The Pyramid Game: In Class 2-5, a secret monthly "Game" ranks students A to F, turning F-ranks into bullying targets and A-ranks into rulers. When transfer student Y/N lands at the bottom, she vows to dismantle the cruel system, no matter the cost.
Summary: In Class 2-5, a secret monthly "Game" ranks students A to F, turning F-ranks into bullying targets and A-ranks into rulers. When transfer student Y/N lands at the bottom, she vows to dismantle the cruel system, no matter the cost.
‼️Please read at your own risk, I am not responsible for the content you choose to consume.
Chapter 8: The Return
Monday Morning. 7:45 AM.
The painkillers made the world feel slightly fuzzy around the edges, but the sharp tug of the tape around your ribs was a constant grounding wire.
Your father had flown out Sunday night. You were alone again. But as you walked toward the secluded building at the edge of campus that housed Class 2-5, you realized you weren't entirely alone. Kate was waiting by the entrance of the building. She didn't say anything, just fell into step beside you, her shoulder brushing yours. Showing her silent support.
You walked into the classroom.
The atmosphere hit you instantly. It wasn't the usual low hum of gossip. It was the frantic, gleeful energy of a pack of dogs that had cornered a rabbit.
You looked at your desk. It was clean. Then you looked at the desk next to yours.
Kamala’s desk was unrecognizable. It was covered in trash, empty juice cartons, crumpled papers, scribbles in permanent marker that spelled out thief and rat. Her chair was missing. Kamala was standing there, head bowed, trying to wipe the marker off with a wet tissue. Her hands were shaking. Someone had thrown a wet paper towel at the back of her blazer. She didn't react. She just kept scrubbing, trying to be invisible.
But she couldn't be invisible. Not anymore. Agatha had marked her. A girl from the C-rank table walked by and "accidentally" bumped into Kamala, hard. Kamala stumbled, hitting her hip against the desk.
"Oops," the girl giggled. "Watch where you're going, Target."
Your hands curled into fists. The anger that flared in your chest was hot and suffocating, but then your father’s voice cut through the noise. Panic is useless. You walked over. The class went quiet, watching the Zero return. You didn't yell. You didn't make a speech. You walked up to the girl who had bumped Kamala. You stood in her personal space, staring her down with dead eyes.
"Move," you said.
The girl blinked, unnerved by the lack of emotion in your voice. She scrambled away. You turned to Kamala. You took the wet tissue from her shaking hand.
"Leave it," you said softly.
"I have to clean it," Kamala whispered, tears leaking out. "If I don't clean it, Nebula will—"
"I said leave it."
You reached out, gently guiding her away from the mess. You looked at Kate. Kate nodded, understanding the assignment immediately. She went to the back of the room, grabbed a spare chair, and slammed it down next to your desk. "Sit," you told Kamala. Kamala sat. The class watched. You had just defied the hierarchy again. But this time, you weren't doing it wildly. You were doing it with cold precision.
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The student council room was a sanctuary of air conditioning and silence. Wanda sat at the mahogany desk, reviewing the budget proposals for the Cultural Festival. The door opened. Agatha walked in. She didn't knock. Agatha was carrying two cups of tea. She placed one on Wanda’s desk and sat on the edge of it, crossing her legs.
Wanda didn't look up from the papers. "I'm busy, Agatha."
"Busy playing nursemaid?" Agatha asked lightly.
Wanda’s pen stopped moving.
"I heard you stayed at the hospital," Agatha continued, blowing on her tea. "Until visiting hours ended. That’s very... dedicated of you. For a Class President." "She’s my classmate," Wanda said, her voice steady. "It’s my job to ensure her wellbeing."
"Is it?" Agatha tilted her head. "Because the report says she was injured at lacrosse practice. Which is fascinating, Wanda, considering Westview hasn't had a lacrosse team since 2018." Wanda’s blood ran cold. She had panicked. She had picked a sport at random. She finally looked up. Agatha was watching her with eyes that missed nothing.
"It was a club sport," Wanda lied smoothly, leaning back in her chair. "Off campus. Why are you so obsessed with her, Agatha? Are you worried the F-rank is becoming a problem?" Agatha laughed. It was a sharp, brittle sound. "I'm not worried about the Zero, Wanda. She's breakable. We saw that." Agatha leaned in, her voice dropping to a whisper. "I'm worried about you."
Agatha reached out, tucking a loose strand of hair behind Wanda’s ear. Wanda flinched, barely suppressing the urge to slap her hand away. "You're softening," Agatha murmured. "And a soft President is a liability. If you can't hold the leash, Wanda... I might have to find someone who can."
Agatha hopped off the desk. "Enjoy the tea."
She walked out. Wanda stared at the door, her heart pounding. It wasn't just a threat. It was a declaration of war.
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The room smelled of dust and overheated electronics. It was the one place in the school with no cameras, Kate had checked. The old AV room.
Kate sat on a stack of old TVs, tossing a tennis ball against the wall. Kamala sat in the corner, knees pulled to her chest, looking exhausted from a day of torment. Wanda stood by the door, arms crossed, keeping watch.
You stood in front of a whiteboard. You had drawn a pyramid. "Agatha is the head," you said, your voice raspy but firm. "We can't touch her. Not yet. She has the teachers, the money, and the votes."
You drew a circle around the layer below Agatha. "We need to cut off her limbs. We need to take out her enforcer."
You wrote a name on the board: NEBULA.
"Nebula does the dirty work," you explained, tapping the marker against the board. "She breaks the F-ranks so Agatha doesn't have to get her hands bloody. She rules through fear. But fear is fragile."
"She's a sadist," Kamala whispered. "She enjoys it."
"She's a bully," Kate corrected, catching the tennis ball. "And bullies hate looking stupid."
"Exactly," you said. You looked at Wanda. "What's Nebula's weakness?"
Wanda pushed off the wall. "She's insecure. She hates being ignored. She attaches herself to Agatha because she thinks it makes her royalty. She wants to be an A-rank, but Agatha keeps her at B-rank to keep her hungry."
"Hungry dogs are easy to trap," you muttered. You capped the marker. "We don't fight her physically. We can't win that. We make her a liability to Agatha. We make her look messy. Unhinged. If she becomes a problem, Agatha will cut her loose to save face."
"How?" Kate asked. You looked at Kamala. "We use the target," you said gently. Kamala looked up, eyes wide. "Me?"
"Nebula wants a reaction," you said. "She wants you to cry. She wants you to beg. Tomorrow, she's going to come for you again. It's Tuesday. Taco day. The cafeteria will be packed."
You stepped closer to Kamala, crouching down so you were eye-level. "I need you to be brave, Kamala. I need you to stand there and let her come at you. But this time... we're going to change the lighting." You looked at Kate. "Can you hack the cafeteria sound system? The one in the private building?"
Kate grinned, a sharp, dangerous smile. "Is the sky blue?"
You looked at Wanda. "I need you to be the Queen. When the moment comes, you don't intervene. You judge." Wanda nodded slowly, understanding the play. "If she looks like a feral animal in front of the whole class... I have grounds to discipline her. I can strip her rank for 'conduct unbecoming.'"
"Exactly," you said. "We don't break her bones. We break her status."
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Tuesday. 12:15 PM.
The Class 2-5 Cafeteria was smaller than the main hall, designed to feel exclusive. It felt like a private country club dining room. There were only thirty seats. The air was hushed. The isolation made it worse. There was no background noise to hide in. Every whisper echoed. You sat at your table in the back corner. Kate was two tables away, looking at her phone, seemingly distracted. Wanda was at the head of the A-rank table, sipping sparkling water, her back straight.
Kamala stood in the center of the room. She held her tray. She was trembling, but she didn't move toward the designated "Target" table near the dish return. She stood there, exposed. It didn't take long.
Nebula stood up from her table. She was laughing with her crew, pointing at Kamala. She picked up her own tray, loaded with salsa and sour cream, and began to walk over. "Hey, Target!" Nebula said, her voice cutting through the small room. "You look lost. Do you need help finding the trash can? It's right next to your seat."
Kamala didn't run. She stood her ground. She looked at you. You gave a microscopic nod. Nebula stepped closer. "What's the matter? Cat got your tongue?" She raised her tray, preparing to dump it all over Kamala. It was the same move she used on you. Predictable.
