Graymoor University.

A school so grand, it didn’t look like a school at all.

It looked like a palace—like something out of a fairytale book with silver towers and gardens that smelled like roses kissed by early morning dew.

Sky Alexander Leigh Demetre Quinn stood in front of the massive iron gates, one hand clutching the strap of his sleek black designer bag. The other? Tucked casually in his pocket. His eyes, cool and observant, scanned the grounds with quiet curiosity.

“It looks like a castle,” Sky texted his friend with a wry smile.

Sky  ➤ Emmanuel

Sky: Campus looks like a castle.

I feel like if I breathe wrong, a chandelier’s gonna fall on me. 💅

Emmanuel: You're being dramatic.

This is the opportunity of a lifetime.

Sky: It’s giving: ‘study hard or get socially assassinated.’

Anyway, where’s the main building? I might cry if I get lost.

In public. In Prada.

Emmanuel: Look for the fountain with the golden lions.

Behind it’s the Hall of First Years.

Don’t sass your way into a scandal, okay?

Sky: Me? A scandal?

Never.

Not unless they pronounce my name wrong.

He chuckled softly, slipping his phone back into his pocket. The sun reflected off the glass walls of the campus buildings, making everything shimmer like magic. Students passed him, some in crisp uniforms, some already whispering and laughing in tight little circles.

Sky adjusted his collar and walked forward, his steps confident but light—like he belonged here, even if deep down, he wasn’t quite sure yet.

Inside the Orientation Hall, everything felt stiff and formal. Rows of students sat in perfect posture, uniforms pressed, shoes polished to a shine. It smelled faintly of citrus and leather-bound books.

Sky took a seat in the middle row, ignoring the occasional glance from his left and right. A tall professor with salt-and-pepper hair stepped up to the microphone.

“Next,” the professor said, voice echoing in the grand hall, “we’ll welcome one of our newest additions to the BS Biology program. Please stand, Mr. Sky Quinn.”

There was a pause.

Heads turned.

One name—and the air changed.

Student A (whispering): “Quinn...?”

Student B (frowning): “As in Dr. Sebastian Swalle Archie Quinn from Aurora Med?”

Student C (eyes wide): “And Leighnaria Cassandra Quinn—the film empress?!”

Sky rose slowly. Calmly. He had no desire to dazzle anyone. He just gave a polite nod, voice cool and polite.

“Good morning. I’m Sky Quinn,” he said, his tone smooth but distant. “Looking forward to my pre-med track.”

Then he sat down. No dramatic pause. No flourish. But the silence that followed was louder than any applause.

In the faculty lounge, murmurs bloomed like vines on a wall.

“That’s the Quinn boy, isn’t it?” Professor Reyes asked over her cup of tea.

“He is,” answered Professor Salonga, flipping through a file. “Top of his class. National Science Olympiad finalist. Impressive résumé.”

“But he didn’t mention any of it,” Reyes said, raising an eyebrow.

Salonga smiled thoughtfully. “Humble. Rare here.”

Meanwhile, inside the Student Council Office, light poured in through towering glass windows. Everything in the room was sleek and intimidating—like a room designed to judge and rule.

Behind the large desk sat Archaell Lorenzo Ezra Gray, student council president.

He flipped through student files with a face carved from marble—sharp, unreadable.

“Fresh batch looks intense,” said Cassandra, the secretary, tapping a folder. “Especially this one: Sky Alexander Leigh Demetre Quinn.”

Archaell didn’t look up. “That’s a long name. What’s special?”

“Excellent record,” Cassandra said. “Quiet. Doesn’t flaunt anything. But the staff’s already whispering.”

“Let them whisper,” Archaell muttered. “People with perfect records usually crack the loudest.”

Cassandra laughed. “Says the guy with a 4.0 and a trust fund.”

He didn’t reply, but something in his gaze shifted—just a flicker.

Sky ➤ Emmanuel

Sky: Already got stared at during roll call.

Didn’t even do anything yet.

Emmanuel: You’re a Quinn. That’s doing enough.

Just survive Day One.

No sass-battles with rich brats.

Sky: Too late.

Someone sneezed and said, “Ugh, public schoolers.”

I almost threw my pen. 😒

Archaell ➤ Matteo

Matteo: One of the new bio kids—Quinn. Heard of him?

Archaell: Briefly.

Matteo: Seems quiet.

Too quiet, for someone with a name like that.

Archaell: Quieter flames burn longer.

We’ll see what he really wants from Graymoor.

-

As the day ended, the sun dipped low over the shining rooftops of Graymoor.

Sky walked out of the Orientation Hall, cool breeze lifting the strands of his dark brown hair. His hands were in his coat pockets, his mind still lingering on the stares and whispers.

