The architecture lab smelled of polished wood and fresh paint, the hum of computers blending with the low murmur of students preparing their final presentations. Scarlett Rose adjusted her portfolio, her fingers brushing the edges of her sketches. Today wasn't just an exhibition — it was the audit, a moment designed to separate genuine talent from whispers and doubt.
From the balcony, Alisa Meng observed, eyes sharp as glass. Joanna lingered at her side, a notebook clutched tightly. "Everything is in place," Joanna whispered. "The professors are already murmuring. The questions… they're all skewed against her."
Alisa smiled, smooth and lethal. "Good. Let them question her methods, her sources, even her intentions. Scarlett Rose has confidence, but confidence can crack under the right pressure." Her gaze flicked toward the doorway, where Nicolas Volkov had just entered quietly. He moved silently, a dark presence among the crowd of students.
Alisa's jaw tightened. Nicolas's attention, always so controlled, now lingered on Scarlett longer than usual. That one stolen glance yesterday had done what Alisa couldn't — it had ignited interest. And that had to be managed.
Scarlett stepped forward as the first professor began, clipboard in hand. "Miss Rose, we've received some concerns regarding the originality of your design," the professor said, voice polite but edged with suspicion. "Could you explain how your model diverges from García's 1943 pavilion?"
A ripple of tension passed through the room. Scarlett met the professor's gaze steadily. "Of course," she said, lifting her model slightly. "While I drew inspiration from the principles of symmetry and form, I integrated an adaptive AI system that responds to light, temperature, and occupancy patterns. This is not a reproduction — it is a living reinterpretation, something García himself might have envisioned if he had today's technology."
A few students murmured, impressed. But Joanna's lips curled into a small, sly smile from the back, whispering to Alisa. "They'll never buy it. Let's see them defend that in a live demo."
Alisa's green eyes gleamed. "Precisely. That's when we strike."
Scarlett activated the sensors. The model shifted gracefully, light refracted through the glass surfaces, subtle movements indicating airflow and temperature regulation. Professors leaned in, scribbling notes. Gasps punctuated the room as the structure adapted dynamically.
Alisa's smile faltered, the smooth mask cracking slightly. "Impossible…" she muttered under her breath. Scarlett's innovation was undeniable. Her plot, her whispers, even the planted doubts — they weren't enough to overshadow real talent.
Joanna, desperate, raised her hand. "But… Miss Rose, how do we verify these AI patterns? What if this is pre-programmed trickery?"
Nicolas stepped forward silently, his tall frame commanding attention. "If I may," he said, voice low but carrying. "The data has been logged, timestamps verified. The system responds in real-time to environmental changes. It is authentic, and I've witnessed its performance firsthand."
Alisa's breath caught. Nicolas. Her control. Undermined in a single statement.
Scarlett's chest tightened, but she didn't falter. "Exactly," she said, voice steady. "I didn't just recreate something old. I enhanced it. And I can demonstrate further if needed."
The room quieted. Professors exchanged glances, impressed and cautious. Joanna's face went pale, realization dawning — Scarlett had outmaneuvered them.
Alisa clenched her jaw, lips pressed tight. Every trick, every rumor, every shadow she had sent into Scarlett's path had failed in the light of truth. Nicolas's gaze lingered on Scarlett again, brief warmth flickering in his eyes that Alisa couldn't control, couldn't touch.
Scarlett stepped back, letting her model breathe under the soft lab lights. She didn't need to shout. She didn't need to prove herself with venom or anger. Her talent spoke louder than whispers, louder than scheming green eyes, louder than fear.
As the session ended, applause filled the room quietly but earnestly. Nicolas gave a small nod, unspoken approval shining through. Scarlett exhaled softly, a triumphant yet measured smile on her lips.
Outside, Alisa and Joanna retreated to a quiet corner. Alisa's voice was calm, almost too calm. "This isn't over," she whispered, green eyes smoldering. "We've lost this battle, but the war is far from finished. Next time, Scarlett won't have Nicolas watching her. And next time… we strike where she least expects."
Scarlett, unaware of the plotting eyes beyond the glass doors, packed her sketches carefully. Her heart pounded with relief, excitement, and the quiet thrill of victory. One battle won, yes — but the war at the University of Bologna, tangled with ambition, jealousy, and dangerous alliances, had only just begun.