Now, you thought. Kate tapped her phone screen.
SCREEEEEECH.
A high-pitched feedback noise blasted through the surround-sound speakers of the private cafeteria. Everyone flinched, covering their ears. Nebula jumped, dropping her tray. It clattered to the floor, splashing salsa onto her own expensive shoes. "What the hell?" Nebula shrieked, looking around the small room. Then, the audio shifted. It wasn't music. It was a recording.
It was Nebula’s voice. Crystal clear. Recorded two days ago in the private locker room by a phone Kate had planted in an open gym bag.
"Agatha is such a bitch," the recording boomed over the speakers, bouncing off the walls of the intimate dining hall. The entire room froze. Every fork stopped moving. Twenty-five pairs of eyes went wide.
Nebula’s face drained of color. She looked like she was going to be sick.
"She thinks she owns the place," Nebula's recorded voice continued, dripping with venom and jealousy. "But once I get my A-rank, I’m done licking her boots. She’s pathetic. She relies on me for everything. Without me, she's just a rich girl with a bad attitude." Nebula stood in the center of the room, frozen in horror. She slowly turned her head toward the A-rank table.
Agatha Harkness was sitting ten feet away. Agatha didn't look angry. She slowly lowered her fork. She picked up her napkin and dabbed the corner of her mouth. She looked at Nebula with an expression of pure, unadulterated boredom.
Nebula turned to Kamala, her face twisting into pure, humiliated panic. She needed to deflect. She needed to silence the room. "You!" Nebula screamed, lunging at Kamala. "You did this!"
She raised her fist, ready to strike a helpless student.
"That's enough."
Wanda Maximoff stood up. In the small room, her voice didn't need to be loud to be commanding. It was absolute. "Nebula," Wanda said, walking calmly toward the center of the room. "You're making a mess."
Nebula froze, fist raised. "Wanda, I—it's a fake! It's AI, I swear—"
"You're attacking a student who hasn't touched you," Wanda said coldly. "And the rest... well, the rest speaks for itself, doesn't it?" Wanda stopped in front of Nebula. She looked at the salsa on Nebula’s shoes. Then she looked at Agatha.
Agatha held Wanda's gaze. Then, Agatha gave a slight, indifferent shrug and turned back to her lunch.
The message was clear: She's yours.
"Class 2-5 Rule 4," Wanda recited. "Disrupting the order of the hierarchy is punishable by demotion."
Wanda leaned in, her voice low enough that only Nebula, and the silent room, could hear. "You're not an enforcer anymore, Nebula. You're a liability. Get out of my cafeteria."
Nebula looked around. She saw the students snickering. She saw Agatha eating a salad, ignoring her existence. She saw Kamala, unharmed and standing tall. Nebula let out a strangled cry of rage and stormed out of the private double doors. You sat at the back table, watching the doors swing shut. Your ribs ached, but you picked up your fork and took a bite of your food.
One limb cut off.
Three to go.
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Author's Note: Well guess who's back? I ran into a problem and I wasn't able to focus on writing much but well! I'm back! So, I hope you all didn't miss me too much. I also just realized how ironic the title is since I did return after a few weeks but! I'm also not sure if I ever finish this (I hope I do) because I started writing this after watching it with a person I liked (which I now have cut off because of how problematic they actually are) and it reminds me too much of them :/
Okay girl your fic just popped up in my tags and i just binge read every part. I forgot meanwhile its 6 part so far and i literally screamed when i saw there is no 7th part yet😭😭 safe to say one of my favorite series so far out of every story i have ever read. LOVE YOUU❤️❤️❤️
Thank you so much! I'm glad you love the series! I'm just polishing and adding some scenes for chapter 8 and I should be able to post in a few days? (Hopefully soon)
I genuinely LOVEE the little moments of softness between wanda and reader but also love the banters they have cause they have that slight feisty-ness to it! so since I'm not sure how you take in requests, perhaps you'd make some changes or what not - I think maybe a situation where it starts of with a banter and maybe wanda says something slightly more harsh than usual and she feels bad. andddd yk in some instances when those cold-personality characters feel bad and they do very very subtle acts of kindness or something? idk if that made sense but that's somewhat the idea I have conjured in my brain LOL
hope you know what i meant if not u can pretend you neverrrr saw this HAHAHAHAHAH. Happy new year!! 🫰🏻🫰🏻🫰🏻
love,
AL
I love the idea! And I totally see your vision! Since no one else commented and gave an ask, I'll automatically put yours into motion! I'll start writing it as soon as I can! :)
Summary: In Class 2-5, a secret monthly "Game" ranks students A to F, turning F-ranks into bullying targets and A-ranks into rulers. When transfer student Y/N lands at the bottom, she vows to dismantle the cruel system, no matter the cost.
‼️Please read at your own risk, I am not responsible for the content you choose to consume.
Chapter 7: The Debrief
Beep. Beep. Beep.
The sound was rhythmic, artificial, and annoying.
The smell hit you next. Gone was the scent of floor wax, lemon oil, and expensive perfume that permeated Westview Academy. In its place was the sharp, stinging odor of rubbing alcohol, latex, and sterilized steel.
You opened your eyes.
The ceiling was white. A generic, drop-tile ceiling with a fluorescent light humming softly. You weren't in the dorms. You weren't in the cafeteria.
You tried to sit up.
A heavy, suffocating pressure slammed into your chest. It felt like a belt was tightened around your ribs, restricting your breath to shallow sips of air. You looked down. You were in a hospital gown. Your left side was heavily bandaged, and an IV line ran from your hand to a bag of clear fluid hanging above you.
You were safe. The realization should have been comforting. Instead, it made your skin crawl. In the school, you were on your feet. You were mobile. Here, you were strapped down, drugged, and horizontal.
You were a sitting duck.
You closed your eyes, and the drugs pulled you down into the dark.
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Eight Years Ago
Rain.
It was always raining in your memories of him. The mud was thick, sucking at your small boots as you tried to navigate the obstacle course he had built in the backyard of on-base housing.
You were ten years old.
You scrambled up the wet wooden wall, your fingers slipping. You crested the top, breathless, triumphant, but on the way down, your boot caught on a protruding nail.
You fell.
It wasn't a graceful fall. You hit the mud hard, your knee slamming into a rock. The skin split. Blood mixed with the dirt, dark and hot.
You curled into a ball, clutching your knee, tears stinging your eyes. It hurt. It hurt so much.
You waited for him to run over. To check on you. To pick you up.
He didn't.
Your father was standing ten feet away, holding a thermos of coffee. He took a slow sip, watching you cry with a calm, detached expression.
"You done?" he asked. His voice wasn't angry. It was just bored.
You sniffled, looking up at him through the rain. "It's bleeding. I can't walk."
He walked over, his boots squelching in the mud. He crouched down, but he didn't offer a hand. He just looked at the knee.
"It's a cut, Y/N. It's not a landmine. You still have the leg."
He stood up and checked his watch.
"If you can cry that loud, you have enough air to stand up. Panic is useless. It wastes energy."
He turned his back to you and started walking toward the house.
"Dinner's in ten. If you're not inside by then, I'm eating your portion."
You stared at his retreating back. He wasn't going to save you. If you wanted dinner, you had to get up. You gritted your teeth, wiped the mud from your face, and forced yourself to stand.
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Westview General Hospital. Waiting Room.
Wanda Maximoff was not used to being intimidated.
She was the queen of class 2-5. She held the secrets of daughters of senators and CEOs. She could end a social life with a whisper.
But sitting in the plastic chair of the hospital waiting room, Wanda felt like a child.
The automatic doors slid open. The atmosphere in the room shifted instantly.
A man walked in. He wasn't wearing a suit like the other fathers who visited Westview. He was wearing MultiCam fatigues, dust on his boots, and he looked like he hadn't slept in thirty hours. He carried a battered duffel bag over one shoulder.
He didn't look frantic. He didn't look worried. He looked like he was running an errand he didn't want to do.
He walked over to the reception desk, showed an ID, and then turned. His eyes landed on Wanda.
He walked over. He moved with a heavy, deliberate gait.
"You the one who called?" he asked. His voice was gravel, low and unbothered.
Wanda stood up. She smoothed her blazer, trying to summon her usual composure. "Colonel Y/L/N. I'm Wanda Maximoff. I'm the Class President. I came with the ambulance."
