CHAPTER ONE: A VERY EXPENSIVE MISTAKE

The first sign that something was wrong was the email.

It arrived at 8:03 on a Monday morning, just as Blackthorn University's residential office opened for the semester.

SUBJECT: FINAL RESIDENTIAL ASSIGNMENT — CONFIRMATION REQUIRED

The message was brief, formal, and accompanied by an official university housing document.

According to the document, {{user}} had been assigned to Blackthorn's North Estate residence.

The problem?

North Estate was not an ordinary student dormitory.

It was a mansion.

A literal mansion.

Located beyond the northern gates of the university campus, the property sat behind towering iron fences and a long private driveway lined with old trees. It had multiple floors, dozens of bedrooms, a ballroom, several lounges, a private library, a heated indoor pool, a gym, a home cinema, a massive kitchen, and enough bathrooms to accommodate a small hotel.

The university's official description called it a premium residential learning environment.

Everyone else called it the King Estate.

Because the King family had once owned it.

And because the list of people currently assigned to live there looked less like a residential roster and more like a warning.

Killian Carson.

Creighton King.

Jeremy Volkov.

Yulian Dimitriev.

Landon King.

Nikolai Sokolov.

Brandon King.

Eli King.

Kayden Lockwood.

Gareth Carson.

Vaughn Morozov.

And now, somehow, {{user}}.

Eleven young men and one additional student.

One professor.

One mansion.

And a university administration that had apparently decided this was a perfectly reasonable arrangement.

The email ended with a cheerful sentence.

We hope you enjoy your new residential community!

It was almost impressive how threatening a sentence could become when placed in the wrong context.

---

CHAPTER TWO: THE RESIDENTIAL OFFICE

The residential office was crowded with students collecting their keys, submitting documents, and arguing over room assignments.

Behind the main desk, a tired administrator was typing rapidly while a printer struggled to produce another stack of paperwork.

When {{user}} approached the counter with the assignment confirmation, the administrator barely looked up.

"Name?"

After receiving the answer, she typed something into her computer.

Then she stopped.

Her fingers hovered above the keyboard.

She checked the screen again.

Then she looked at the document.

Then back at the screen.

"Oh."

It was a very small word.

A very unfortunate word.

The administrator adjusted her glasses.

"North Estate?"

She looked as though she desperately wanted the answer to be no.

After checking the student number, she opened another window and stared at it for several seconds.

"That's strange."

She clicked something.

Then something else.

"Oh, dear."

A student waiting behind {{user}} leaned sideways to look at the screen.

"Is that the mansion?"

The administrator immediately turned the monitor away.

"Please respect the privacy of other students."

"So it is the mansion."

"Sir."

"Does it have a pool?"

"Sir."

"How many people are living there?"

The administrator closed the window.

"I am currently investigating a possible administrative error."

That was not reassuring.

She turned back to {{user}}.

"Your assignment is definitely registered in the system. However, I believe the residential allocation may have been generated incorrectly."

"May have been?" another employee asked from a nearby desk.

The administrator shot her a look.

The other employee suddenly became fascinated by her paperwork.

The administrator lowered her voice.

"North Estate is a special residential property. It isn't usually assigned to students through the standard housing system."

She paused.

"Nor is Professor Lockwood usually listed alongside undergraduate residents."

That was the moment the situation became considerably more interesting.

Because the professor's name was there.

Right between Eli King and Gareth Carson.

As though the university had decided that placing a professor among ten notoriously difficult men was a normal housing arrangement.

The administrator rubbed her forehead.

"I'll contact the housing director."

She picked up the phone.

And that was how the first person learned that the new resident of North Estate was not going to disappear quietly into an ordinary dormitory.

---

CHAPTER THREE: THE MANSION

North Estate was even more ridiculous in person.

The driveway alone was longer than some of the university's streets. The mansion stood at its end, all dark stone, tall windows, elaborate balconies, and old-fashioned architecture that looked as though it belonged in a historical drama about a family with too much money and too many secrets.

A fountain occupied the center of the front courtyard.

The front doors were enormous.

There were security cameras mounted near the entrance, a keypad beside the gate, and a discreet security station tucked beside the garage.

A black luxury car was parked beneath the covered entrance.

Another vehicle stood near the side of the building.

Someone had left a basketball beside the steps.

The front door was already open.

From somewhere inside came the unmistakable sound of two people arguing.

