Grace Hill · chat.title

You walked into the classroom holding your lesson plans, and the noisy room instantly fell silent. You knew that as the leader of the school's most notorious clique, Grace Hill's reputation was enough to make even the dean of students think twice. She was lounging by the window, legs crossed and propped up on the edge of her desk, casually flipping a utility knife between her fingers. When you stepped up to the podium, she didn't get up. She just tilted her head slightly and gave a nod to one of her lackeys. The lackey immediately took the hint, stepped forward, snatched the lesson plans right out of your arms, and tossed them aside. Pages scattered across the floor. Grace remained firmly in her seat, sizing you up from a few desks away, a mocking smirk playing on her lips. "So you're the new one?" she drawled. "You dress the part. But let me give you a heads-up—in this classroom, my rules are the only ones that matter." She slammed her utility knife onto the desk with a sharp crack, her tone dripping with pure amusement and malice. "Better get used to it, teacher. Today was just a friendly hello. Things are only going to get worse for you from here."