From the opposite end of the hallway, four figures walked in—dressed sharply in council uniforms. Archaell was among them, eyes fixed ahead, mind somewhere else.

They passed each other—close, but not close enough.

They didn’t see each other.

Not yet.

But the air felt different.

Like something was beginning.

Sky’s thoughts, quiet and steady:

This school’s too polished. Too perfect.

Let’s see how long it takes to crack.

End of Episode 1: The Quinn Nobody Knows

The cafeteria of Graymoor University didn’t look like a place students should eat in—it looked like a place royalty might host a banquet. Everything gleamed under soft golden lights. The polished marble floors reflected designer shoes, laughter danced in the air, and chandeliers hung so elegantly, they seemed to judge everyone walking in.

Sky stood at the entrance with a tray in hand. He blinked once, then twice.

“Of course the cafeteria looks like a five-star hotel,” he thought, lips twitching into a smirk. “I feel underdressed… and over-enrolled.”

His eyes swept across the room until they landed on a familiar figure—Emmanuel, waving from the far end beneath an absurdly large chandelier.

[Message from Emmanuel ]

Table at the back. Next to the overpriced chandelier.

Don’t ask how much it costs. Your soul isn’t enough.

[Reply from Sky ]

Too bad. That’s all I was willing to trade.

Sky made his way past tables of sleek uniforms and bored expressions, ignoring the quick glances and hushed whispers that trailed after him. By the time he reached the table, Emmanuel was already standing.

“Sky! You made it,” Emmanuel beamed, gesturing with a little flourish. “Meet my blockmates. They’ve been dying to meet the mysterious Quinn from enrollment day.”

“Dying might be an exaggeration,” said the girl in a crimson blazer, flipping her hair dramatically. “But I was curious.” Her voice was warm, playful. “I’m Venice. Future interior design goddess.”

She gestured beside her. “This is Theo—our coding wizard. And that’s River. Don’t talk to him unless you speak fluent spreadsheet.”

River didn’t look up, fingers moving rapidly over his keyboard.

Sky smiled faintly and nodded. “Pleasure. I’m Sky—aspiring doctor, caffeine enthusiast, and emotional support chaos.”

Venice laughed, eyes shining. “I like him. He’s spicy. I’m claiming him as my café buddy.”

Theo pushed his glasses up. “Does he come with a user manual?”

River, eyes still glued to his screen, muttered, “I’ll design one after my presentation.”

Sky blinked. “You know I have eyes, right? I can see you typing about me.”

That broke the table into laughter. Even River cracked the tiniest grin

Somewhere on campus, inside a quiet office with high windows and the soft rustle of papers, two professors reviewed student files.

“Quinn, Sky Alexander Leigh Demetre,” one of them murmured, fingers tapping the folder. “Excellent recommendations. Top grades. Applying for pre-med.”

The other professor arched a brow. “A Quinn...? Related to that Quinn family?”

A nod. “Yes. But let’s see what he does with his name—not what his name does for him.”

Meanwhile, in the student council office, Cassandra placed a list onto a sleek black desk.

“These are the students with high academic potential. Might be useful for council events,” she said casually.

Archaell Gray, standing near the tall window, didn’t glance up. “Handle the orientation. I don’t have time to entertain legacies unless they bring value.”

Cassandra raised an eyebrow at his cold tone but said nothing.

Outside, wind brushed through the trees and carried the distant hum of laughter.

Back in the courtyard, Sky sat under the shade of a wide acacia tree with his new group—plastic cups of iced coffee and boba drinks in their hands. The air was warm, scented faintly with flowers and expensive perfume. For a moment, things felt almost… normal.

Venice leaned forward, straw between her lips. “So what’s your dream, Sky?”

Sky paused, gaze drifting to the sky through the swaying branches.

“To be a doctor,” he said softly. “Not for the money. Not for the title. I just want to be someone who saves people.”

Silence fell over the group—not heavy, but thoughtful. Even River stopped typing for a moment.

Theo cleared his throat. “…That was unexpectedly sincere.”

Sky blinked, then smirked. “Don’t get used to it. I’m still sarcastic 90% of the time.”

Laughter again, light and real.

High above the courtyard, from the student council wing, Archaell passed by the hallway window. His steps slowed when he caught sight of a group laughing under the tree. His gaze lingered on one of them—silver-brown hair catching the sun, hands expressive even from a distance.

“So that’s the Quinn kid,” he thought.

He didn’t look flashy. Didn’t look like someone who wanted to rule the school. He laughed too easily for that. And yet… something about him felt still. Solid.