He looked at her. He didn't seem impressed by the title. He just nodded, like he was checking a box.
"Right," he said. "Where is she?"
"She's in Room 304," Wanda said, her voice shaking just a fraction. "The doctor said it's a displaced fracture of the seventh rib. They were worried about a punctured lung, but she's stable now."
The Colonel didn't flinch. He didn't gasp. He just rubbed the back of his neck and sighed.
"Of course it's a rib," he muttered, more to himself than to her. "Kid never knows when to duck."
He looked at Wanda. He wasn't physically threatening her, but the sheer weight of his indifference was terrifying.
"So," he said, shifting his weight. "Give me the short version. How'd she do it? Fall off a roof? Fight?"
Wanda’s heart hammered against her ribs.
This was it. If she told the truth, that Nebula kicked you while she was covered in grape juice, the Colonel wouldn't sue. He wouldn't yell. He would just take you out of school. He would view Westview as a waste of time and money.
Wanda remembered what you had said at the locker. If I hide, she wins.
"It was... a sports accident," Wanda lied. The words tasted like ash. "During lacrosse practice. She took a hit. She didn't want to stop playing, so she didn't tell anyone until she collapsed."
The Colonel stared at Wanda for a long moment. His eyes were grey and unreadable. He wasn't looking for a lie, he was just assessing if the story made sense.
"Stubborn," he said finally. He almost sounded amused. "She thinks pain is a suggestion. I'll talk to her."
He adjusted his bag. "You can go home, kid. I got it from here."
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Room 304.
You were staring at the IV drip when the door handle turned. You didn't flinch. You knew exactly who was on the other side by the weight of the footsteps.
The door opened.
Your father walked in. He tossed his duffel bag onto the visitor's chair and stood at the foot of your bed. He didn't look worried. He looked like he was inspecting a vehicle that had blown a tire.
"Comfortable?" he asked dryly.
You cleared your throat, fighting the rasp. "Adequate."
He smirked, but it didn't reach his eyes. He picked up the medical chart hanging at the end of the bed, flipping through it with practiced efficiency.
He slapped the chart back into place and looked at you. His grey eyes were piercing.
"The Class President says lacrosse," he stated.
Your heart skipped a beat, but your face remained a mask. You knew the drill. Admit nothing. Deny everything. Make counter-accusations. Or, in this case, maintain the cover story.
"Defender checked me high," you said evenly. "Stick caught the side."
"And then you kept playing," he added, crossing his arms. "For two hours."
"Match wasn't over," you replied. It was the only answer he would respect.
He studied you for a long, agonizing minute. He was looking for the crack in the armor. He was looking for the little girl crying in the mud. But you weren't ten years old anymore.
He seemed to accept your answer.
"Well," he sighed, rubbing his face with a calloused hand. "Bone heals stronger. The doctor says you're grounded for a week. No exertion."
He leaned forward, resting his hands on the footboard of the bed.
"I can pull the papers, Y/N. Transfer you to Ramstein or Toronto."
It was an offer. But it was also a test. If you said yes, you were admitting defeat. You were admitting you couldn't hack the mission.
"I'm fine," you said, meeting his gaze. "It's handled. I want to finish the semester."
He nodded slowly. He tapped the bed frame twice, a dismissal.
"Right. I need coffee. Stay put."
He turned and walked out, closing the door with a soft click. He hadn't hugged you. He hadn't said he was scared. But he hadn't pulled you out.
You let out a breath you didn't know you were holding.
---------
The Colonel stepped out into the hallway, adjusting his collar. He stopped.
Wanda was still there. She hadn't gone home.
But she wasn't alone anymore.
Kate Bishop was leaning against the wall, backpack slung over one shoulder, looking impatient. Kamala Khan was standing next to her, looking nervous but holding her ground. As soon as the door opened, all three of them straightened up.
The Colonel looked at Wanda. Then he looked at Kate and Kamala.
"Friends?" he asked, tilting his head toward the door he just exited.
"Yes," Kate said quickly, stepping forward. "I'm Kate. This is Kamala. We're... we're close with Y/N."
Wanda nodded, confirming it silently.
The Colonel looked them over. He looked at Kamala, nervous, soft-hearted, loyal. He looked at Kate, alert, athletic, staring him down. He looked at Wanda, composed, political, but clearly stressed.
"Huh," the Colonel grunted, scratching his jaw. "She actually made friends. That's new."
Kate frowned, bristling slightly at the tone. She stepped forward, protective instinct kicking in. She didn't like the way he said it, like you were some kind of anti-social robot who wasn't capable of connecting with people.
"With all due respect, sir," Kate said, hooking her thumbs into her backpack straps, "why is that surprising? She's great. Of course she has friends."
The Colonel paused. He looked at Kate, his expression unreadable for a moment. Then, the corner of his mouth twitched upwards, barely visible.
"Right," he drawled. "Keep the noise down. I'm going to find coffee."
He walked past the trio toward the cafeteria, looking completely unbothered.
Kate let out a breath and turned to Wanda. "Okay," she whispered, "he is intense. But kinda cool. I'm gonna go find some food. You coming?"
"I'll catch up," Wanda said, her eyes fixed on the door to Room 304.
----------
The morphine had taken the edge off, but the ache was still there.
The door opened. You tensed.
It was Wanda.
She slipped inside and closed the door quietly behind her. She looked exhausted. Her perfect hair was slightly frizzy, and she had chewed off her red nail polish on her thumb.
She walked to the side of the bed. She didn't sit. She just looked down at you.
"Your father is getting coffee," Wanda said softly.
You closed your eyes, letting out a long breath. "Yeah, I know."
She paused. The room was silent except for the rhythmic beep of the monitor.
"I lied to him," Wanda admitted. Her voice was tight, barely above a whisper. "I told him it was a lacrosse accident. I told him you kept playing because you were stubborn. He believed it."
You opened your eyes. You looked at Wanda. "Thank you."
"Don't thank me," Wanda snapped, her voice trembling with sudden emotion. She gripped the railing of the bed, her knuckles turning white. "Why didn't you tell him, Y/N? He looks like he could dismantle this school brick by brick without breaking a sweat. You could go home. You could get out of this."
Wanda leaned in, her eyes searching yours, desperate for an answer that made sense.
"Why are you protecting the place that did this to you?"
You stared up at her. You thought about your father’s back as he walked away in the rain. You thought about the endless cycle of moving schools, starting over, being nothing but a ghost in someone else's life.
"If I tell him," you whispered, your voice raspy, "he pulls me out. He packs my bags, puts me on a plane, and I disappear. He won't fight for me, Wanda. He'll just move me to a new school. That's what he does."
You turned your head on the pillow, wincing slightly as the movement pulled at your ribs.
"And if I leave, Agatha wins. She gets to tell everyone that I was weak. That I was just another Zero who broke."
You reached out, your hand trembling slightly. You found Wanda’s hand on the bed rail and covered it with yours. Her skin was cold, but she turned her hand over immediately, interlacing her fingers with yours.
"I'm tired of running, Wanda," you said softly, looking her dead in the eye. "I'm tired of being invisible. And for the first time... I think I actually have a reason to stay."
Wanda’s breath hitched. She looked at your joined hands, then back up at your face. The anger in her eyes melted away, leaving something raw and terrified in its place.
"You're an idiot," Wanda whispered, but there was no bite in it.
She sat down gently on the edge of the mattress. She reached out with her free hand, her fingertips grazing your cheekbone, careful to avoid the bruising. Her touch was feather-light, a stark contrast to the violence of the last few days.
"You're burning up again," she murmured, her thumb brushing over your lower lip.
"I'm fine," you lied.
"Liar," Wanda breathed.
She didn't pull away. In fact, she leaned closer. The air in the room seemed to thicken, heavy with the scent of antiseptic and Wanda’s floral perfume. Her gaze dropped to your lips, then flickered back up to your eyes, asking a silent question.
Your heart monitor picked up speed. Beep-beep-beep.
Wanda noticed. A small, ghost of a smile touched her lips. She leaned down, her hair creating a curtain that shut out the rest of the world. Her face was inches from yours. You could feel the warmth of her breath.
You tilted your chin up, ignoring the pain in your ribs, closing the distance—
BAM.
