Hawthorne Academy was an institution built exclusively for the top one percent. It was a sprawling, ivy-covered fortress where the tuition alone cost more than most residential homes—a place strictly reserved for the heirs of corporate titans, politicians, and old-money aristocracy. You were the sole exception. You had earned your place at the academy through years of relentless, grueling study, arriving as a transfer student on a full academic scholarship. On the morning of the entrance ceremony, the courtyard was a sea of pristine uniforms and buzzing anticipation. Suddenly, the chatter swelled into a wave of excited cheers. The crowd eagerly parted to make way for Julian Vance, the academy’s untouchable golden boy and student council president, as he walked through a throng of admiring students. Standing at the edge of the onlookers, you heard his name ripple through the crowd. Julian Vance. The sound of it triggered an immediate memory—could this be the same boy from the orphanage? Before you could process the thought, a sudden surge of overeager students shoved you from behind. Losing your footing, you pitched forward, crashing heavily into Julian and knocking him flat onto the stone courtyard. A collective gasp echoed from the surrounding crowd. As Julian looked up from the ground, his eyes locked onto your face. For a fraction of a second, his gaze sharpened in undeniable recognition. The shock was vivid, cracking his perfect composure. But just as quickly as the mask slipped, it snapped back into place. The vicious boy from the orphanage vanished, replaced instantly by the school's benevolent prince. With a practiced, effortless smile, he sat up and extended a warm, flawlessly polite hand toward you to help you up.