By Monday morning, the whispers had hardened into something heavier. What had started as cafeteria gossip now slid into the ears of faculty.
Ethan knew it before Clara told him. He could see it in the way Professor Harding, his economics instructor, paused when handing back graded essays. A flicker of suspicion. A subtle hesitation.
Rumors had weight. And Derek was adding bricks one by one.
At lunch, Clara slammed her tray down next to Ethan again. She always sat with him now, though Ethan hadn't asked for it.
"They're saying Harding might report you," she hissed under her breath. "Heard it from a junior who's on the student council. Derek's behind this, Ethan. He's weaponizing the system."
Ethan calmly cut into his chicken. "Of course he is. That's what men without strategy do — they turn to bureaucracy."
"Stop being so damn calm!" Clara snapped. "This isn't just talk anymore. If Harding files a formal complaint, you could be suspended. Expelled, even. You don't mess around with plagiarism here."
Her voice trembled with urgency, but Ethan only dabbed the corner of his mouth with a napkin.
"Clara," he said quietly, "panic is the luxury of people without options. I have options."
She stared at him. "What are you going to do?"
He didn't answer. He simply returned to eating, the quiet confidence in his posture making Clara's frustration knot tighter.
That evening, Ethan sat alone in his dorm room. He had cleared his desk except for one notebook. Neat, precise handwriting filled the pages — not lecture notes, but maps of influence.
Circles represented professors. Squares for student council. Triangles for fraternity heads. Arrows marked rumors, favors, debts.
Derek's circle glowed like a stain in Ethan's mind. He traced the arrows. Derek's power came not from intelligence, but from his network — friends in council, frat brothers, a few professors charmed by his charisma.
But networks had weak points. And Ethan had already found one.
He leaned back, lips curving slightly. "Checkmate isn't about removing the king. It's about leaving him no moves."
The next day, Ethan received an email from Professor Harding.
Ethan, I'd like to discuss concerns regarding your recent submissions. Please meet me in my office tomorrow afternoon.
Clara saw him open it during their study session. Her heart sank. "It's happening. Harding's questioning you."
Ethan closed his laptop calmly. "Good."
Clara blinked. "Good? Ethan, what the hell—"
"Derek thinks suspicion is enough," Ethan said, his voice smooth. "He doesn't understand that suspicion is a double-edged sword. If Harding questions me, then I have the stage. And unlike Derek, I don't lose control of a stage."
Clara pressed her palms against her forehead. "You scare me sometimes, you know that?"
"You should," Ethan replied softly. "Fear is the beginning of clarity."
Wednesday afternoon arrived. Ethan entered Professor Harding's office, his expression composed.
Harding gestured to the chair opposite his desk. "Ethan, thank you for coming. I'll be direct — there are concerns that your work, particularly your last essay, may not be your own. Some students have suggested you've been… assisting others with their assignments."
Ethan's gaze was steady. "I see. And who are these students?"
Harding adjusted his glasses. "That's not important. What's important is whether these claims hold weight."
Ethan folded his hands neatly on his lap. "Professor, may I ask you a question before I respond?"
Harding hesitated. "Go ahead."
"Of all your students this semester, who participates most in discussions?"
"You do."
"Who challenges your arguments with counterexamples from case studies you haven't assigned?"
"You."
"Who scored highest on the midterm — the one you designed to catch students who rely on rote memorization rather than critical thinking?"
"…You."
Ethan's voice sharpened, not loud, but precise. "Then tell me, Professor — does that sound like the profile of a plagiarist?"
Harding blinked. For a moment, the suspicion faltered. Ethan leaned forward slightly.
"Rumors spread because they're easy. Evidence is hard. If you want evidence, I invite you to test me. Give me any question, any prompt, right now. I'll answer it. In fact, I'll answer it better than your graduate assistants could."
Harding studied him carefully. Ethan's tone wasn't defensive. It wasn't desperate. It was confident — the confidence of someone who had no need to lie.
Finally, Harding nodded slowly. "I'll… consider this matter closed, unless further evidence arises."
Ethan stood. "Thank you, Professor. For what it's worth, I respect that you asked directly, instead of hiding behind whispers. Not everyone here has that integrity."
He left the office with the faintest smile.
That evening, Clara found him in the library again. "Well?" she asked breathlessly.
"He backed down," Ethan said.
Her eyes widened. "Just like that?"
"Just like that."
Clara sank into the chair beside him, relief flooding her face. "God, Ethan, you could've told me your plan instead of making me lose sleep."
He glanced at her. "Plans are safer when no one else knows them. Even allies leak under pressure."
Clara frowned, but she couldn't argue.
Across campus, Derek received different news. His contact on the council texted him:
Harding spoke to Cooper. Didn't push it further. Cooper shut it down.
Derek's jaw tightened. He threw his phone onto the couch, pacing the length of his room.
"How?" he muttered. "How does he keep slipping out?"
His frat brother shrugged. "Maybe Harding just didn't want the hassle."
"No." Derek's voice was sharp, almost a growl. "Cooper handled him. He twisted it. He always does. And that makes him dangerous."
He slammed his fist against the wall. "Fine. If professors won't bury him, I'll dig deeper. Everyone has a weakness. Everyone."
Later that night, Ethan sat by the window of his dorm, the campus quiet under a silver wash of moonlight. Clara's words echoed faintly: You scare me sometimes.
He thought about it. Did he scare her because of what he said… or because of what he didn't?
A knock came at his door. Ryan stepped in, nervous. "Man, I heard about Harding. Derek's spreading stuff non-stop. You want me to hit back? Spread rumors of our own?"
Ethan shook his head. "No. That's Derek's game. He plays in mud. I play on glass. Let him slip."
Ryan frowned. "Then what is the plan?"
Ethan's eyes glinted in the dim light. "Simple. Let him believe he's winning. The deeper he digs, the deeper he buries himself."
Ryan shivered. Ethan's voice wasn't angry, wasn't heated. It was calm. Calculated.
The voice of someone who never fought battles he hadn't already won.