In the middle of the marketing research class discussion, a sudden, unpleasant odor permeated the lecture room, causing students to wrinkle their noses and creating chaos that forced the professor to pause his lecture.

Blair, who had been sitting quietly, smirked bitterly as she hunched over what was going on. Earlier, Samantha had “accidentally” bumped into her, spilling coffee all over her blouse.

‘Yeah, accidentally,’ Blair muttered to herself. ‘But I thought I’d won today… tsk.’

To Blair, every day on campus felt like a battle as she faced off against countless of “nemeses” in every class and hallway. But today, she’d thought she had won the battle—until...

The professor clapped his hands to regain control of the discussion. “Alright, everyone, settle down. Let’s focus on our topic.”

But the students continued to grumble, some holding their noses dramatically. A bold voice from the back spoke up, “How can we concentrate when we can barely breathe in here?”

Everyone turned to look at Blair, who caught Samantha’s gaze and mouthed, “Well played!”

Just before their marketing class began, Blair was reading in her notebook when Samantha accidentally tripped, splashing a half-empty iced coffee across her blouse. Samantha’s eyes widened in mock horror as she gasped, “Oh my gosh, I’m so sorry, Blair! Please let me help you clean it up, or at least wear my jacket to cover the stain.”

But Blair, a seasoned pro at handling these “accidents,” simply narrowed her eyes and shook her head, dismissing Samantha’s offer. “What can I say? Accidents happen all the time,” she replied blatantly.

She made her way to the restroom, clutching her umbrella, thinking 6 about every bully-movie cliché imaginable. She half-expected a bucket of something vile to come crashing down on her head the second she stepped into a stall.

When she got to the restroom, she secured the door latch with tape to prevent it from locking—there was no way she was going to get trapped today. She even inspected the ceiling for any suspicious strings or buckets, just to be safe. Satisfied, she changed her blouse, feeling an increasing sense of victory.

As she fastened the last button, Blair looked at her reflection in the mirror, smirked, and playfully tapped her cute nose. ‘You’re incredible!’ She thought proudly, when everything went smoothly!

But now, as she glanced around and noticed Samantha and her friends laughing while her classmates cast disgusted looks at her and covered their noses, she realized she had underestimated them.

“They are incredibly clever!” she muttered, praising their unpredictable tactics.

“It seriously smells like a baby’s poop that has leaked from the diaper!” Several students nodded, scrunching their faces.

Blair felt the stares burning into her, the bitterness in her smirk tightening into a hardened expression. She was used to being the target, but the sheer pettiness still grated on her.

The professor cleared his throat, either unaware of the true cause or deliberately choosing to ignore it. “Enough. If there’s an issue with the ventilation, we will have it checked later. For now, let’s continue.”

Blair took a steady breath, forcing herself to remain composed as Danica, the blonde student beside her, wrinkled her nose dramatically and covered her mouth as if she were about to gag. “Professor, I… I can’t take it anymore. Can I step out? I need some air,” she gasped, casting Blair a look of mockery.

However, before Danica could exit the lecture room, Blair picked up her bag and strode to the front of the class, setting it down on the professor’s desk with a compose, direct expression.

“Professor,” she asked calmly, “do I smell bad?”

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The professor, momentarily taken aback, blinked but replied honestly, “No, Blair. All I can smell on you is a strong, rather high-end perfume.” It was the same scent he often smelled on Ezra, but he chose not to mention that.

“Does my bag have any strange odors?” she continued, raising her eyebrows as she gestured toward the bag on his desk.

Again, the professor appeared puzzled but shook his head. “No, nothing strange.”

With a deliberate motion, Blair opened her bag and pulled out a small, crumpled diaper with a faint yellow stain in the center. As she held it up, her classmates’ expressions transformed into horror. Their eyes widened, jaws dropped, and a few students leaned back so far that they nearly toppled out of their chairs. One girl clutched her chest as if she were witnessing something scandalous, while another gagged, her hand pressed over her mouth.

Calmly, she peeled open the diaper, inspecting it as if she were merely examining a snack wrapper.