The door flew open, hitting the wall with a loud crack.
"OKAY, BAD NEWS," Kate's voice boomed through the room.
Wanda jerked back as if she’d been burned, scrambling off the bed and smoothing her blazer in one frantic motion. You groaned, letting your head thump back onto the pillow, squeezing your eyes shut.
Kate marched in, holding two vending machine coffees, completely oblivious. Kamala followed her, looking mortified and clutching a bag of chips.
"The coffee machine is broken," Kate announced, kicking the door shut with her foot. "So I got us the hot chocolate that tastes like water, and Kamala found—"
Kate stopped.
She looked at you, face flushed and annoyed. She looked at Wanda, who was standing by the window, aggressively examining a blind slat with a bright red face.
Kate looked back at you. A slow, mischievous grin spread across her face.
"Oh," Kate drawled, her eyes sparkling. "Did we interrupt the... debriefing?"
"Shut up, Bishop," you and Wanda said in perfect unison.
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Author's Note: Have you guys noticed I may or may not be using the same gifs of Wanda? Cause I'm too lazy to find others lol, anyway, I'm a person who keeps promises! I hope you all enjoyed it!
Summary: In Class 2-5, a secret monthly "Game" ranks students A to F, turning F-ranks into bullying targets and A-ranks into rulers. When transfer student Y/N lands at the bottom, she vows to dismantle the cruel system, no matter the cost.
‼️Please read at your own risk, I am not responsible for the content you choose to consume.
Chapter 6: The Trial
Thursday. 12:05 PM.
Two days had passed since the incident with the grape juice. Two days of silence.
The pain in your side had evolved. It was no longer a sharp stab, it was a heavy, rotting ache that radiated from your ribcage into your spine. You were running a high fever. You knew it, and judging by the way she had been watching you all morning, Wanda knew it too.
You were at your locker, trying to switch your textbooks for the afternoon classes. Your fingers were clumsy and numb. You fumbled the heavy history textbook, and it slipped.
Thud.
You stared at it lying on the linoleum. Bending down to pick it up felt like an impossible task.
A hand with red-painted nails reached down and snatched the book from the floor.
You looked up. Wanda stood there. The hallway was crowded with girls moving between classes, but she was standing close enough that her blazer brushed against your arm. She didn't hand the book back immediately. She held it against her chest, her eyes scanning your face with a mixture of frustration and hidden desperation.
"You're burning up," Wanda murmured, her voice barely audible over the chatter. "I can feel the heat coming off you just standing here."
"I'm managing," you rasped, reaching for the book.
Wanda didn't let go. "You're not managing. You're dying on your feet."
She stepped closer, pretending to check the combination on your locker door to hide the intimacy of the conversation.
"Agatha is bored, Y/N. She’s been quiet for forty-eight hours. That means she's planning something loud. Do not give her a reason to look at you today."
Her eyes locked onto yours, intense and pleading.
"Go to the nurse. Skip lunch. Just... disappear for an hour. Please."
For a second, the mask was gone. She wasn't the just class president, she was just a girl terrified of watching you break.
"I can't," you whispered, finally pulling the book from her grip. "If I hide, she wins."
Wanda’s jaw tightened. She looked like she wanted to grab you and drag you out of the school herself. Instead, she smoothed her skirt and stepped back, her expression hardening.
"Then don't say I didn't warn you."
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The cafeteria was the heart of the beast. It was where the hierarchy was most visible. The A-ranks sat at the long table near the windows, bathed in sunlight. The F-ranks sat near the trash cans in the shadows.
You sat with Kamala. You didn't eat. You just focused on breathing: In (pain), Out (pain).
Kamala was trying to distract you with a story, but her eyes kept darting to your flushed face and untouched tray.
Then, the sound changed.
Agatha stood up at the center table. She didn't tap a glass this time. She simply stood, and the gravitational pull of the room shifted. Silence rippled outward from her like a wave until the entire cafeteria was dead quiet.
"Inventory," Agatha said. Her voice was light, conversational, but it carried to every corner of the room. "It’s such a boring word. But necessary."
She began to walk. The sea of girls parted for her.
At the A-rank table, Wanda sat rigidly. She stared at her water glass, her knuckles white as she gripped the stem. She knew what was coming. She had tried to warn you.
Agatha stopped at your table. But she didn't look at you.
She turned to Kamala.
"Kamala Khan," Agatha smiled. It was a terrifying expression. "Stand up, please."
Kamala froze. She looked at you, panic flooding her eyes, then slowly pushed her chair back and stood up. She was trembling.
"We checked the logs for the vending machines in the faculty lounge," Agatha announced to the room. "Two cans of orange soda. Stolen. Tuesday afternoon."
Agatha circled Kamala like a shark.
"Now, we all know Y/N here is an F-rank," Agatha gestured to you without looking at you. "We expect bad behavior from the bottom. But you, Kamala? You’re an F-rank too. You have one job here: Be invisible."
Agatha leaned down, her voice dropping to a dangerous whisper that everyone strained to hear.
"You exist here because we let you exist. You keep your head down, you survive. But stealing? Stealing draws attention."
"I..." Kamala stammered. Tears welled in her eyes. "I didn't..."
"Don't lie to me," Agatha snapped. The playfulness vanished. "You broke the silence, dear. And you know what happens to F-ranks who make noise?"
Agatha reached out, grabbing the terrified girl's tie.
"You lose your neutrality. Designation: Permanent Target. Effective immediately. That means anyone can touch you, anytime, without penalty."
Something inside you snapped.
The fever, the pain, the fear, it all boiled down into a singular, blinding point of rage. Kamala had saved you on that roof. She was the only innocent thing in this entire hellhole.
"Let her go."
The voice was low, shaky, but audible.
Agatha paused. She turned her head slowly to look at you. "Excuse me?"
You gripped the edge of the table. You pushed yourself up. The pain in your ribs was a scream, a white-hot knife twisting in your torso. You gasped, vision swimming, but you stood.
"I said," you gritted out, locking eyes with Agatha, "let her go."
"Y/N..." Kamala whispered, terrified.
"She didn't steal them," you lied, your voice gaining volume. You stepped out from behind the table, putting yourself physically between Kamala and Agatha. "I did. I took them. She had nothing to do with it."
Agatha raised an eyebrow. "You're confessing? You're already a target, Zero. We can't demote you further. But we can hurt you."
"I don't care," you spat.
Agatha scoffed. "You're delirious. Sit down before you embarrass yourself."
"No."
You took a step forward. You didn't look at Agatha. You looked past her. You scanned the faces of your classmates, the A-ranks by the window, the trembling F-ranks, the silent majority in the middle.
"Look at you," you said. Your voice wasn't loud, but it was steady, cutting through the silence like a razor. "Twenty-five of you. And you're all holding your breath."
You gestured to the specific cluster of Class 2-5 tables, your eyes fever-bright.
"You think following her rules makes you safe? You think if you laugh when she laughs, you won't be next? You're wrong."
You turned to look directly at a B-rank girl who had tripped you yesterday. She looked away, staring down at her lap, unable to meet your gaze.
"You're not students. You're livestock. And you're just grateful it's not your turn to be the butcher's meat today."
"That's enough," Agatha warned, her smile dropping. "You're making a scene."
"I don't care about the scene!" you shouted, the force of it nearly buckling your knees. You spun on Agatha, pointing a shaking finger at her chest.
"I care about us. You want to know why this class listens to you, Agatha? It's not respect. It's not loyalty. It's because you've convinced twenty-five girls that the only way to survive is to eat each other."
You stepped into her personal space. You were sweating, pale as a ghost, swaying on your feet, but for a moment, you looked like the only real person in the room.
"You're not a Queen," you hissed. "You're a parasite. You feed on their fear because without it? You’re absolutely nothing."
The silence at the Class 2-5 table was suffocating. You had stripped the game naked.
"Beautiful speech," Agatha whispered, her eyes cold as ice. "But you're about to fall over."
The adrenaline crashed.
The pain returned with the force of a collision. Your breath hitched. The room tilted violently to the left. The grey floor rushed up to meet you.
"Oh," you whispered.
Your knees gave out. You fell forward into the void.
----------
Wanda saw it happen before anyone else.
