Move 3

Three hours later, the first class of the day finally ended. Students began packing up, their chatter filling the air as some hurried to their next lecture, others lingered for a break, and a few were done for the day altogether. Angelique’s classes were over. But truthfully, she hadn’t absorbed a single word from the past three hours. Her attention had been fixed entirely on him — Trunks. The way he wrote, the way he adjusted his glasses when thinking, the quiet composure he carried. She studied his every movement, every subtle expression. And she could feel the others noticing it too — the curious glances, the faint whispers. As she gathered her things, an unfamiliar perfume drifted close. Suhee stopped in front of her, gaze sweeping from head to toe before settling on the golden pin clipped to Angelique’s blazer.

“A-Class Upper, huh?” she said, tapping the pin lightly. “Who are you? I’ve never seen you around before.”

“I’m a transfer student. Today’s my first day,” Angelique replied calmly, removing Suhee’s hand from her pin.

“And your name?”

“Angelique Rochefort. Of Bijouteries Rochefort. My father is Pierre Rochefort, a jeweler.”

Suhee tilted her head slightly, her tone edged with amusement.

“Bijouteries Rochefort? Can’t say I’ve heard of it.” Angelique smiled faintly.

“Not everyone can. Rochefort caters to a very specific clientele — the kind who value rarity over fame.”

Suhee let out a short, sarcastic laugh.

“If you say so. Welcome to Stanton, Angelique Rochefort.”

“Thank you. And you are?”

“The business and politics that run the world,” Suhee said with a faint smile. “Park Suhee.” She turned and walked away, her heels clicking sharply against the marble floor.

Catherine approached cautiously.

“I think you just caught Suhee’s eye,” she said, concern softening her voice.

“Is she a bully?” Angelique asked.

“No,” Catherine replied, hesitating. “But… she can be. Especially when it comes to Trunks.” Angelique’s lips curved into a dreamy smile.

“Then she’ll have to bear with me,” she said softly. “Because Trunks is the most beautiful man I’ve ever seen.”

Her eyes glazed slightly — lost somewhere far away. Catherine and Aaliyah exchanged uneasy glances, unsure what to say. Finally, Aaliyah cleared her throat.

“Shall we have dinner together?”

“Yes, come over to my place tonight,” Catherine offered quickly. “I’ll ask my chef to prepare something nice.”

“Sounds perfect. Send me the address and time — I’ll be there,” Angelique said. She slung her bag over her shoulder with a graceful motion. “For now, I’ve got a few things to take care of. See you later, girls.”

And with that, she left the room — her heels echoing down the corridor, her mind still haunted by the image of the awkward boy with the quiet eyes.

¤¤¤

“So, if I’m right, he should be in the library right now,” Angelique murmured to herself as she slid into her car.

The drive wasn’t long. Soon, she parked in front of the university’s grand library — a breathtaking building of old-world charm and silent reverence. Inside, it felt like stepping into a different century. The walls were lined with towering shelves, each overflowing with books of every imaginable genre. Golden chandeliers hung from a vaulted ceiling, their soft glow dancing on the polished wooden floor. It looked less like a library and more like the private collection of a medieval palace.

Angelique paused for a moment, taking it all in. “Beautiful,” she whispered, running her fingers lightly along a row of antique leather spines. Then, her eyes sharpened — she wasn’t here for the books. She was here for someone. She moved quietly through the aisles, scanning each corner, her heels making no sound against the carpeted floor. After several turns, she finally spotted him — Trunks — standing alone, looking at a pile of books. She straightened her posture, smoothed her hair, and walked toward him with quiet confidence.

“Hi,” she said brightly when she reached him. “You remember me? We’re in the same class.”

Trunks froze. He didn’t answer — just turned his head slightly before looking away.

“My name’s Angelique,” she continued with a soft smile. “I’m new here.”

He finally looked at her, his expression unreadable, then dropped his gaze again. Without a word, he stepped back, grabbed a book from the shelf in front of him, and started walking quickly in the opposite direction.

“What the hell…” she muttered under her breath, annoyance flickering across her face.

She followed him until she managed to cut him off, stepping directly into his path.

“Running away from me, huh?” she teased, tilting her head and smiling seductively. Trunks froze again, clearly tense, his shoulders stiff.

“Am I that ugly and insignificant that you can’t even look at me?” she asked, voice low, teasing but edged with curiosity.

He stammered, eyes darting away. “H-hum… no, that’s not—it’s not like that.”

“Don’t worry,” she said softly, her tone suddenly gentle. “I won’t bite. My name is Angelique.”

He hesitated, then finally met her eyes.

“You can call me… Trunks,” he said shyly.

Angelique’s gaze dropped to the book in his hand. “Oh! Is that Sarcophage? I love this book.”

“You’ve read it?” he asked, sounding genuinely surprised.

“Yeah, I have. I read a lot. Actually, reading is one of my hobbies,” she said casually.

Trunks’ expression brightened just a little. “Me too,” he said, finally meeting her eyes properly.

A slow, mischievous smile curved her lips. “My favorite genre is… dark romance.”

Trunks’ eyes widened in shock, and Angelique couldn’t help but burst into laughter, the sound echoing softly through the quiet aisles.

“I’m joking,” she said with a light laugh. “I love medieval stories as well as detective fiction and criminology. I also read on diverse topics.”

Trunks nodded. “Me too.”

“So,” she continued with a playful smile, “shall we meet at a café to… discuss the books we’ve read?”

“I… I’m not interested,” Trunks replied shyly.

“You think I’m pursuing you—like trying to flirt?” she asked, letting out a soft chuckle.

“Yes,” he admitted quietly.

“To be totally honest…” She leaned closer, her eyes glinting with mischief. Then, before he could react, she pressed her lips to his, giving him a soft, tender kiss. When she pulled back, she met his startled gaze. “It’s exactly what I’m doing,” she whispered. “Because I like you—and I don’t think you’ll stop me.”

“See you later, Trunks.”

With that, she turned and walked away, leaving him frozen in place. Trunks slowly raised his hand to his lips, still feeling the warmth of her kiss.