“He doesn’t look like someone who cares about power… Interesting.”

Archaell turned away, unreadable as ever, and continued walking down the hall with quiet steps and quiet thoughts.

Graymoor University might have been polished like glass, but cracks always found a way to form.

And Sky?

He wasn’t here to play pretend.

He was here to see who broke first—him or the world around him.

The Royal Auditorium of Graymoor University shimmered under sunlight streaking through stained glass windows, casting regal patterns on velvet seats below. Today was Orientation Day. Faculty in robes, students in tailored suits and polished shoes—it was the beginning of everything.

In the bustling Freshman Group Chat, alerts flashed.

---

Graymoor Admin:

Orientation starts in 30 minutes. All freshmen must be seated before the first bell. Formal attire required.

Venice:

Skyyyy! Wear something that says “I’m smart but I don’t bite”

Sky : I’m wearing black. That’s me saying: I *might* bite.

Theo :

He’s committed to the dark academia aesthetic, I respect it.

---

The massive double doors opened. Rows of freshmen, professors, and photographers filled the seats. The hum of chatter dropped to silence as Professor Allen stepped up to the podium.

“Welcome, Graymoor freshmen,” he began, voice steady and commanding. “Among our distinguished new students, one has been selected to speak on behalf of this year’s class...”

A hush fell over the room. A few phones quietly clicked photos, trying not to be obvious.

“Sky Alexander Leigh Demetre Quinn—please come to the stage.”

In the front row, Venice turned, wide-eyed.

“Girl, what? You didn’t tell us about this!”

Sky simply stood, calmly adjusting the collar of his black blazer. “Because I didn’t know,” he murmured, already walking. “Surprise to me, too.”

He moved with quiet confidence—graceful, sharp, composed. No hesitation.

---

At the podium, Sky looked over the sea of unfamiliar faces. Eyes expectant. Cameras waiting. He breathed once, deep and even.

Then he spoke.

Sky (speech):

“Good morning.

I was told ten minutes ago that I’d be giving this speech. So if I trip over my words or forget something important, please direct your complaints to the administration—because I, too, am figuring this out in real time.”

Laughter rippled through the audience.

“To stand here is a privilege, one I did not expect, but one I take with sincerity.

Graymoor is a name we all know—synonymous with excellence, legacy, and rigor. But today, we begin not just as students in a prestigious institution, but as individuals navigating change, pressure, and uncertainty.

Some of us arrived with medals around our necks. Others came through quiet perseverance, resilience that doesn’t make headlines, and a little luck. And some of us—well, we’re here because we refused to give up, even when it would’ve been easier to walk away.

I came to Graymoor with the hope of becoming a doctor—not to chase perfection, but to learn how to listen, to think, and to care in a world that often rushes past those things.

Let this chapter be more than academic survival. Let it be where we grow into the kind of people we once admired. Let us fail, reflect, rise—and do so with grace.

May we leave this hall not just as freshmen, but as the architects of the stories we’ll one day be proud to tell.

Good luck to all of us. And thank you.”

---

There was a beat of silence—then thunderous applause. Sky offered a slight bow, his expression unreadable, then stepped off the stage like he had done it a hundred times before.

[Elsewhere – Student Council Office]

Cassandra, sipping tea with one leg crossed, stared at the livestream.

“Not bad for someone who looks like he’d rather be anywhere else.”

Archaell, seated across from her with forms and folders stacked around him, barely looked up.

“Quinn, huh?”

“You know the name?”

He paused. “Everyone in the boardroom does. Dr. Quinn saved the chairman’s life three years ago.”

Cassandra tilted her head. “And the boy?”

“He just spoke like he’s done this a thousand times.”

“So… interesting?”

“No,” Archaell murmured, gaze sharp. “Calculated.”

---

[Balcony – Outside the Auditorium]

Sky leaned against the marble railing, wind brushing his face. He finally pulled out his phone.

Sky :

Just did a speech in front of a hundred people. Want to scream into a pillow.

Emmanuel:

If you didn’t roast anyone mid-speech, I’m proud.

Also, don’t look now, but you’re probably trending in Graymoor’s secret forums.

Sky :

Fantastic. My nightmare begins.

---

[Down Below – Garden Path]

A man in a tailored black suit stood beneath the balcony, holding a sealed envelope. He watched the building with an unreadable expression.

“So the youngest Quinn is finally here,” he muttered.

“This... will change things.”

[Later – Student Council Office]

Archaell’s phone buzzed. He frowned.

Chairman:

You and the Quinn boy. Same year, same campus. Keep your eyes open.

Archaell closed the message and stared out the window.

“Why does everyone keep handing me ghosts to chase?”