---
I tossed my duffel bag on the upper bunk, feeling the sting of judgmental stares burning into my back.
First day. First enemy. No — first dozen enemies.
"Oi, newbie," someone sneered from the doorway. I turned, slow and unimpressed, to find a tall guy leaning against the frame like he owned the place. Black hair, dark eyes, and a cigarette barely dangling from his lips. Mafia aura? Off the charts.
"This isn't a playground. Lose the pretty-boy act or you'll lose your teeth."
Pretty-boy?
My internal scream almost broke free. If only he knew he was threatening a girl wearing a sports bra and taping her ribs every morning.
I flashed him a lazy smirk. "Worried I'll steal your title, princess?"
The room went dead silent.
Someone whistled lowly. Another gasped.
He spat his cigarette out with a smirk.
"You've got guts. I'll break 'em later."
And then he was gone, leaving behind the heavy scent of danger and expensive cologne.
Great. Roommate from hell? Check.
Just as I started unpacking, a second figure slipped in.
This one was different — messy hair, wire-framed glasses, and a hoodie that could swallow him whole. Quiet. Observant.
He plopped onto the bed across from mine, pulled out a laptop, and started typing without sparing me a glance.
"Ignore Mikhail," he mumbled, voice rough like he hadn't spoken to a human in months. "He's just mad you're prettier."
I blinked.
Was that a compliment...?
"And you are?" I asked.
"Evan. Hacker division. You?"
My mouth almost slipped.
Instead, I grinned wide and cocky. "Call me Ash."
Fake name: Activated.
Fake identity: In progress.
Evan looked at me for the first time, analyzing like I was code he could crack open.
I returned the stare with equal chill — my years of undercover training kicking in like second nature.
A loud crash interrupted our little staring match.
"Oi! Fresh meat!" someone bellowed from the corridor.
Before I could react, a soccer ball slammed into my stomach, making me double over with an oomph.
I glared at the doorway where a guy with golden hair and the cockiest grin I'd ever seen was jogging in.
"Welcome to hell, rookie!" he laughed, tossing the ball up and down like a child high on sugar.
"Name's Ace. Best striker. Best fighter. Best—"
"Biggest idiot," Evan cut in dryly.
Ace threw his arm around my shoulders like we were best friends since birth.
"You'll love it here. There's cafeteria brawls, midnight races, illegal betting pools—"
"Illegal?" I raised a brow, feigning innocence.
Ace winked. "If you get caught, it's illegal. If you don't, it's tradition."
Oh yeah.
This place was criminal paradise.
And I had to survive without blowing my cover.
No biggie.
---
Later that evening, the real challenge began.
Roommate assignments.
We were all called into the common hall — a gothic space with chandeliers that looked like they could crush someone any second.
The Dean — a sharp-eyed woman everyone called "Madam Viper" — stood at the podium, reading names like she was picking fighters for death matches.
"Mikhail Volkov and Asher Black."
My fake name.
Mikhail — mafia prince — my new roommate.
I swear I heard a chorus of devil laughs from behind me.
Mikhail shoved past others and stopped right in front of me, glaring down like he was already envisioning my funeral.
"You're dead, pretty boy," he whispered as we shook hands.
I squeezed his fingers harder than necessary, smirking.
"Hope you like bunk beds, princess."
---
Later that night
"Turn off the damn lights, newbie," Mikhail growled from his lower bunk.
I pretended not to hear, flipping through the rulebook I wasn't actually reading.
Ten seconds later, a shoe came flying at my head.
Instinct took over — I dodged midair like a freaking ninja, the shoe smashing into the lamp behind me instead.
Crash.
Darkness swallowed the room.
"Problem solved," I said sweetly, settling into bed.
Somewhere below me, Mikhail was muttering curses in at least three languages.
---
Notes to self:
Roommate: Highly dangerous. Will probably try to stab me in my sleep.
Hacker nerd: Surprisingly helpful but suspiciously nosy.
Soccer idiot: Might get me killed but good for quick distractions.
Mission Status: Undercover success (for now).
If I survived the week without accidentally being exposed, it'd be a miracle.
But damn — a small part of me?
Already having too much fun.
---
End of Chapter 2.
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