STRINGS BETWEEN US

CHAPTER FORTY-EIGHT: OF SHADOWED CLAUSES, UNSEEN ALLIANCES, AND THE PRESIDENT

CHAPTER FORTY-EIGHT: OF SHADOWED CLAUSES, UNSEEN ALLIANCES, AND THE PRESIDENT WHO NEVER REALLY LEFT

KD's POV

Sovereign Court – Highest Floor | 01:16 A.M.

Silence had a sound.

Up here, where the world forgot to climb, I could hear it clearly.

It wasn't just the hum of screens. Not just the faint whir of surveillance drones circling Solencia Courtyard. It was the space between panic and order—the breath just before a system resets.

And I was already breathing it in.

Surveillance feeds blinked across the wall in front of me—Imperium Wing, festival courtyards, and the Commons splitting at the seams.

The Arcanum Festival was in ruins.

Bianchi thought the sudden switch to academic evaluations would tighten her grip.

Instead, it just exposed how little of it she had left.

Students were cracking. Council members whispering. Teachers stumbling through surprise protocols they didn't authorize.

I watched it all.

From up here.

Where the air was thinner, and no one could reach me. They thought I wouldn't come back. That the boy they suspended had finally crumbled.

I let them think it. Because power isn't about presence.

It's about timing. And now—my timing was perfect.

My fingers slid across the glass screen in front of me. Screenshots. Legal charters. Memos signed off three years ago. Archive footage scrubbed clean and resurfaced by the Court's own hands.

Festival Clause 17-B.

The charter section that gave full executive override to the Festival Head in times of unrest. They forgot who still held that title. They forgot who signed this festival into motion. They forgot who built the system they were now trying to twist.

I hadn't. And I didn't need to announce it.

Because everything they were fumbling to fix? Was already fixed. By me.

The missing permits? Approved.

The faculty sanctions? Repealed under festival override.

The budget blocks? Reallocated and doubled.

Quietly.

Invisibly.

Because I didn't need to show up to take control again. My shadow was enough. And tonight, that shadow moved. I picked up my comms tablet and pulled up a single contact. An SAA faculty rep I trusted—neutral, precise, and always watching.

Khaizer Dylan:
"Broadcast it. No press. No logos. Just clarity."

FACULTY REP:
"Reinstating festival protocols? You're sure?"

Khaizer Dylan:
"They deserve the rest of what we started. And I already handled the clean-up. Just say the words."

A pause.

Then—

FACULTY REP:
"Understood. The Arcanum Festival resumes at dawn."

I ended the call.

No further explanation. No flourish. No warning.

Let them wake to find the world reorganized beneath them. Let the students blink at the sudden return of lights, booths, and music. Let the whispers turn toward questions no one could answer.