Chapter 160: Plans For Elira

Chapter 160: Plans For Elira

{Regina}

~**^**~

Rylan’s footsteps came like a small storm—hasty and apologetic.

He poked his head through the Student Council office door as if the room itself might bite, eyes darting to mine the moment he saw me sitting there.

"You asked me to come back if I found out, Secretary Regina," he said, swallowing.

I gave him a slow, indulgent smile and let him squirm a second longer. The tiniest hesitation in a messenger’s voice is a useful thing; it tells me how tightly they clutch the truth they carry.

"Well?" I prompted.

He blinked, like the words had to be dragged out of him. "Elira Shaw—she drew red."

A little, private pleasure bloomed low and hot in my chest. Red meant combat. The single most delicious scrap of news I had hoped for.

Not just because I wanted her hurt—no, because red opened doors, red made people dangerous, and dangerous people are spectacularly easy to use.

"Good." My voice stayed smooth, casual, the kind of tone that makes confidences slide across it like oil. "You did well to find out."

Then I tapped the table once, lost in thought. "Bring me one thing. The homeroom records." I let the request hang. "Pull Elira’s and the list of everyone who drew red, quietly. No one must see you with it."

His face went pale, like the idea of sneaking official documents set his spine straight with conscience.

"I—I can, yes," he stammered. "I will—I will be right back."

"Good." I let him go, watched him hurry off, and only after the door clicked shut did I allow the smile to spread properly—slow and satisfied, not quite pleasant.

Alone, the office felt like a stage set for possibility. Kaelis might occupy the chair at the head of this table and bathe in applause, but she lacked the stomach for the small cruelties that actually steer people.

I, however, had both patience and appetite.

Red meant combat. Combat meant exposure. Combat meant the academy’s lights trained on whomever stepped into the ring.

If I could arrange who watched, who whispered, which opponents were encouraged, which rumours drifted into which ears—if I could nudge a hesitant judge here, a reckless competitor there—then when Elira stumbled, it would be my carefully placed push that finished the fall.

I smoothed my hands over the council table, tasting the possibility like sugar. The game had finally begun.

---

Two hours later, the knock at the council office door was so faint I almost laughed.

"Come in," I called smoothly.

Rylan slipped inside, his face pale, his eyes darting like a guilty thief. In a way, he was.

"Did you get it?" I asked, already knowing the answer by the way he clutched his phone like it was burning him.

He nodded quickly and held it out with both hands, like an offering. "I—I couldn’t take the papers, but I managed to snap photos. All the names. All the colours. Everyone who drew red."

My smile spread slowly as I plucked the phone from his hand. I scrolled through the pictures, each one crisp enough to make my chest hum with satisfaction. The list was mine now.

Without a word, I pulled up the contacts app and typed in my number, saving it under Regina

"When I call," I told him, my voice calm but threaded with steel, "you answer. Immediately."

"Yes, Secretary," he stammered, nodding so hard I thought his head might fall off. Then he scurried out the door, vanishing like a frightened rabbit.

I leaned back in the chair, the phone already buzzing with my own messages arriving. One by one, the photos filled my gallery. Beautiful.

Gathering the device under my arm, I strolled into the smaller room adjoining the office, where the council kept the printer.

The machine hummed to life beneath my fingers, spitting out page after page until the red-list was mine in ink and paper, not just pixels.

I gathered the sheets into a neat stack and held them in my hands, smiling to myself. Elira Shaw, standing in the same list as wolves far above her station. The thought was almost too delicious.

Slipping back into the office, I lowered myself into the secretary’s chair and let the papers fan slightly across the table.

For a moment, I simply admired them. Then, with a flicker of anticipation, I reached for my phone again.

Time to call Mother.

She would enjoy this as much as I did—the news that Elira Shaw had picked red. That the girl who should never have been allowed to breathe our air was now tethered to combat.

And I would tell her my plans. To take these names, to rally those wolves, and to see to it that if any of them faced Elira, she would not just lose. She would be broken.

