NEW TOY/ TRANSFER

“Hey there, our adorable little Clara,” Amara Barker’s voice echoed through the classroom, sweet yet laced with a hint of malice.

Heads snapped in her direction. When Amara spoke, everyone listened—not out of choice, but because ignoring her often led to trouble.

She towered over her classmates, her sleek black hair pulled back into a sharp ponytail, and her blazer always seemed to fit just a bit differently than the rest as if the rules were made to accommodate her.

Clara, the girl with oversized round glasses perched on her small face, froze in her seat. Her notebook quivered beneath her fingers.

With a dramatic flair, Amara placed a carton on Clara’s desk. It was battered, the label crumpled, and the faint but unmistakable odor wafting from it was spoiled milk. The expiration date was glaringly clear: over a month past due.

“This,” Amara announced, her smile growing wider, “is a special treat from my lovely friend, Sophie Lang.” She gestured toward the blonde girl lounging against the wall, chewing gum and wearing a smirk. “Sophie was kind enough to bring you a little something to drink. Aren’t you just thrilled?”

Clara’s mouth opened, but no words came out. Her gaze darted from the carton to Amara, shaking her head ever so slightly.

“Why aren’t you drinking it?” Amara’s tone turned sharp, the sweetness evaporating. “Sophie went out of her way to pick this for you.”

“I… I-I can’t…” Clara stammered, her hands clutching the edge of her desk so tightly that her knuckles turned white.

“Oh, but you can,” Amara said, leaning in closer, her perfume clashing unpleasantly with the sour smell of the milk.

She jabbed her finger against Clara’s glasses, pushing them up her nose with a harsh shove. “Don’t be rude. It really hurts Sophie’s feelings when people waste her kindness.”

The class erupted in snickers, whispers slithering through the rows of desks. No one moved. No one wanted to be Clara.

Amara’s smile twisted into something cruel. From her blazer pocket, she pulled out a pair of shiny silver scissors, flipping them open with a loud snap. The blades sparkled under the fluorescent lights.

“If you don’t drink it,” she whispered, close enough that Clara flinched, “maybe I’ll just cut those pretty little braids of yours. One snip, two snips… and poof you’ll be bald. That’ll be a blast, won’t it?”

Clara’s whole body trembled now, tears brimming in her eyes as she frantically scanned the room.

“Stop.”

The voice cut through the chaos from the front row. Zane Crowe, the class president, rose from her desk, her badge shining brightly on her chest a constant reminder of her authority. “That’s enough, Amara.”

The classroom fell silent.

Amara slowly turned her head, her eyes narrowing as she focused on Zane. “And what are you going to do, President Crowe? Jot my name down in your little book? Hand me a detention?” She snapped the scissors shut with a sharp click, her grin stretching wider. “You might want to watch out. I could give you a haircut next.”

Zane stood her ground. The title she held didn’t intimidate Amara Barker; everyone knew that.

Amara shifted her attention back to Clara, lifting the scissors once more—

Just then, the classroom door swung open.

The teacher walked in, his presence shattering the tension like glass breaking. “Settle down, everyone.” His voice was brisk, distracted. He turned back toward the hallway, signaling for someone to enter.

A new figure stepped into Class 10-E.

The room held its breath.

She was tall, standing with perfect posture, her uniform crisp as if it had been custom-made for her.

Long, dark blue hair framed her face, and her cool, unreadable eyes swept across the room in a slow, deliberate glance. This wasn’t the look of a nervous newcomer; it was the gaze of someone who was assessing, measuring, weighing the situation.

The teacher opened his mouth to speak, but the girl raised a hand gently. “Let me handle this.”

She moved forward, her shoes clicking softly against the floor. The atmosphere seemed to shrink around her presence. When she spoke, her voice was calm and steady—but it carried a weight that silenced the murmurs instantly.

“My name is Liliana Karma,” she announced. “I’ve transferred here from Australia. I’ll be joining Class 10-E starting today.”

Her eyes briefly flicked to the group surrounding Clara, where Amara still held the scissors. She didn’t linger, but the way she looked at Amara made the bully’s smirk waver for the first time.

Liliana neatly clapped her hands in front of her. “I hope you’ll all take care of me.”
For a moment, there was complete silence. Then, the whispers erupted.

“From Australia?”
“She’s stunning.”
“She doesn’t seem nervous at all…"

And just like that, the dynamics of Class 10-B began to change.

The world outside buzzed with life, but inside, it was a different story silence hung thick in the air.

Rohan sat at his desk, one hand gripping a fountain pen while the other lay flat on a pile of untouched documents. His gaze was locked on the city below, but his thoughts were miles away.

A few steps away, his assistant, Mrs. Clarke, stood with her hands neatly clasped at her waist, her expression carefully composed.

She had been with him long enough to know when to speak up and when to keep quiet. But after everything that had happened in recent days, the silence felt heavier than any words could convey.

“Sir,” Mrs. Clarke ventured cautiously, “do you ever think this might be… too soon? Sending her to school now, after everything? Maybe just one more year. To let things settle. To help her adjust.”

Rohan’s jaw clenched. He leaned back in his chair, his eyes still glued to the rain-streaked glass.