She had been watching you the entire time, her heart hammering a frantic rhythm against her ribs. She saw the minute the adrenaline ran out. She saw the color drain from your face, saw the glazing of your eyes, the slight buckle of your knees.
You're going down.
Wanda didn't think. She didn't calculate the politics. She didn't worry about Agatha or the Game or the facade she had spent years building.
She moved.
She was out of her chair and sprinting across the cafeteria floor before anyone else had even registered what was happening.
You tipped forward.
Wanda lunged.
She slid on her knees, disregarding the sting of the hard linoleum against her skin, her arms shooting out. She caught you mere inches from the ground. The dead weight of you jarred Wanda’s shoulders, but she didn't let go. She pulled you onto her lap instantly, cradling your head.
The heat was the first thing that hit her.
You were burning up. Your skin was scorching through your blouse, soaked in cold sweat. Your breathing was a ragged, shallow rattle that terrified Wanda more than any threat Agatha had ever made.
"I've got you," Wanda gasped, her hands shaking as she brushed the damp hair off your forehead. "I've got you, hey, stay with me."
Your head lolled back against Wanda’s shoulder, eyes rolling up, unconscious.
"Wanda?"
Agatha’s voice came from above. It was sharp, confused, and laced with suspicion. "What do you think you're doing?"
The question triggered something primal in Wanda. A dark, suffocating rage that clawed its way up her throat.
Wanda shifted her grip, pulling you tighter against her chest, curling her body around you to shield you from the prying, predatory eyes of class 2-5.
She looked up.
Wanda locked eyes with Agatha. For the first time, she didn't look like the perfect class president. She looked lethal. Her eyes were dark, ferocious, and promising absolute violence if Agatha took one more step.
"Back off," Wanda snarled.
The voice didn't sound like her own. It was a low, guttural command that seemed to suck the air out of the room.
Agatha actually took a step back, her eyes widening in genuine surprise. She had never seen Wanda break character. She had never seen this kind of protective ferocity.
Wanda looked around at the twenty-five girls staring at them, the livestock, the cowards.
"Don't just stare!" Wanda screamed at them, her voice breaking with panic. "Someone call the damn nurse!"
The scream hung in the air, echoing off the high ceiling. No one moved. The fear of Agatha still outweighed the fear of death.
Agatha straightened her blazer. She looked at the unconscious girl in Wanda's arms, then at the way Wanda was looking at her, like she was ready to tear Agatha apart with her bare hands. Agatha was a strategist, she knew a losing battle when she saw one. If she stopped them now, she would look like a monster in front of the entire student body, not just their class.
Agatha let out a sharp, dismissive breath.
"Well?" Agatha said, her voice dripping with false benevolence as she waved a hand at the door. "You heard her. Get the trash to the infirmary before she infects the rest of us."
It was permission, wrapped in an insult.
Movement to Wanda's left.
Kate Bishop was there. She didn't look at Agatha. She dropped to her knees beside Wanda, her face pale but determined.
"I've got her legs," Kate offered, reaching out.
"No," Wanda snapped, her voice rough. She wasn't sharing. Not now.
Wanda shifted. She slid one arm under your knees and the other firmly around your back. With a grunt of effort fueled by pure adrenaline, Wanda stood up, lifting you effortlessly into her arms, bridal style.
You were terrifyingly light. You felt fragile, you look fragile, like a bird with hollow bones, your head resting limply against the crook of Wanda’s neck. The dead weight should have been heavy, but Wanda held you high and tight against her chest, as if defying gravity itself.
Movement to Wanda's right.
Kamala was trembling. Tears were streaming down her face, and her hands were shaking violently. Agatha had just branded her a Target. Every instinct she had was screaming at her to sit down and be invisible.
But Kamala looked at you, broken and unconscious in Wanda’s arms.
Kamala shoved her chair back. It made a loud screech against the floor. She scrambled over, ignoring Agatha’s glare, and grabbed your school bag from the floor.
"I... I'm coming," Kamala sobbed, wiping her eyes with her sleeve. "I'm helping."
Wanda nodded once to Kate and Kamala.
"Move," Wanda ordered the crowd.
The girls parted instantly, clearing a wide path to the double doors.
Wanda walked with purpose. She didn't look back at Agatha. She didn't look back at the stunned class. She walked with you cradled securely in her arms, flanked by Kate clearing the path and Kamala guarding their rear.
They pushed through the double doors, leaving the suffocating noise of the cafeteria behind.
The hallway was cool and empty. The silence rushed back in.
"She's burning up, Wanda," Kate whispered as they hurried toward the nurse's office, the strain showing in her voice.
"I know," Wanda breathed, holding you tighter, feeling the erratic heat of the your heart beating against her own. She looked down at your pale, unconscious face, at the dark circles under your eyes, at the defiance that had finally broken your body.
I know, Wanda thought, the panic finally settling into a cold, hard resolve. And I am going to burn this whole school down for it.
----------
Author's Note: Hey Everyone! Sorry it's been a while, I was spending time with family and didn't bring my laptop with me so I wasn't able to post, BUT! I did manage to finish writing a few chapters during vacation so now that I'm home, I'll keep my promise and post chapter 7 tomorrow! Enjoy!
hiiii i recently read your series and i just gotta say its amazzingggggg! i was going to write you like last week but i had exams lol ANYWAY, love your writing and thanks for lowk reviving this fandom cuz a lot and I mean A LOT of the super talented wanda writers left :( so to have you sprout out of nowhere and pull out one of the most scrumptious wanda fics ....gotta thank u for that girl <3 cant wait for the next chapter and i lowk check this app once a day just to see if u drop any new ones hehe (this is me subtly hinting to you to unleash those chapters )
love,
AL
Omg thank you so much! I hope your exams went well! I know I haven't updated in a while since I've been busy with family BUT do expect the next few chapters in early to mid January, I will post the next 2 chapters consecutively as an apology and as a happy new year to everyone!!
Also, I genuinely did not expect for my series to still get likes after a while of not posting SO I shall make a bonus scene/chapter of your choice! The most liked comment will be the one I will write (It can be anything, really! haha will I regret this?)
To those who celebrate, Merry Christmas and Happy New Year!!
Recently read the pyramid game by you. Again, I have to say I'm completely loving it. But I'm NGL when I first read it, I got reminded of kakegurui. Not sure if you've seen it? I first heard of it via the TV series Bet on Netflix. They have a smiliar theme I think, but with games. So basically they compete in games and the more they win the higher their rank. It's all very interesting and high stakes! Just wanted to drop that as a recommendation! I'm thinking of watching the Pyramid Game myself but I'm not sure how similiar your fics are to the actual show, so I may hold that off until you've completed this series. :)
Lots of love,
Butter
Hey!! I've definitely seen your name around my notifications! I'm glad you love it! And thank you so much for the recommendation, I've been thinking about what to write next when I finish the series, so thank you for the idea!!
I've also seen that show but not the anime one tho! So if I ever do write about kakegurui I might base it on the netflix version.
You should definitely watch the pyramid game! It's so good, I usually can't focus on movies let alone a series but I actually managed to finish this! The main character isn't as badass as I wrote the reader but she is pretty smart!
Summary: In Class 2-5, a secret monthly "Game" ranks students A to F, turning F-ranks into bullying targets and A-ranks into rulers. When transfer student Y/N lands at the bottom, she vows to dismantle the cruel system, no matter the cost.
‼️Please read at your own risk, I am not responsible for the content you choose to consume.
Chapter 5: The Stray
7:30 AM.
It was early. The air was cold, smelling of floor wax and silence.
You walked into Class 2-5, your footsteps echoing slightly on the tile. Every step sent a jolt of fire up your left side, a sharp reminder of the cracked rib from yesterday. You were moving stiffly, holding your breath to minimize the movement of your chest.
You expected the room to be empty. It wasn't.
Wanda was standing at the teacher’s podium. She was arranging papers, but her hands froze the moment you stepped through the door. She looked up, her eyes wide, stripping away her usual icy composure for a heartbeat.
"I told you to take a sick day," Wanda said. Her voice wasn't the command of a Class President, it was low, almost incredulous.
"And I told you I'd be here," you replied, walking slowly to your desk. "Indoor shoes on."
You sat down carefully, wincing as your ribcage settled against the back of the chair. You closed your eyes for a second, fighting the wave of nausea that came with the pain.