“This is mustard sauce, so don’t worry,” she said, touching the yellow stain with her finger and moving closer to the professor’s nose for him to confirm.

Blair showed a small, knowing smile. “Nice try,” she said, locking eyes with Samantha and her friends. “But I’ve been around plenty of children. I know exactly what real baby poop looks like—and smells like.”

What they didn’t know was that handling diapers was nothing new for her; she worked weekends at a theme park, babysitting while their parents enjoyed the rides.

“So, where did the foul odor come from?” Ranillo, a weird, nerdy guy who always sat at the back near the exit, shouted. His thick glasses glinted as he leaned forward, curiosity evident on his face.

Blair squinted as she observed Danica attempting to slip past Ezra, who had just arrived minutes earlier. His tall, muscular frame filled the doorway, obstructing her exit.

He fixed his murderous gaze on Danica, which froze her in place. Despite her instinct to flee, she found herself unable to move an inch.

Without saying a word, he took her handbag, turned it upside down, and allowed her belongings to spill out. Then, unmistakably, a greasy bundle of fried dried fish landed on the ground with a faintly pungent thud.

“Are you certain you don’t want to enroll in Theater Arts, Ms. Faartz?” Ezra’s voice resonated, cool and dry, with a perfectly timed delivery that left the room in stunned silence.

It took a moment for the class to process Ezra’s brutal joke, and then they erupted into laughter.

“Damn! We fell for your act, Danica. I mean, Ms. Faartz,” Ranillo’s voice sliced through the laughter, his tone laced with mock admiration. He adjusted his thick glasses with his middle finger in an exaggerated, deliberate gesture, glancing sideways at Samantha.

Danica’s face burned with embarrassment as she bolted for the door, brushing past Ezra while she fled in tears. Meanwhile, Samantha shot Blair a venomous glare, as if she were already plotting her next horrendous move.

Every mockery and snicker shifted entirely to Danica when they discovered her despicable act, yet no one ever apologized to Blair.

Blair didn’t expect anything from her classmates, but Ranillo’s unexpected intervention surprised her. She had only ever noticed him for his peculiar clothing and thick, old-fashioned glasses. He always sat near the exit and slipped out as soon as class ended. He rarely spoke, let alone made a loud comment. However, as she returned from the restroom, Ranillo discreetly slipped her a note that read, “Your snake cousin’s friend put something funny in your bag.”

Blair’s instincts of vigilance immediately flared, for in the world of the Wilsons—the wealthiest family in the country—she had learned to be cautious of those who seemed overly helpful, as the greatest threats often came from individuals who presented themselves as heroes.

“Hah. I am being overly suspicious again,” she lamented.

Blair’s breath hitched as her pulse quickened, the note still clutched tightly in her hand. Her vision began to blur as she steadied herself, clenching her fists.

“Huff.” One breath at a time…

Blair ran away as she recognized the familiar emotions she was experiencing.

It was the same feeling she had experienced all those years ago when she was just a child: the suffocating dread, the sense of being trapped, and the overwhelming urge to escape, yet not knowing where to go or why. Back then, everyone in her life—her parents and the surrounding people—had become suspicious and dangerous in her mind.

She was experiencing a trauma-induced panic attack triggered by the repressed memories and emotions of her past kidnapping incident.

…

Blair locked herself in the empty restroom and splashed cold water on her face, the chill snapping her back to reality. She leaned over the sink, focusing on her breath—slow inhales, deep exhales—until she regained control of her racing thoughts.

A deep sigh of relief escaped her as the panic subsided faster than it had during her contemporary speech competition months ago about health disparities and advocating for health equity. But just as she felt a delicate sense of calm, the sound of the door clicking open triggered a sharp wave of anxiety. The footsteps grew closer, and the panic surged again, urging her to hide.

She could barely move. Her body froze in place as she crouched under the sink, her eyes squeezed shut tightly. Each breath came in shallow gasps, her chest tight with panic. Then a powerful arm pulled her into a tight, reassuring embrace.