“One more year?” His voice was steady, but it sliced through the air like a knife.

“The world doesn’t offer second chances, Clarke. One year, two years, ten it all amounts to the same. Delaying only blunts the edge.”

Mrs. Clarke hesitated. She had anticipated that response, yet hearing it out loud still made her heart tighten. Her gaze drifted to the file on his desk Liliana’s records. A life captured in ink and stamps.

“Then…” she tried again, her voice softer now, “do you ever consider what it really means? That you adopted her. That she is your stepdaughter, not just—”

Her words faltered as Rohan finally turned to face her.

His eyes were icy. Unyielding. The kind of look that stripped away any pretense.

“A stepdaughter?” he echoed, almost as if he were tasting the word, rolling it around in his mouth like something unpleasant. A grim smile flickered at the corners of his lips.

“No, dear assistant Clarke.” His voice lowered, heavy with a mix of steel and fire. “What I brought into my home… was not a daughter.”

He leaned forward, shadows pooling around his face as his hand formed a fist.

“What I brought in… is a hunting dog.”

The word hung in the air like a gunshot, reverberating against the rain, settling deep into Evelyn’s bones.

She quickly averted her gaze, but the image lingered—Liliana in her school uniform, a faint smile on her lips, her eyes icy beneath the surface.

A weapon.
Not a child.

Rohan turned back toward the window, his silhouette stark against the gray light. “And soon enough,” he murmured, almost to himself, “it will learn to bite.”

Mrs. Clarke's eyes widened at Rohan’s words. A hunting dog. For a brief moment, she nearly forgot who she was talking to.

Her voice broke the silence, shaky at first, but gaining strength as she pressed on.

“Sir… do you even understand what they did to her? What Liliana Karma endured before she became yours?”

Rohan remained silent. He didn’t need to respond. His silence was an invitation.

Mrs. Clarke took a sharp breath and began.

“She wasn’t raised. She was engineered. Since she was just three years old, they experimented on her. Twenty-three researchers. Twenty-three monsters in white coats."

"They filled her with drugs pain inhibitors, stimulants, growth accelerators, neurological toxins—anything they thought could twist her body and mind into something useful.”

"They starved her for days to test her endurance. Electrocuted her tiny body to ‘map the limits of fear.’ She wasn’t treated like a child… she was their experiment. A project. A cage filled with needles and scalpels.”

"For eleven long years, she kept it all inside. Eleven years filled with needles, screams, and being held down."

Her throat tightened as she pressed on.

“But when she hit fourteen… that’s when she snapped.”

Mrs. Clarke’s voice took on a darker tone, heavy with foreboding.

“In less than five minutes, Liliana took out every last one of them. Twenty-three researchers. And it wasn’t quick. It wasn’t clean. It was brutal.”

Her words came out faster now, raw and vivid.

“She plunged a scalpel into Dr. Mallory’s throat and twisted it until blood sprayed across the walls. She broke Dr. Collins’ neck with her bare hands, the sound echoing like gunfire in that sterile lab. She drowned another in a vat of his own chemicals, his skin peeling away as he screamed.”

Mrs. Clarke’s voice trembled more as the memories spilled out.

“She sliced open one man with surgical scissors, leaving him to choke on his own insides. Another, she smashed his skull against the reinforced glass window until it cracked. She forced one nurse to drink the very toxins they had injected into her. He clawed at his throat until his nails broke off.”

Her breath caught, but she pushed through.

“Some she strangled. Some she stabbed. One she burned alive in the incinerator. And one… she just stared at while he begged, slowly pressing the blade into his chest, inch by inch, smiling as the life faded from his eyes.”

By the time she finished, Evelyn’s face was pale, her voice empty.

“When they finally found her… she was standing barefoot on a beach, drenched in blood from head to toe. Not a scratch on her. Just smiling at the waves. Like nothing had ever happened.”

The rain outside pounded against the windows harder, as if the world itself was recoiling from the story.

“She was sent to juvenile detention. Two years. Two years in hell. She was beaten, humiliated, starved, but she never broke. Instead… she grew stronger. More aggressive. Her body… transformed.

She had the strength to snap steel restraints and tear through doors. When she lost control, nothing could hold her back.

Mrs. Clarke’s voice wavered. “They labeled her a demon, a curse, a monster wearing human skin. The detention ward was desperate to be rid of her, terrified of what she could turn into.”

Her eyes darted to Rohan, filled with dread.

“And that’s when you came into the picture, sir. They didn’t send her back to a family. They entrusted her to you.”

Evelyn’s voice finally broke, trembling with emotion.

“You didn’t just adopt a child. You welcomed the remnants of a nightmare. A girl forged from pain, honed by cruelty. And now… she’s yours.”

The buzz of conversation in the classroom quiets down as Liliana stands next to the teacher in Class 10-E.

Dozens of curious eyes flicker her way, and whispers ripple through the room like a wave.

In the back, lounging with her feet kicked up on the desk, is Amara. A sly smirk plays on her lips.

She leans in, her eyes sparkling with a wicked delight.

“A new girl… oh wait, my bad—” she laughs darkly, “a new toy has just arrived.”