STRINGS BETWEEN US

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE: OF RANKINGS, RUINS, AND THE BOY WHO

"No error was made," he said, his voice echoing across the hall. "In fact, I'm the one who authorized her academic integration."

Wait—what?

"Ms. Del Rio was not just a model student at Celestine Ardent Academy," he continued. "She was its face. Valedictorian candidate. Winner of the Solaria Essay Laureate for under-eighteens. Recognized twice by the National Youth Honors Council."

My entire body froze. He was listing everything I buried. Everything I ran from.

"We are honored to have her here at Supreme Allievo Academy."

Gasps echoed again.

Then—just when I thought it couldn't get worse—the screens flickered.

And there it was. A photo of me from Celestine Ardent Academy flashed across every school TV. The hall fell silent. There I was. Oh, right.

Arielle Rylance Del Rio of Celestine Ardent Academy.

The girl with the polished smile and perfect uniform—the pink cardigan, crisp tie, shiny pin—all of it pristine. Basically the poster girl for elite Celestine charm. Soft, straight hair. Glossy headband. Folded arms. Everything trained to look composed.

But let's be honest. That was just the version they wanted. The version that smiled politely, played the part, stayed in line.

Inside? I wasn't just Arielle Rylance Del Rio of Celestine.

I was still the girl who knew how to play the game. I was still the Heart of the Ardent Court. Their Princess.  Sweet on the outside. Sharp where it counted.

Always.

The crowd lost it.

"OH MY GOD, SHE LOOKS SO DIFFERENT THERE!"
"She looked like... an angelic heiress?!"
"She looks like she could buy this school in that photo!"
"Wait—is she secretly feaking rich?!"

My friends weren't much better.

"WHAT THE HECK, Rielle?! That's YOU?!" Jodie screamed, wide-eyed.

"Bro... you look like a Disney princess," Xylia said, practically in a daze.

"I—I—what—my brain is glitching," Mico muttered, suddenly turning into a broken NPC.

"Did we accidentally befriend royalty?!" Errol gasped.

Then came Bianchi's venom, loud enough for half the hall to hear.

"Tch. No wonder she's so arrogant," she scoffed, arms crossed, clearly shaking with rage.
"Turns out she's been faking being low-key all along."

I didn't flinch. I didn't even blink. Why should I? The more she ranted, the more she sounded like a bad soap opera character.

I just stared at her—calm, detached, almost bored. Then I smiled—slow, lazy—as I raised my iced latte.

"Funny," I said lazily, taking a sip. "You say 'faking' like you weren't the one pretending to be queen around here."

Gasps. Again.

Bianchi turned pale. Still tried to recover, even though her rage and fear were obvious.

"You think you've won just because of one ranking?" she spat, voice shaking.

I arched a brow, steady and calm.