The Dean's office felt like a monument to heroism—high ceilings, arched windows framing the city skyline, and shelves lined with gleaming awards and miniature monuments commemorating legendary battles. In the center of the room, four students sat in tense silence.
"Where is Beatrix Tate?" The Dean's voice cut through the quiet. He leaned back in his chair, one hand rubbing his temple as if this entire ordeal was a personal migraine. His expression was calm, but his eyes were sharp, piercing each student in turn like a scalpel cutting for truth.
Vivienne shifted uncomfortably, her shoulders stiff. "She… didn't feel comfortable enough to leave her room.....sir" Her voice was steady, but guilt twisted her gut, making her feel like every word was carved from glass. "She's scared."
The Dean nodded once, his fingers laced together in front of him. "Understandable." He sighed heavily, his gaze darkening as he looked between them. "But inconvenient. Whisper's timing, as usual, is impeccable."
His jaw clenched, and for a fleeting moment, he let his frustration slip. He had just returned to his duties as Dean, only to be thrown into a scandal that could unravel far more than one student's privacy. Truth be told he sometimes felt stopping war tanks with his bare hands was easier than this job but he took it nonetheless.
He tapped a button on his desk. A glowing console appeared, projecting lines of data in midair. "Let's begin. Your phones."
Reina frowned, her brows knitting together. "What?"
"Your phones," the Dean repeated, his tone cold as steel. He motioned to the desk. "Now."
There was a moment of hesitation. Leo narrowed his eyes, shifting in his seat as if ready to fight. "What for?"
The Dean's smile didn't reach his eyes. "Do I really need to explain that?"
"You think one of us did it?" Leo's voice rose, sharp with indignation. "I've already told you i-"
"You are all under suspicion," the Dean said flatly. "I don't care who you think did it. This isn't a small prank we can easily push away. It's a matter of super hero security."
Reina reluctantly pulled her phone from her pocket and placed it on the desk. One by one, the others followed, though Leo's hand clenched hard around his device before slamming it down with a scowl.
"Even if someone deletes the messages or images," the Dean said smoothly, "we have methods to retrieve them. Technology leaves fingerprints even though whisper doesn't." His gaze flicked toward Vivienne, whose hand trembled as she withdrew her phone. Her stomach churned. She had deleted the photo of course, deleted the chat too—but now she wasn't sure it mattered.
She placed her phone beside the others.
"You'll find nothing," Leo muttered bitterly.
"Perhaps," the Dean replied, folding his hands. "But we'll look anyway."
He leaned forward, his eyes hard. "Understand this—Whisper's power shields her from surveillance. Traditional tracking methods do not work on her. I have brought in specialists, AI, psychics. Every attempt ends in failure." He paused. "She is, as far as we can tell, untouchable."
A chill spread through the room.
"However," he continued, "this is not the first time she has worked through intermediaries. Whoever sent that image may have done her bidding, knowingly or not."
Vivienne's breath caught in her throat. Her chest felt tight, her pulse too loud in her ears.
"So we'll search," the Dean said, his voice low and dangerous. "And if I find proof of complicity…" His eyes flicked to each of them. "There will be no second chances."
The silence that followed was suffocating.
Leo's fist clenched. His voice, when he spoke, was low and filled with quiet fury. "This is about protecting Beatrix, right?"
The Dean's expression didn't waver. "This is about protecting everyone. Each and everyone of you is a potential brand, i don't expect you to understand as you are still in your first year but maybe later you will understand what i'm saying"
Later, in the corridors outside the Dean's office, the group walked in tense, uncomfortable silence.
"Feel like a criminal yet?" Leo muttered darkly, stuffing his hands into his pockets.
"Shut up, Leo," Reina snapped.
"No, let him talk," Vivienne said softly, her eyes distant. "We're all thinking it."
Leo stopped walking. He turned to face them, his jaw tight. "You all think I did it. That's why no one backed me up in there. That's why I got thrown out of our room. You think I'm capable of…" He trailed off, disgust curling his lip.
Kian, silent as always, tilted his head but said nothing.
Reina's eyes narrowed. "No one's saying anything because there's nothing left to say."
"Except that Whisper wins every time we don't trust each other." Leo's voice cracked. "You don't see that?"
The next day, the fallout from the phone confiscations hit hard.
In the cafeteria, students muttered angrily as they clustered in tight groups. Phones had been scrubbed clean of any content tied to the photo. Chats had been deleted, histories wiped—all by official mandate. Of course Whisper had postponed her post, the b*tch.
"This is bullshit," one student growled, his eyes flashing with resentment as he passed Leo.
"They're treating us like criminals."
"You can thank the freak shows for that," another whispered.
Leo's jaw clenched as he overheard them. He didn't respond, but his hands tightened into fists.
In the corner of the cafeteria, a group of students exchanged secret glances, their conversation low and guarded.