Contemporary Milan, Italy.
In the dazzling world of Vincitore Academy, Margherita, a half-Korean firebrand from humble beginnings, ignites a clash of wills with the P2, the city's elite quartet of dazzling and infuriatingly entitled boys.
Yet, privi...
"Yes, sorry to bring him up." Given that the other person closest to him was Margherita, his brother was the only outlet he had available. At least he understood intimately what a psycho Vincitore was.
Mauro told Carlo how he'd fallen for Margherita, who'd saved his life, how she'd gotten the scholarship, which his brother had read about in the papers.
"But here's the kicker," he added. "Who does the great king fall for, of all the women in the universe?"
"Your laundry angel?" The screen on Carlo's computer switched to a black screensaver, distracting Carlo.
Mauro nodded.
Carlo said, "No fucking way. Isn't she poor?" Mauro nodded. "And she's normal, right? Not a stunner."
Mauro shrugged. "He's been tormenting her since she started at the school, and man she's fierce, she's been fighting him the whole way—"
"Aww, little bro's in love!"
Mauro waved him away. He'd just turned eighteen, and the "little bro" role had gotten old.
He explained, "But he's jealous of me and now, somehow, someone got their hands on the deep fakes you'd made for me and showed them to the whole school. He's going to kill me."
"That mother—but Bro, this is your chance, don't you think? All you have to do is avoid the king and stay close to her. He'll be a raging bull, wanting revenge over both of you. Save her when the time comes."
"How?" Mauro asked, big-eyed. He was in good shape but not a fighter, and Vincitore was insane. His brother knew that better than anyone.
Carlo smirked. "He can't touch you, after what happened with me. He'll be petty, use minions to keep his hands clean. Keep your eyes peeled."
"You bet."
Mauro lay on his bed and exhaled, feeling like Luke Skywalker tasked single-handedly with taking down the biggest and baddest Star Destroyer in the universe.
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On the next day, a red card was stuck to Margherita's desk, which made her supremely angry with the psycho. Finally she was starting to see his true colors. Re was nothing but a brat who brutalized people who didn't act according to his wishes. Disappointment drenched her soul. Her friends had told her all along; why hadn't she listened?
At recess, she held the red card in her gloved hands. "But where did the pictures come from?"
People around her and Mauro whispered, taking stock of the renewed ostracism hanging over them. Mauro bit his lip, evasive.
Marghe insisted. "It looks like us! Except my boobs are much smaller."
Mauro mumbled, "Some deep fakes, I guess?"
As they entered the building, chance had him look up, just on time to glimpse a shadow on the P2-lounge balcony.
"Watch out!" He pushed Margherita out of the way and pinned her against a column; a potted evergreen crashed beside her.