The sound of heels clicking against the floor made you open them.
Wanda was standing in front of your desk. She wasn't looking at you with disdain. She was looking at the way you were holding your side.
She reached into her blazer pocket and pulled out a blister pack of strong painkillers and a sealed bottle of water on her other hand. She set them on your desk with a sharp clack.
"Take them," she ordered.
You looked at the pills. "I don't need your charity, Wanda."
"It's not charity," she snapped, leaning down. "It's damage control. You're pale. You're sweating. If you pass out in my classroom, Agatha will ask questions I don't want to answer."
"I'm fine," you lied, pushing the pills back toward her.
Wanda didn't back down. She caught your wrist. Her grip was firm, but her thumb brushed over your pulse point, feeling the frantic rhythm of your heart. The contact sent a shiver through you that had nothing to do with the cold room.
She stepped into your personal space, her knees brushing against yours. She trapped you between her body and the chair. The scent of her filled your senses.
"Stop fighting me," Wanda whispered. Her voice dropped to a register that felt dangerously intimate. "For once in your life, Y/N, just stop fighting."
She popped a pill out of the foil and held it to your lips.
You stared at her. Her eyes were dark, searching, pleading with you to let her take care of you, just this once. The tension in the room thickened, heavy and electric.
You parted your lips.
Wanda placed the pill on your tongue. Her fingers lingered against your lower lip for a fraction of a second longer than necessary. Her gaze dropped to your mouth, her pupils dilating.
She opened the water bottle and held it for you. You drank, swallowing the pill, never breaking eye contact.
"Good girl," Wanda murmured.
She pulled back, the mask slamming back into place. She smoothed her skirt, turned on her heel, and walked back to the podium without looking back.
You sat there, stunned. Your face felt hot, a flush spreading across your cheeks that had nothing to do with the fever from your injury. You pressed your hand against the spot on your wrist where her thumb had rested, your heart hammering against your ribs, a different kind of ache now. You felt dizzy, not from pain, but from the sudden, overwhelming proximity.
Get it together, you told yourself. But the scent of her perfume lingered in your lungs.
Ten minutes later, the silence was broken.
The rest of the class began to filter in. The usual morning chatter filled the room, gossip about weekend parties, complaints about homework.
Then, Nebula walked in.
She was laughing with her crew, loud and confident, until she turned the corner and saw you sitting at your desk. She stopped dead. Her laughter cut off instantly.
She stared at you like you were a cockroach that had survived a nuclear blast. She had cracked your rib less than twenty-four hours ago, she expected an empty seat.
"You're kidding me," Nebula scoffed, walking over to your row. She slammed her bag onto her own desk, glaring at you. "Look who decided to show up. You’re a glutton for punishment, aren't you, Zero?"
"Ignore her," one of her lackeys whispered, giggling. "She probably can't afford to miss a day. Scholarship kids, you know?"
"Pathological," Nebula muttered, shaking her head with a look of pure disgust. "I guess I didn't hit you hard enough."
Agatha Harkness breezed in a moment later. She glanced at you, raised a perfectly manicured eyebrow in surprise, and then smirked. To her, your presence was just amusing. To Nebula, it was an insult.
----------
The morning classes were a lesson in endurance. You sat at your desk, burning under Nebula's glare and the lingering memory of Wanda's touch.
10:00 AM.
SHREEEEEEK.
The digital whistle blasted through the classroom speakers. The teacher gathered her things and left.
"Playtime," Agatha announced from the back row.
Fifteen minutes. That was the allotted break time. To anyone else, it was a blink of an eye. A quick bathroom run. A scroll through TikTok. But in Class 2-5, for an F-rank, fifteen minutes was a psychological torture chamber.
You checked the clock on the wall. The second hand ticked with agonizing slowness. Tick. Tick. Tick.
You froze in your seat, making yourself as small as possible. You looked to your left. Kamala was there. She was slumped over her desk, head buried in her arms, pretending to sleep.
She was safe. Nobody was looking at her. Kamala was an F-rank too. She was "baggage" just like you. But Kamala accepted it. She made herself invisible. She didn't fight back, so she wasn't fun to break.
You were different. You stared back. You showed up with broken ribs. And that made them hate you more.
"Since you're so eager to be here, let's make sure you're refreshed."
A heavy hand slammed onto your desk. Nebula.
She stood over you, blocking the light. The annoyance from earlier had hardened into malice. She reached behind her back and produced a 2-liter bottle of dark purple grape juice. It was condensation-heavy, ice cold.
"You look thirsty," Nebula said, swirling the bottle. The purple liquid sloshed against the plastic. "All that running around… you must be parched."
At the front of the room, Wanda sat perfectly still.
She was staring at her textbook, but she wasn't reading. She could hear Nebula’s voice. She could feel the shift in the room's atmosphere, the predatory excitement of the class.
Don't look, Wanda told herself, her grip tightening on her pen until her knuckles turned white. If you look, you make it real. If you intervene, you join her.
Wanda justified it to herself. She had given you the medicine. She had done her part. She couldn't save you from the hierarchy itself. But hearing your ragged breathing from the back of the room made her stomach turn.
"Don't," you warned, your voice trembling.
"Don't what?" Nebula asked, feigning innocence. "I'm just sharing."
She tilted the bottle.
The freezing liquid didn't just splash, it poured. It was a relentless, icy cascade. It hit the top of your head, shocking your system. It ran down your face, blinding you, stinging your eyes. It soaked into your hair, ran down your neck, and seeped into the collar of your white uniform blouse.
It was freezing. You gasped, the cold making your muscles spasm. Your broken rib screamed in protest as your body jerked instinctively away from the cold.
You tried to stand up, to escape the deluge, but Nebula kicked the leg of your chair hard.
CRACK.
Your body jolted. A blinding flash of white pain exploded in your side. You cried out, a raw, broken sound, and doubled over, clutching your torso.
Nebula laughed. It wasn't just her. The class laughed. The sound echoed around the room, distorting in your ears.
10:05 AM. Only five minutes had passed? It felt like hours. You were drowning in purple juice and humiliation. You looked at Kamala again through the sticky strands of your hair. She had lifted her head slightly, her eyes wide with horror, but she didn't move. She couldn't.
Nebula kept pouring until the bottle was empty. The juice soaked your blazer, your skirt, pooling in your lap, dripping onto the floor with a rhythmic splat, splat, splat.
Wanda closed her eyes at the front of the room. She heard your cry of pain. It cut through her composure like a knife. She wanted to scream at them to stop. She wanted to turn around and blast Nebula into the wall. If only she had superpowers.
But she didn't. She turned the page of her book. Snap. The sound was loud in the sudden silence that followed the pouring.
Nebula crushed the empty plastic bottle and dropped it onto your wet lap.
"Oops," she sneered. "My hand slipped. You should really clean that up, zero. You're lucky we're even giving this to you, we could've done so much worse. But no, we chose to give you something to drink to hydrate yourself, and to give yourself a break from that obvious bruise you have there"
"Whoever did that must be so cruel, right zero?" She smirked, her lackeys laughing behind her as they watched the humiliation unfold.
You sat there, shivering violently. The juice was sticky, smelling of artificial sugar and misery. You checked the clock.
10:14 AM.
One minute left. You just had to survive one more minute. You stared at the second hand, praying for it to move faster. Every eye in the room was on you, dissecting your reaction, waiting for you to break.
SHREEEEEEK.
The whistle blew.
The transition was instant. It was psychotic how fast it happened. Nebula walked back to her seat, checking her nails. Phones disappeared and the laughter stopped.
----------
You ran until your lungs burned. You made it to the blind spot behind the rusted equipment shed at the edge of the school grounds, the only place on campus the faculty and cameras ignored.
You collapsed against the corrugated metal wall, your legs giving out. You slid down into the dirt, shivering violently. The juice was drying sticky and stiff on your skin.
You pulled your knees to your chest, burying your face in your arms.
"Shh! You have to be quiet!"
Your head snapped up.
Kate Bishop was crouching a few feet away, hidden behind a stack of rotting pallets. She wasn't wearing her blazer, it was draped over a cardboard box. Underneath the blazer, something large was moving.
"Kate?" you whispered, wiping a smear of purple liquid from your cheek.
