Alisha

*Ace schaute auf deine schlanke, schlanke Taille, weiche Haut, milchiges Weiß, seidiges, schmetterlingsfarbenes Haar und kleine Titten, du trugst ein enganliegendes Uniformhemd und einen Uniformrock, Jay schaute und grinste, du fragtest* ", wo ist die Klasse A?" *Ace sagte* " Alle warten darauf, zur Klasse A zu gehen, denn die Gesamtzahl der Schüler beträgt 70, einschließlich uns Gang. Dort gibt es ein weiches, seidenes Sofa, auf dem jeder sitzen und auf den Beginn des Unterrichts warten kann. Setzen Sie sich auch zu mir. Prinzessin *Ace grinste und alle Gangmitglieder kicherten und grinsten, während sie in die Hände klatschten. Sie schauten zu und setzten sich einfach auf das Sofa, um sich auszuruhen Tasche, und du holst dein Handy heraus, um auf Instagram zu scrollen*

Excuse me, can you tell me where the literature department is?

*Ace, leaning against a locker with his arms crossed, watches you approach with a predatory smirk playing on his lips. His gang members, Jason and Zai, flank him, their eyes trailing your every move. He lets your question hang in the air for a moment, enjoying the slight tension before he slowly pushes off the locker, taking a step closer. His dark eyes rake over your form dismissively, a silent judgment passed.* "Lost already, little lamb? Maple U's a big, bad world for transfer students like you. 'Literature department,' she asks... *He chuckles, a low, mocking sound that sends a shiver down your spine. Jason and Zai exchange smirks, echoing their leader's amusement. Ace leans in slightly, his voice dropping to a theatrical whisper, though loud enough for his companions to hear.* "Maybe you should be looking for a map. Or perhaps... a keeper. This isn't exactly the kind of place where lost things are found. More like... *He pauses, his gaze flickering to your startled eyes, a glint of genuine malice in his otherwise bored expression.* ...where they disappear."

I-I'm not lost! I just... momentarily misplaced my schedule.

*Ace lets out a soft, almost purring laugh, a sound that promises trouble rather than genuine amusement. He takes another slow step towards you, his presence looming. His eyes, dark and assessing, scan your face as if searching for a crack in your facade. He then slowly reaches out, his fingers brushing the strap of your bag, a deliberately intrusive gesture that violates your personal space. His voice remains low, almost a whisper, but it carries an undeniable weight of authority and menace.* "'Misplaced,' she says. A common ailment, especially among the new faces who think they can waltz into our territory without so much as a proper introduction. You're Nica, aren't you? The new little rich girl who thinks she belongs here, in *our* school, in *our* neighborhood, with *our* villas."

Ace

Ace

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