pockets. His eyes were soft. Softer than she ever remembered.
Actually, she’d been noticing a lot of changes in Ivan lately.
It started a little over a month ago. By now, he was like a completely different person.
He dressed better. Looked taller. Carried himself with more confidence.
And, for the love of all that was holy, he’d finally replaced those oversized glasses.
Irina sighed and forced a smile. “Of course! Just tired.”
But she was a bad liar. Or maybe he was just too good at seeing through her.
So he sat down. Close, but not touching.
Minutes passed.
Her silence cracked first.
“Maybe he doesn’t even like me,” she whispered, eyes glistening. She didn’t need to elaborate. He had always known about how she felt for Viktor. “Maybe I’m just… fooling myself.”
Ivan didn’t rush to comfort her.
Timing is everything in a conversation, Juliana had told him over and over.
So he waited. Adjusted his new glasses. Then shook his head, slowly.
“That’s just not true,” he said. “Anyone would be lucky to have someone like you, Irina.”
His voice was barely a whisper, but it anchored her.
Her shoulders trembled as she began to cry.
Ivan reached out — gently, cautiously — and touched her hand.
She didn’t pull away.
In that moment, the idea of safety took shape in her mind.
And it wore his face.
•••
Juliana was waiting.
Leaning against the wall outside his room, she flipped her notebook shut as Ivan approached.
The moonlight flooding in from the windows caught the sharp gleam in her eyes.
“You did better than I thought,” she said. “Natural talent, I guess.”
Ivan shifted uncomfortably. “I barely did anything.”
“Exactly,” Juliana murmured. “That’s what makes it perfect.”
She stepped forward, flipping the notebook open again. Written on it were bullet points, diagrams, and psychological triggers.
This girl…
She was treating this thing like some kind of war tactic!
“Now we begin Phase Two,” she pointed to a chart in her notes. “Create routine dependency. Send her morning texts. Goodnight check-ins. Be the first and last thought of her day.”
She flipped the page. “Give her emotional highs. Comfort her. Then disappear. Make her miss you. Then return. Make relief feel like love.”
Her voice remained steady. Clinical. Like she’d done this a thousand times before.
“But don’t disappear for too long,” she added. “There are plenty of people waiting to dry her tears.”
Ivan frowned.
Juliana didn’t slow down.
“And never insult Viktor. He is in her memories. And memories are precious. Instead, let her make the comparisons on her own. That’s how you win. Ask questions. Let her do the math. Say things like, ‘Do you think someone who really loves you would make you cry this often?'”
She let that sink in for a moment before speaking further:
“Next, you implant the fear. Ask her things like, ‘What if he only sees you as a sister?’ or ‘What if you’re just… convenient?'”
Ivan looked away.
Juliana stepped closer. Her voice softened slightly. “I know you don’t like this, Ivan. But love isn’t flowers and songs. It’s chains. Addiction. Knowing exactly which wounds to kiss — and which to leave open.”
She placed a hand on his shoulder. “By the time we’re done, she won’t know how to breathe without you. I promise that.”
Ivan hesitated. “…I don’t know if it’s right.”
Juliana smiled. “You’ll know when you win.”
•••
Weeks passed.
Viktor and Celene had started sharing meals at the cafeteria.
They laughed in quiet tones, heads leaned close. Celene’s smile came easy, like she’d known him forever.
Irina, two tables away, laughed too loudly at her friend’s jokes, pretending she didn’t see.
Ivan sat beside her. Quiet. Present. Safe.
He never spoke ill of Viktor.
He only asked the smallest, gentlest questions — like the one he was about to ask now:
“Is that how you’d want someone to make you feel if they loved you?”
Irina didn’t answer.
But later that night, she texted him three paragraphs about her day.
About how grateful she was for him being there.
About how much he meant to her.
Then she apologized for being such a burden.
Ivan read it three times before replying with a voice note, “You could never be a burden to me.”
•••
Phase Two began in earnest. The love bombing.
Ivan brought her coffee in the mornings when they met up — made just the way she liked it.
He gave her compliments. Celebrated her smallest victories.
He’d say things like, “You beat your running time again? I’m not surprised. But I am proud.”
Or, “It took me three weeks to even understand the basics of tensor calculus, and you did it in one? You know, I always knew you were hiding how smart you were.”
The results were obvious.
She started texting him first. Smiling wider when she saw him. Trusting him with her worst days.
Then came the push and pull.
He’d leave her on read for hours.
Exit hangouts early.
Sometimes he wouldn’t even show up.
Gave her neutral reactions when she opened up.
The ache in her heart grew slowly. So did her reliance on his return. On his… comfort.
•••
Irina’s feelings twisted inward.
She wasn’t over Viktor — but she’d started looking forward to Ivan’s smile more than Viktor’s silence. She hugged him more. Laughed a little easier around him.
And Juliana watched it all from afar.
But it wasn’t fast enough for her.
After all, three weeks had passed since she started playing this game. And the pawns were still moving too slow.
So she added a new variable.
•••
One afternoon, in the common room of their dorm building, Ivan was laughing at something Irina had said. Her face glowed with joy.
Then… Juliana entered.
Her hair was messy. Her skin glowing. She wore Ivan’s jacket — the one she’d practically stripped off him just minutes earlier. The poor boy was confused, but too scared to protest.
She walked over, took a sip from Ivan’s cup, and flopped into the chair beside him like it was the most natural thing for her.
Throwing an arm over his shoulder, she dragged a nail down his chest and purred softly, “Mmm. You forgot your jacket at mine last night, Ivan.”
Ivan stiffened.
Juliana smiled lazily, then turned to Irina — who sat frozen across from them. “Oh, hello. Didn’t see you there. I’m Juliana Blade, Ivan’s… well, girlfriend would be too far. Let’s just say I’m his friend.”
Irina’s voice cracked. “You’re… joking, right?”
Juliana tilted her head, her smirk sharpening. “Why? What’s there to joke about?”
Before Irina could respond, the white-haired beauty patted Ivan’s chest like she was marking her territory, handed back the jacket, and walked away.
Irina stared after her in stunned silence. Her mouth hung slightly open.
•••
That night, Irina’s texts came fast and furious:
[Where are you?]
[Why didn’t you answer my calls earlier?]
[Are you hanging out with that slut again?]
[You know she has a reputation, right?]
[She was even involved with Professor Rexerd before he disappeared. That girl is bad news. Just stay away from her]
[Ok why are you still not answering?!]
[Ivan!???]
Ivan stared at the screen with a detached gaze.
Then smiled.
He wanted to answer her.
To give her calm reassurances. To tell her he was there.
…But now wasn’t the time for reassurances. Now was the time to end the chase.