"I am telling you, that is not where the sofa goes."

Landon King's voice carried through the entrance hall.

A second voice answered, calm and unimpressed.

"It's a sofa, Landon. It goes wherever someone puts it."

"That is exactly the kind of thinking that leads to ugly living rooms."

"Then stop talking and move it."

A third voice interrupted.

"If either of you scratches the floor, I'm billing your family."

Brandon, presumably.

A loud crash followed.

Silence.

Then Jeremy Volkov laughed.

"Oh, that's definitely scratched."

The mansion suddenly seemed less like a luxurious residence and more like an expensive experiment in how long it would take for twelve people to destroy something priceless.

The entrance hall opened into a vast central space with a chandelier overhead and a sweeping staircase that divided into two upper corridors. A long hallway led toward the living areas, while another passage opened into a formal dining room.

There were portraits on the walls.

A grandfather clock stood in one corner.

The floors were polished marble.

The entire place smelled faintly of expensive wood, fresh coffee, and whatever disaster was currently happening in the kitchen.

The mansion had more than enough space for everyone.

That was the important part.

The bedrooms were spread across several wings, and each resident had a private suite with an attached bathroom. There were separate study rooms, a shared library, a games room, and multiple lounges.

In other words, nobody actually needed to share a bedroom.

Which was fortunate.

Because the possibility of that arrangement would have caused a civil war before lunchtime.

(probably better)

CHAPTER ONE: A VERY EXPENSIVE MISTAKE

The first sign that something was wrong was an email.

It arrived at precisely 8:03 on a Monday morning, just as Blackthorn University’s residential office opened for the new semester.

SUBJECT: FINAL RESIDENTIAL ASSIGNMENT — CONFIRMATION REQUIRED

The email was short, formal, and accompanied by an official housing document bearing the university’s seal. Nothing about it seemed particularly unusual at first. Students received their housing assignments every semester, and mistakes, while inconvenient, were hardly unheard of.

However, there was one small detail that made this particular assignment considerably more interesting.

According to the document, {{user}} had been assigned to North Estate.

And North Estate was not a dormitory.

It was a mansion.

A ridiculously expensive, absurdly enormous mansion.

Situated beyond the northern gates of Blackthorn University, the property stood behind towering black iron fences and a long, winding driveway lined with ancient trees. The building itself was an impressive piece of architecture, constructed from dark stone with enormous windows, intricate balconies, and enough floors to make a person question whether they had accidentally enrolled in university or inherited a European kingdom.

The grounds included manicured gardens, a private courtyard, a fountain, and a garage that could accommodate more luxury vehicles than most people would see in their entire lives.

Inside, things were even more ridiculous.

There was a ballroom, several formal lounges, a private library, a home cinema, a fully equipped gym, an indoor swimming pool, and a kitchen large enough to feed an entire student population. The dining room could comfortably accommodate a small gathering of aristocrats, while the hallways were decorated with expensive paintings, antique furniture, and portraits of people who looked as though they had never experienced a single financial inconvenience.

The university’s official description called it a premium residential learning environment.

Naturally, nobody who had ever seen the place called it that.

Most people knew it as the King Estate.

The property had once belonged to the King family before it was transferred into the university’s residential program under circumstances that were rarely discussed. Even now, despite its official status as student accommodation, the mansion retained the unmistakable atmosphere of a private family estate rather than a university residence.

And the people currently assigned to live there certainly did nothing to make the arrangement seem ordinary.

Killian Carson.

Creighton King.

Jeremy Volkov.

Yulian Dimitriev.

Landon King.

Nikolai Sokolov.

Brandon King.

Eli King.

Gareth Carson.

Vaughn Morozov.

And, listed separately beneath the student residents, Professor Kayden Lockwood.

Eleven men.

One professor.

One mansion.

And now, somehow, {{user}}.

The email contained no explanation for the unusual arrangement. There was no mention of a special program, no warning about the residents, and certainly no indication that the university had managed to place a professor and eleven exceptionally difficult young men under the same roof.

Instead, the message concluded with a cheerful sentence that seemed almost deliberately insulting.

We hope you enjoy your new residential community!

It was remarkable how threatening a few innocent words could become when the circumstances were wrong.

Because somewhere within Blackthorn University’s administrative system, someone had apparently looked at the names on that residential list and decided that putting all of them together was an excellent idea.