I tapped the screen and held it to my ear before I even listened for the first ring. My fingers felt oddly steady—a small, dangerous calm, as the call connected.

"Hello, Gina." Mother’s voice slid through the line like silk; practiced, warm, exactly what I needed.

"Mother," I purred, folding my hands over the stack of printed names. "You will want to sit down for this."

There was a soft little chuckle on the other end. "Do I? Should I be frightened or intrigued?"

"Both," I said, and let the word hang. I could already hear her leaning forward. "Elira drew the red card meant for combat in preparation for the Founders Day."

Just then, a crisp little sound—part amusement and part satisfaction came from the phone. "Red?" Mother repeated, savouring it like a taste. "Oh. How delicious."

"You read my mind." I smoothed the papers with deliberate care. "And she is not alone. There are a number of students who drew the same colour, some obvious contenders, some useful weaklings, and I have the full list. I’m planning to encourage them. Make sure any confrontation with Elira is as public and humiliating as possible."

"Excellent." Her approval was immediate and cold. "Subtlety, Regina. Never be crude about it. Push, nudge, present them with an opportunity. Let them believe it’s their idea to compete harder. If one of them faces Elira in the qualifiers, make sure they go in confident and primed to finish the job."

"I thought you would say that." I listed my outline: quietly identify the red-list leaders, offer them small favors in exchange for loyalty, seed doubts about Elira’s competence, and nudge the selection committee toward matchups that favored our recruits.

"I can pull a few strings in the Student Council and get casual notes to the organizers," I said. "There is a first-year student named Rylan, who I’m using. He is already doing the legwork. He will hand me anything I need."

"Good," Mother said. "And be practical. Money talks, but so does timing. A whispered rumour an hour before a match will throw a girl off her game more effectively than a shove in the ring. People are weaker when uncertainty nests in their heads."

I smiled so hard my cheeks hurt.

"I will use both. I will make them comfortable, then make them doubt. I can offer club leadership, exam tips, a place in the drama troupe—small bets that promise a bigger stage. Then, when the time comes, I will ensure that those who have received something feel indebted. Once indebted, cruelty is so easy to ask of them."

"Wonderful," Mother murmured, indulgent. "And if any of them hesitate?"

"Leverage," I said, and let the word do its work. "Attendance records. Small infractions. A tutor’s misfiled report. Nothing damaging I can’t fix later, but enough to remind them that I hold the lever. You taught me how to plant a seed so quietly no one suspects the hand behind it."

She hummed, pleased. "Very good. And if, by some mischance, Elira proves stubborn? If she starts to win?"

My smile sharpened. "Then we accelerate. Public narratives are malleable. We pull at the right threads—a supposed eyewitness claiming she used underhanded methods. If she resists in the ring, we make sure the crowd resists with her reputation."

There was silence on the line for a beat, which I let stretch. It tasted like triumph. "You are vicious, Gina," Mother said finally, with the fondness of someone watching a favourite chess piece move into place. "You always were."

"And efficient," I corrected, luxuriating in the compliment. I tapped the papers again, feeling their weight. "I’ll start with a few of the obvious names — the cocky ones, the ones hungry for status."

"Good." Her voice tightened, businesslike now. "Keep Kaelis at arm’s length. Be subtle. And Regina?"

"Yes."

"Make sure no one can trace any of it back to the council." Her last instruction was an order wrapped in caution. "You are clever. You know how to make things look like chance."

"I always have," I said. I could hear the hum of her life through the line—the life of someone who enjoyed arranging outcomes from a great distance. It felt like an alliance forged in shadow and silk.

We said our little goodbyes and let the line click dead. When I set the phone down, the room felt warmer, as if lit from within.

The plan was no longer an idea; it had weight, names, and momentum.

I stacked the lists neatly, slid them into my bag, and let the smile on my face be unsparing.

Now, all I had left to do was to make sure the pieces moved exactly where I wanted them.