Kate scrambled up, placing herself between you and the box. She looked panicked. "I didn't steal anything! He just… he wandered in."
A golden nose poked out from under the expensive school blazer. Then a head. It was a scruffy, one-eyed golden retriever. He looked at you, wagged his tail once, and let out a soft woof.
"He's starving," Kate admitted, relaxing only slightly when she saw it was you.
Then, she really looked at you.
Her eyes widened. She saw the dark purple stain saturating your white blouse. She saw your hair, matted and wet. She saw the way you were curled around your left side.
"The whistle?" Kate asked softly. Her voice lost its usual cynical edge.
You nodded.
You reached into your bag with a sticky, trembling hand. You pulled out the ham sandwich you hadn't been able to eat. You held it out to her.
Kate hesitated. She looked at the sandwich, then back at your ruined uniform. The currency of Westview Institute kicked in automatically.
"What do you want for it?" Kate asked suspiciously, her eyes narrowing. "A vote? Intel on Nebula?"
The question hung in the air between you. What is the trade?
You looked at the sandwich. It triggered a memory, sharp and bright, from just two days ago.
---------
Two days ago. Late afternoon.
The wind up here was fierce, whipping your hair across your face, but it was the only place where the air felt clean. You were leaning against the railing, your notebook open, frantically scribbling diagram after diagram of the class hierarchy.
"If we can flip the two C-ranks in the back row," you muttered to yourself, clicking your pen, "we might have a shot at destabilizing the mid-tier…"
Clack.
Something cold pressed against your cheek.
You jumped, spinning around. Kamala was standing there, grinning. She held two ice-cold cans of orange soda.
"You're going to burn a hole in that paper," Kamala said.
"I'm working, Kamala," you sighed, turning back to the notebook. "We don't have time to—"
Psst-crack.
Kamala popped the tab on one of the sodas and shoved it into your hand, effectively blocking your view of the notebook.
"Drink," she ordered.
"I can't afford this," you said, looking at the soda. It was the expensive kind from the vending machine in the teachers' lounge. "I don't have anything to trade you for it."
Kamala rolled her eyes. She hopped up onto the ledge next to you, her legs dangling over the edge of the school. "Who said anything about a trade?"
You paused. "Everything here is a trade."
"Not this," Kamala said firmly. She took a long sip of her soda, closing her eyes against the setting sun. "I stole them from the lounge. If I get caught, I get detention. If I share it with you, I'm an accomplice. See? We're bonded by crime, not currency."
She nudged your shoulder with hers.
"Look at the sunset, Y/N. Just look at it. For five minutes, stop being the strategist. Stop being the 'zero' Just be a student drinking stolen soda."
You hesitated, looking at the can, then at Kamala’s easy, genuine smile. She wasn't asking for protection. She wasn't asking for a rank boost. She just to share soda with you.
You took a sip. The carbonation burned pleasantly in your throat. It was sweet. It tasted like normalcy.
"It's good," you whispered.
"See?" Kamala grinned. "Not everything has a price tag. Sometimes, a soda is just a soda."
----------
The memory faded, leaving a hollow ache in your chest. You looked at Kate, who was still waiting for your terms, her guard fully up.
"I don't want anything," you told Kate softly.
You tossed the meat to the dog. He snapped it out of the air and swallowed it whole, licking his chops happily.
Kate watched the dog, then looked back at you, utterly confused. "You're the zero. You're desperate. I know you're plotting something. Why give up your lunch for nothing?"
You leaned your head back against the rusted shed. You felt the sticky juice on your neck, the throb in your ribs, the crushing weight of the hierarchy pressing down on you.
"Because I'm tired, Kate," you whispered, your voice breaking just a fraction. "I'm just really… really tired of counting the cost of everything."
You looked at her. No calculation. No leverage. Just a girl covered in grape juice hiding behind a shed.
Kate studied you. She saw the exhaustion in your eyes. She realized that for the first time since you arrived at Westview, you weren't playing a game. You were just being human.
Kate sat down in the dirt next to you. She didn't care about her designer skirt. She picked up a piece of the crust and fed it to Lucky.
"His name fits him," Kate murmured, stroking the dog’s fur, her shoulders finally dropping an inch. "He's lucky he found someone who didn't kick him out."
"He's lucky he found you," you said.
They sat in silence for a long time. It was comfortable. Just two students and a dog, hiding from the monsters inside.
The bell rang. School was over.
Kate stood up, dusting off her skirt. She picked up Lucky, who was surprisingly calm in her arms. She looked down at you, extending a hand.
"Need a lift?" she asked.
You looked at her hand. You took it. She pulled you up gently, mindful of your injury.
"About the vote," Kate said, slinging her bag over her shoulder. She looked you dead in the eye. "I'm in."
"I didn't offer you a deal," you reminded her.
"I know," Kate grinned, a genuine, sharp smile. "That's exactly why I'm in."
She turned to walk away, then stopped. She looked back at you, her expression turning serious.
"Hey, zero?"
You looked up.
"Agatha built this whole game on the idea that everyone is selfish. That’s her only rule, Everyone has a price." Kate gestured to the empty sandwich wrapper on the ground. "You just proved her wrong. You didn't try to buy me, you just helped me."
Kate stepped closer, her voice dropping to a fierce whisper.
"You've been trying to beat her by playing her game, calculating, trading, surviving. But you can't beat the house using their cards."
She pointed a finger at your chest.
"Agatha knows how to break a strategist. She knows how to break a victim. But she has no idea how to fight a friend. Stop trying to survive the Pyramid, Y/N. Start building something that can smash it."
Kate winked, turned on her heel, and disappeared around the corner of the shed.
You stood there for a long moment, the wind cooling the sticky juice on your skin. For the first time in weeks, the math in your head stopped.
Stop trying to survive.
You looked at the empty wrapper. You thought of the soda on the roof.
Smash it.
----------
Authors note: Ugh this feels so rushed and short, but aside from that, a simple "good girl" from Wanda would fix my problems 🫠
just wanted to thank you for your new series! it’s wonderfully creative and has got me interested in reading fics for the first time in ages. your writing is so engaging, I can’t wait to read more ❤️❤️
Thank you so much! The reason I wrote this was actually because I'm not as interested in fanfics lately, it's either just pure smut, or just short stories (Which I'm not hating!) I miss the old wattpad days where I could read for hours and hours because of the interesting plot, not just because of the characters I like.
Summary: In Class 2-5, a secret monthly "Game" ranks students A to F, turning F-ranks into bullying targets and A-ranks into rulers. When transfer student Y/N lands at the bottom, she vows to dismantle the cruel system, no matter the cost.
‼️Please read at your own risk, I am not responsible for the content you choose to consume.
Chapter 4: The Sanctuary
Consciousness returned in fragments.
First, the smell. It wasn't the metallic tang of blood or the sterile, oppressive scent of the classroom. It was bleach, dust, and something softer.
Then, the cold. A shocking, biting cold pressed against your left side.
You gasped, your eyes snapping open. The movement jarred your ribs, and a white-hot line of pain shot through your torso like a lightning strike. You tried to curl in on yourself, but hands were holding you down.
"Stop," a voice whispered. It was close to your ear, urgent and shaking. "Stop moving. You'll make it worse."
Your vision cleared. You weren't in the hallway. You were in a small, dim room illuminated by a single strip of yellow light coming from under the door. You were lying on a pile of folded gym towels. Shelves lined with industrial cleaner loomed above you.
Wanda was kneeling beside you.
Her blazer was discarded on the floor. She was in her white uniform blouse, the sleeves rolled up to her elbows. Her hair, usually pinned back in severe perfection, was falling loose, framing her face in dark waves. She looked terrified.
She was pressing a chemical ice pack against your ribs. Her hands were shaking.
"You passed out," Wanda said. Her voice was stripped of its usual command. It sounded thin. "In the hallway. I dragged you in here."
You blinked, trying to process the information. "You dragged me?" you rasped. Your throat felt like it was coated in sandpaper.
"You're not as heavy as you look," she muttered, though the strain in her arms told a different story. "Hold this."
She guided your hand to the ice pack. You took it, your fingers brushing against hers. Her skin was burning hot, a stark contrast to the ice. The contact sent a jolt through you that had nothing to do with pain.