Either that person had an extraordinary sense of humor, or the university was about to experience its most chaotic semester in history.

Possibly both.

---

CHAPTER TWO: THE RESIDENTIAL OFFICE

By eight-thirty, Blackthorn University’s residential office was already crowded.

Students filled the waiting area, collecting their keys, signing housing agreements, and complaining about everything from inconvenient room assignments to the apparent criminal offense of being placed on the fourth floor without an elevator nearby.

Behind the main counter, several employees worked through towering stacks of paperwork. A printer whirred continuously in the background, occasionally making a noise that suggested it was considering retirement.

When {{user}} approached the counter with the housing confirmation, the administrator barely glanced up.

“Name, please?”

After receiving the answer, she typed it into her computer.

For a few seconds, everything proceeded normally.

Then she stopped.

Her fingers hovered above the keyboard.

She leaned closer to the screen, clicked something, and checked the document again.

Her expression changed.

It was subtle at first: a slight furrowing of her eyebrows, followed by a long pause that grew increasingly uncomfortable.

“Oh.”

One word.

One very unfortunate word.

The administrator adjusted her glasses and looked up.

“North Estate?”

The question sounded less like a confirmation and more like a desperate hope that she had misread something.

She checked the student number, opened another window, and began navigating through the university’s housing database. The longer she stared at the screen, the less convinced she appeared that the system was functioning as intended.

“That’s strange,” she murmured.

Another click.

A pause.

“Oh, dear.”

A student standing behind {{user}} immediately leaned sideways, attempting to catch a glimpse of the computer monitor.

“Wait. Is that the mansion?”

The administrator turned the screen away.

“Please respect the privacy of other students.”

“So it is the mansion.”

“Sir.”

“Doesn’t that place have a swimming pool?”

“Sir.”

“And, like, an entire ballroom?”

The administrator gave him a look that could have silenced a less determined person.

He stepped back.

Slightly.

The administrator returned her attention to the computer and pressed her lips together.

“I appear to have encountered a potential administrative error.”

That was not reassuring.

She looked at {{user}} again, her expression caught somewhere between professional courtesy and genuine concern.

“Your assignment is definitely registered in the system. However, North Estate is a special residential property. It is not normally allocated through the standard student housing process.”

She paused.

“There are additional approval procedures involved.”

Another pause.

“And I’m fairly certain that Professor Lockwood should not be listed alongside the undergraduate residents.”

That was the moment the situation became significantly more interesting.

Because the professor’s name was there.

Not in a separate section marked faculty accommodation.

Not under a heading labeled residential supervisor.

His name appeared directly among the residents, positioned between two of the university’s most notoriously difficult students, as though someone had decided that placing an intimidating professor in the middle of a mansion full of troublemakers was a perfectly reasonable administrative decision.

The administrator rubbed her forehead.

“I’m going to contact the housing director.”

She picked up the phone and began dialing.

While she waited for someone to answer, she glanced at the document again, apparently hoping that the names might rearrange themselves into something more sensible.

They did not.

Eventually, the administrator straightened in her chair.

“Yes, hello. This is the residential office. I’m calling about an unusual assignment to North Estate.”

A pause.

“Yes, the King Estate.”

Another pause.

Her expression became increasingly difficult to interpret.

“No, I understand that the assignment has been generated. I’m asking whether it was intentional.”

Silence.

She looked toward {{user}}.

Then back at the screen.

“I see.”

Another silence.

“Understood. Thank you.”

She hung up slowly.

For several seconds, she said nothing.

Then she placed the phone on the desk and offered {{user}} a smile that was clearly intended to be reassuring.

It wasn't particularly successful.

“The housing director is looking into it. Unfortunately, your assignment currently remains active in the system.”

She slid the document across the counter.

“Your room key should be available at the estate itself. Security has been notified of your arrival.”

That was all the explanation she had.

No apology.

No alternative room.

No indication that anyone had considered how strange the arrangement was.

Just a key that apparently needed to be collected from a mansion occupied by eleven men and one professor.

The administrator offered another polite smile.

“Welcome to Blackthorn University.”

Somewhere behind the counter, the printer jammed.

Neither of them acknowledged it.

---

CHAPTER THREE: THE MANSION

North Estate was even more ridiculous in person.

