A week flew by, and the weekend arrived.

That morning, Eve hurried back to the dorm from the academic building and bumped right into Haya, who was just heading down for breakfast.

“What’s wrong? Why the rush?”

Haya studied Eve’s flustered face, curiosity flickering in her eyes.

“Miss… something’s off,” Eve said, voice tight with worry.

“Today’s the student council election registration day. I heard Augustine and Francois both signed up.”

At her words, Haya’s knife and fork clattered onto the table.

“W-what? Both of them? How could they register without me?”

Eve lowered her head.

“Miss… they formed their own campaign teams. Each recruited partners from their own grades. They… betrayed you.”

Haya shot to her feet, disbelief etched across her face. Her body trembled slightly with fury.

“Betrayed me? Didn’t we agree to run together? I promised council positions for second and third years! Why betray me *now*?!”

Eve stayed silent, head bowed.

She had no answers. Even if she did, speaking up now would only sound like hollow hindsight—and masters never appreciated that.

Haya pressed a hand to her forehead, then sank slowly back into her chair.

“Unbelievable. Truly unbelievable.”

Her voice still carried a trace of shock—she’d never imagined they’d break their word.

“Eve, arrange a meeting with them. And immediately find two replacements from fourth year. Since they don’t know their place, they won’t get another single benefit from me.”

She pushed her plate away, stood, and strode upstairs without another glance.

Eve watched her retreating back, worry clouding her eyes, then slipped quietly out of the dorm.

…

Inside a campus café, Loko sat with Teresa and Shilufei.

“Loko was right,” Teresa said, smiling warmly. “We did nothing these past days—and this morning, Francois and Augustine split from Haya. Their faction’s now fractured three ways. Our odds just improved dramatically.”

Loko merely smiled shyly and picked up a slice of cake.

“Shilufei,” Teresa turned to her, lips curving gently, “you left a strong impression on me last time.”

“Really? So… what role do you think suits me, Teresa?”

*Here we go again*, Loko thought.

Suddenly, the cake tasted bland. A bead of cold sweat traced down her temple.

“I think your warmth and approachability make you perfect as the public face of our campaign.”

After all: Loko was the strategist, Teresa the decision-maker—and Shilufei, the frontline general.

“You’d handle public outreach. Don’t worry—we’ll write all scripts. You just deliver them.”

As she spoke, Teresa elegantly broke a cookie in half and offered one piece to Loko’s lips.

Loko ate it instinctively.

A faint, almost imperceptible smile touched Teresa’s lips.

“Right, Loko? We’ll fully support Shilufei.”

“M-mm! Yes!” Loko nodded vigorously, then glanced at Shilufei.

Her eyes whispered what words couldn’t: *Trust her. If not her… trust me.*

Shilufei blinked, puzzled—then mimicked Teresa, lifting a cake slice to Loko’s mouth.

“Got it! I’ll take the task. Thanks for all your hard work, Loko~”

She added the tilde with deliberate sweetness.

Teresa’s eyebrows twitched downward.

…

“Gentlemen,” Haya began slowly inside the restaurant’s private room, gaze fixed on the two young men before her.

She’d tamped down her rage. Now she waited for their performance.

“Well…”

The first to speak was Francois—second-year, chestnut-red cropped hair, sturdy build, legitimate heir of House Toulouse.

“We know following Boss Haya guarantees victory… but we have our own followers too.”

“Didn’t I promise them council seats?”

“It’s… not quite the same.”

Augustine—third-year, long black hair, delicate features, eldest son of the Veneto Family—took over smoothly.

“Boss Haya, you graduate next year. I’ve two years left; Francois has three. We can’t lean on you forever, can we? This is just a rehearsal for next year’s real election.”

Haya finally saw it: even before she left, they were already carving up her “legacy.”

“And the votes we take? Minimal. You and your first-year cousin—backed by the York Family—we’d lose anyway.”

*That’s it*, Haya realized. Their known rift with Teresa fractured York influence at Saint Stephen Academy. Each believed their family alone could win—no need to share power. Too evenly matched to decide who’d lead.

“So you’d rather be oath-breakers, staining noble dignity, just to grab the presidency?”

“Don’t phrase it so harshly,” Francois soothed, playing peacemaker while Augustine nodded along.

“Exactly! We still support you deep down. Honestly? Victory’s still mostly yours.”

Haya let out a cold laugh.

“Eve. See them out.”

No meal. No courtesy. She wouldn’t entertain liars.

Augustine and Francois exchanged a glance—resentment flashing between them. *She summoned us… then dismisses us without even a bite?*

“The rabbit is dead, the hound is cooked; the birds are gone, the bow is stored,” Augustine muttered, turning sharply to leave.

Francois wiped the smile from his face, murmured “Take care,” and followed—vanishing from Haya’s sight.

“Heh…”

Now she understood Teresa’s silence these past days.

Every move had led precisely here.

“Teresa… you really are someone to look forward to…”