Maya now had her phone out. Recording. Of course she did.

"This is pure gold," she said, zooming in on his expression of quiet despair. "Sierra's going to watch this on loop for a week."

"Maya."

"Already sent to her."

"Maya."

"Too late. It's immortalized. The harem demands tribute."

Phei stared down at the pink box in his hands—another brick in the growing monument to his accidental celebrity. He glanced back at the cafeteria: a sea of staring faces, flashing phones, a few more girls dabbing at their eyes like he'd just proposed to the entire room.

He sighed, long and world-weary.

Somewhere in the distance, a boy muttered, "Lucky bastard," with the bitter awe of someone who'd accepted defeat before the battle began.

Phei couldn't even blame him.

This wasn't Charm Speech. This wasn't Dominance Aura overtime.

This was Paradise brainrot in its final, florid stage: too many K-dramas, too many idol survival shows, too many years of being told that beauty was currency and obsession was love.

He was just the latest limited-edition collectible they'd all decided to lose their minds over.

"I need coffee."

"The coffee station's on the other side of the room."

"I'm aware."

"That's fifty feet of teenage girls who've been waiting weeks to shoot their shot."

"I'm aware."

Maya's grin was pure, unfiltered evil—the kind usually reserved for cartoon villains who'd just tied the hero to the train tracks.

"I'll watch your flank," she said sweetly. "Can't promise anything about your front."

They started walking.

It was less a stroll and more a hostage negotiation with hormones.

Every step triggered a new incident.

A girl "accidentally" dropped her pen directly in his path, then bent to retrieve it with the slow-motion grace of a low-budget music video—ass presented like a sacrificial offering to the gods of thirst traps.

Phei sidestepped without looking down. The pen remained unclaimed.

Another pretended to stumble, latching onto his forearm for "balance." She clung for a full fifteen seconds, long enough for him to feel her pulse racing against his sleeve. When she finally let go, she whispered "thank you" like he'd just saved her from drowning.

A third appeared out of nowhere, silently pressed a scented envelope into his hand, and power-walked away before he could even open his mouth. The envelope smelled like vanilla and desperation.

They did these accidentals while someone took their pictures... well staged.

He was accumulating tribute faster than a medieval shrine.

The first pink chocolate box. The envelope. A small plush bear someone tucked under his arm while he was distracted by a phone flash. A woven bracelet slipped onto his wrist. A rolled-up drawing—actually talented—of his own face, all sharp angles and brooding eyes. Another box of chocolates from a girl who shot the original chocolate-giver a glare sharp enough to draw blood.

"How do you even have so many hands?" Maya asked, watching him juggle the growing hoard like a reluctant circus act.

"I have two. This is a two-hand situation being forced into a seventeen-item nightmare. But I love them all." One had to appreciate their efforts right?

"Want me to carry some?"

"God, yes. Please."

She relieved him of the bear, both chocolate boxes, and a tiny plush dragon that had appeared from nowhere. Held the dragon up for inspection, eyebrows climbing.

"Okay, this one is actually adorable. Can I keep it?"

"Take whatever you want. Take all you want, it's fine."

"Nope. Just the dragon. The rest is yours, pretty boy. Fan tribute to the reigning heartthrob of Ashford Elite."

The coffee station gleamed in the distance like a mirage.

Five feet away.

Freedom.

Then the crowd parted—not for him this time, but for royalty.

Sierra emerged from the throng like a glacier deciding to glide forward: perfect posture, perfect makeup, expression cold enough to flash-freeze lesser mortals. The students split around her with the practiced obedience of courtiers.

Maddie bounced in her wake, chaos barely contained, that feral grin already detonating across her face.

They planted themselves directly between Phei and salvation.

"Well, well," Sierra drawled, voice carrying just enough to remind everyone who actually ruled this school. "Look who finally crawled out of his cave."

"I was going for coffee," Phei said, flat as expired soda.

"Were you now?"

"Still am. You're blocking the machine."

Sierra's lips twitched—the smallest fracture in the ice.

"Maddie, he says we're in the way."

"I heard. So ungrateful. After all the emotional labor we've invested."

"Tragic lack of manners."

They didn't budge.

Phei glanced at the coffee. Glanced at his girlfriends. Glanced at the three hundred gawking witnesses still filming every second for posterity and future TikTok edits.

"I hate all of you," he said, mild as milk.

Maddie's grin went supernova.

"No. You love us."

"I tolerate you at best."

"That's literally Phei for 'I would die for you.'"

Sierra finally stepped aside—only to slide in beside him, body pressing close, heat seeping through fabric like a brand. Claiming. Marking. A silent declaration to every phone in the room.

Maddie took the other side.

Bracketed. Guarded. Two princesses flanking their dragon like it was the most natural formation in the world.

The whispers shifted tone instantly.

"—both of them, right there—"

"—lucky fucking bastard—"

"—but logistically, how—"

"—I heard they all share some unknown house now—"

"—threesomes, obviously. Definitely threesomes—"

Phei reached the machine. Poured the strongest, blackest sludge available. Took a sip.

It tasted like burnt regret and cafeteria despair.

Perfect.

Sierra's hand found his, hidden between their bodies—fingers lacing with quiet possession. A secret I missed you this morning in front of three hundred spectators.

Maddie leaned into his arm, chaos energy somehow steadying instead of electric.

Maya watched from a step behind, expression soft on the surface, calculating underneath—rambling disaster and secret empress both present, both waiting for whatever came next.

"So," Sierra murmured, low enough for only their little circle, "you survived the gauntlet. Impressive."

"I've acquired a stuffed bear and six love confessions. I've been here two minutes."

"Only six?" Maddie chirped. "You're losing your touch."

"The morning is young," Sierra added. "By lunch you'll need a wheelbarrow for the shrine."

Phei drank more terrible coffee and contemplated the life choices that had led him here.

He'd wanted visibility. Value. The kind of prominence that made his disappearance inconvenient.

Mission accomplished.

He just hadn't realized "inconvenient" would come with plush toys, artisanal chocolates, and a live audience speculating about his sex life in real time.

The Dragon had entered the building.

And Paradise—glorious, unhinged Paradise—was ravenous.

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