The driveway stretched for what felt like an unreasonable distance before curving toward the main building. Tall trees lined either side, their branches casting long shadows over the immaculate grounds. Beyond them, the mansion rose against the morning sky, its dark stone exterior and towering windows giving it the appearance of a place that belonged in a historical drama about a powerful family with too much money and far too many secrets.

A fountain stood in the center of the courtyard, its water flowing quietly into a circular marble basin. The gardens were meticulously maintained, the hedges trimmed with almost excessive precision, and the front steps were wide enough to accommodate an entire graduating class.

Black iron gates guarded the entrance to the property, and discreet security cameras were positioned along the outer walls. A keypad sat beside the main entrance, while a small security station stood near the garage.

Under the covered driveway, several expensive vehicles were parked in a neat row.

One of them looked as though it cost more than an entire apartment building.

Another was black, polished, and so immaculate that it appeared never to have encountered a single raindrop.

A basketball had been abandoned near the front steps.

It was, somehow, the least surprising thing about the property.

The enormous front doors were already open.

From somewhere inside came the sound of an argument.

“I’m telling you, that is not where the sofa goes.”

Landon King’s voice carried through the entrance hall with the confidence of someone who believed interior design was a matter of personal authority.

A second voice responded, calm and entirely unimpressed.

“It’s a sofa, Landon. It goes wherever someone puts it.”

“That is exactly the kind of thinking that results in ugly living rooms.”

“Then stop talking and move it.”

“If either of you scratches the floor, I’m billing your family.”

Brandon King, presumably the only person in the house who had remembered that the furniture was expensive.

There was a brief scraping noise.

A louder thud followed.

Then silence.

For approximately two seconds, the entire mansion seemed to hold its breath.

“Oh,” Jeremy Volkov said from somewhere inside. “That definitely scratched.”

Laughter followed.

Landon immediately began protesting.

“It was already like that!”

“It happened while you were moving it,” Brandon replied.

“That proves nothing.”

“It proves you were moving it.”

“That is a ridiculous standard of evidence.”

By the time the front entrance came fully into view, it was becoming increasingly clear that North Estate was not going to be a peaceful place to live.

The entrance hall was enormous, with polished marble floors, dark wood paneling, and a chandelier hanging from the ceiling several stories above. A sweeping staircase curved upward before dividing into two separate corridors on the upper floor. Tall windows overlooked the courtyard, allowing the morning sunlight to spill across the expensive furnishings.

A grandfather clock stood against one wall. Portraits of former King family members hung in elaborate frames, their painted expressions ranging from dignified to vaguely disapproving.

The entire place smelled faintly of polished wood, expensive cologne, and freshly brewed coffee.

Somewhere deeper inside, someone was playing music.

Someone else was apparently arguing about breakfast.

And, judging by the occasional crash and the increasingly irritated sound of Brandon’s voice, the kitchen was not having a particularly successful morning.

Yet the most absurd part of the mansion was not its size, its furniture, or even the fact that it had a ballroom.

It was the layout.

North Estate had been designed as a private residence for a wealthy family, not a conventional university dormitory. Its corridors extended into separate wings, with multiple staircases connecting the upper floors. The student accommodation occupied an entire section of the mansion, while the faculty and staff quarters were positioned in a separate wing with their own entrance and private offices.

Every resident had a private bedroom suite, complete with an attached bathroom, a walk-in closet, and enough space to make an ordinary university dorm room look like a storage cupboard.

The upper floors contained additional study rooms, quiet lounges, and a private library. The east wing housed a gym and indoor swimming pool, while the west wing contained the cinema, games room, and several entertainment areas.

There was also a formal dining room, a breakfast room, a smaller kitchen for everyday use, and a main kitchen that looked capable of catering a wedding without outside assistance.

Nobody needed to share a bedroom.

Nobody needed to share a bathroom.

Nobody even needed to see another resident for an entire day if they chose the right corridor and made sufficient use of the estate’s many rooms.

In theory, the arrangement was practically perfect.

In practice, the problem was not a lack of space.

The problem was the people living in it.

Because somewhere in the process of creating this residential arrangement, Blackthorn University had gathered eleven men with strong personalities, questionable patience, and absolutely no collective instinct for peace and quiet.

And then, for reasons nobody had yet explained, the university had added {{user}} to the list.

The mansion was large enough to accommodate everyone comfortably.

Whether its residents could tolerate one another long enough to make it through the semester was an entirely different question.

And judging by the argument that had already resumed in the living room, the answer was not looking particularly promising.