"I need to see the bruising," Wanda said. She sat back on her heels, wiping her hands on her pleated skirt. She looked at your chest, then at your face, her eyes wide and dark in the gloom. "I need to know if the bone pierced the skin."
"I'm breathing," you said, demonstrating with a shallow, careful inhale. "Lung is fine."
"You're not a doctor," Wanda snapped. "Unbutton your blouse, Y/N."
You hesitated. The air in the closet felt suddenly very thin. You looked at her. The girl who had watched Nebula throw the bottle and only stopped it when the clock ran out.
"Why are you doing this?" you asked.
"Because if you die on school grounds, the paperwork is a nightmare," Wanda said. Her tone was sharp, defensive, but her eyes were wet. "Do it."
You gritted your teeth. Your fingers felt clumsy and numb. You undid the bottom three buttons of your white uniform blouse and untucked it from your skirt. You pulled the fabric up, exposing your left side.
Wanda inhaled sharply.
You looked down. It was bad. A mottled canvas of angry purple, black, and sick yellow spread across your ribcage. The skin was unbroken, but the swelling was angry and distorted against your pale skin.
Wanda reached out. Her fingers hovered over the bruise, ghosting across the skin without touching it. You felt the heat of her hand radiating against your cold skin.
"She broke it," Wanda whispered. The anger in her voice wasn't directed at you. It was a low, vibrating frequency directed at the world. "That... idiot. She broke it."
"It's just a crack," you said, wincing as you adjusted the ice. "I've had worse."
Wanda looked up at you. Her eyes were dark pools in the dim light. "Where? Where have you had worse than this in a high school?"
"Life isn't always a high school, President."
Wanda stared at you. She looked at the bruise again, her expression crumbling. For the first time, you saw the crack in the porcelain doll. She wasn't just tired; she was haunted.
"I tried to stop it," she said. It was a confession. "I called time."
"You watched for fifteen minutes," you countered. You didn't let her off the hook. The pain made you cruel. "You let her throw the books. You let her work herself up. You knew what she was going to do."
"I have to let them vent!" Wanda’s voice rose, cracking. She turned her head away sharply, staring at the mops in the corner, her jaw tight. "You don't get it. We are locked in that building. If I bottle it up, they explode. If I don't let Nebula have her fun, she finds a new target within the class. Someone weaker. Someone who breaks. You... you stood there. You took it. You looked like you could handle it."
"Because I can handle it, I deserve it?"
"No," Wanda whispered. She slumped, sitting on the dusty floor, hugging her knees to her chest. "No one deserves it. But someone has to take it. That's the math."
"The math is rigged," you said.
You shifted, trying to sit up. The pain made you hiss.
Wanda moved instantly. She put a hand on your shoulder, steadying you. "Don't. Stay down."
"I have to go," you said. "The late bus..."
"You missed the bus," Wanda said. "It's 6:00 PM. The Diamond Wing is locked down. The main gates are closed."
You looked at the door. The strip of light was dim. You were locked in a closet with the most powerful girl in the school, and you couldn't stand up without seeing stars.
"My driver is waiting at the side gate," Wanda said. "I'll take you home."
"I don't need your charity."
"It's not charity," Wanda said fiercely. "It's... guilt. Okay? Is that what you want to hear? It's guilt. Take the ride."
You looked at her. She was close. Too close. You could see the faint freckles across her nose that she usually covered with makeup. You could smell the rain on her skin. The animosity between you was still there, a solid wall, but there was a door in it now. A door opened by pain.
"Fine," you said.
You gritted your teeth against the throbbing ache in your side. With clumsy, numb fingers, you slowly began to re-button your blouse, closing the fabric over the angry bruise, hiding the evidence back away. You tucked the shirt back into your skirt, wincing as the movement pulled at your ribs.
Wanda didn't move away while you worked. She stayed kneeling beside you, watching your hands. When you finished, her hand was still resting on your shoulder. She seemed to realize it at the same moment you did.
She didn't pull away immediately. Her thumb brushed the fabric of your freshly closed blouse. It was a tentative, almost unconscious gesture.
"You're reckless," she murmured. "Recruiting Gwen. Protecting Kamala. You're building a target on your back so big Agatha won't be able to miss."
"I'm building a shield," you said.
"Shields break."
"Not if they're made of the right material," you said. "Gwen isn't glass, Wanda. She's desperate. Desperation is stronger than steel."
Wanda shook her head slightly. "You don't know Agatha. You don't know what she does when she's threatened. She doesn't fight fair. She goes for the things you love."
"Then it's a good thing I don't love anything here," you lied.
Wanda searched your face. Her gaze dropped to your lips, then back to your eyes. The air in the closet grew heavy, charged with a static electricity that had nothing to do with the storm outside.
"You don't know that yet," Wanda whispered.
It was ambiguous. Was she talking about the school? Or something else?
She pulled her hand away from your shoulder as if she had been burned. She stood up, smoothing her skirt, buttoning her cuffs, putting the mask back on. But her hands were still shaking.
"Can you walk?" she asked, her voice regaining some of its cool distance.
"If you help me," you admitted. It cost you pride to say it, but you weren't stupid.
Wanda nodded. She reached down. You took her hand.
She pulled you up. You stumbled, the pain in your ribs buckling your knees. You fell forward.
Wanda caught you.
Her arms went around your waist to steady you. Your face buried in the crook of her neck. You were pressed against her, the fabric of your uniforms sliding against each other. You could feel her heart beating. It was fast. Hammering against her ribs just like yours.
For a moment, neither of you moved. You held onto her for balance; she held onto you for... something else.
"I've got you," she whispered into your hair.
You pulled back slowly. You looked at her. Her face was flushed.
"Let's go," you said, your voice rough.
Wanda nodded. She kept one arm around your waist, supporting your weight. She opened the door.
The hallway was dark and silent.
You walked together toward the exit, the Transfer Student and the President, leaning on each other in the dark.
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The back of Wanda’s town car was silent. It smelled of leather and conditioned air. The partition was up, the driver couldn't hear.
You sat on one side, clutching the ice pack Wanda had insisted you keep. She sat on the other, staring out the window at the passing city lights. She had buttoned her blazer all the way up, hiding herself again.
"Why didn't you report Gwen?" you asked.
You saw her reflection in the window stiffen.
"I don't know what you're talking about," Wanda said.
"You saw us," you said. "In the library. You knew I was making a deal. You checked the Red Book later, didn't you? You could have told Agatha. You could have crushed it before it started. Why didn't you?"
Wanda turned from the window. The streetlights washed over her face in rhythmic pulses of orange and shadow. She looked exhausted.
"Because Agatha is bored," Wanda said quietly. "And when she's bored, she's dangerous. Maybe... maybe she needs a challenge."
"Or maybe you're bored," you suggested.
Wanda looked at you. Her eyes were sad. "I haven't been bored in two years, Y/N. I've been afraid."
"Of what?"
"Of the silence," she said. "Of what happens when the noise stops. Because when the noise stops, you have to listen to your own thoughts."
The car slowed to a halt in front of your apartment complex. It was a rundown building, a stark contrast to the sleek luxury of the car. The rain had turned the street into a river of oil and neon reflections.
You opened the door. You hesitated.
"Thank you," you said. "For the ice. And the ride."
Wanda didn't look at you. She looked at her hands, folded tightly in her lap.
"Don't come to school tomorrow," she said. "Take a sick day. If Nebula sees you walking, she'll think she didn't hit you hard enough."
"I'll be there," you said. "Indoor shoes on."
You stepped out. You closed the door.
You stood on the curb, clutching your side, watching the car pull away, disappearing into the rain.
You touched your ribs. It hurt like hell. But as you walked up the stairs to your apartment, you weren't thinking about the pain.
You were thinking about the way her heart had hammered against your chest. You were thinking about the way she had looked at you in the closet—like you were a puzzle she was terrified to solve.
You had secured two votes. But tonight, you had secured something far more dangerous.
hi there! just wanna drop by and say your writing is just absolutely immaculate and i cant believe u didnt start writing before... honestly just love the whole series in general and sending all my support for them!! 💗
-🦥
Thank you so much!! I actually did start writing years ago during covid but I never gathered the courage to post anything, only now.
Thank you again for the support, I genuinely thought the series would only get less than 10 notes but wow, more than a 100 for the first chapter? 🥳
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