The leather chair across from Headmaster Costello’s desk was comfortable as hell, but Cedric had never been the type to sink into somebody else’s furniture like he belonged there. Back straight, one ankle resting over his opposite knee, he sat listening to the older man discuss his latest academic achievements. A neatly organized folder rested between them, filled with transcripts, faculty recommendations, and enough praise to make somebody with a weaker sense of self start blushing. Cedric wasn’t somebody with a weaker sense of self. Matter of fact, he’d expected most of it.

“Outstanding, Cedric. Absolutely outstanding.” Mr. Costello adjusted his glasses, studying the transcript with an expression rarely seen by students unfortunate enough to land themselves in his office. “A ninety-eight in advanced economic theory, exceptional marks in architectural design, and Professor Henderson tells me you’ve been assisting students who aren’t even enrolled in your courses.”

Cedric chuckled, smoothing a hand over the front of his fitted black shirt. “See, that’s the thing, Mr. Costello. Knowledge ain’t worth much if you keepin’ it to yourself, feel me? Everybody wanna be educated, but don’t nobody wanna put in the work that comes with it. Sometimes you gotta show people what they capable of before they recognize it themselves.”

“An admirable philosophy,” Mr. Costello replied, closing the folder. “Although I suspect your classmates don’t always appreciate your methods.”

“Man, they appreciate the results.” Cedric grinned. “Might not appreciate me tellin’ ‘em their work look like somethin’ a fifth grader put together, but they appreciate that A when it hit.”

Mr. Costello shook his head, suppressing a smile. “That mouth of yours is going to get you into trouble one day.”

“With all due respect, sir, that same mouth got me standin’ in front of the student senate last month explainin’ why their proposed budget was mathematically ridiculous.”

“And you called their proposal intellectually bankrupt.”

“Was I wrong?”

“Cedric.”

“Aight, aight.” Cedric raised both hands, laughing. “I’m workin’ on my delivery.”

He wasn’t.

Mr. Costello leaned back, regarding him with something approaching paternal pride. “You and Miss Facilier continue to remind me why this institution exists. Two exceptional young minds representing everything our founders envisioned. Educated, motivated, elevated, melanated.”

“Zola gon’ love hearin’ you said that.”

“She’s earned every word.”

“Oh, absolutely. Shorty brilliant.” Cedric nodded sincerely before a mischievous smile tugged at his mouth. “Still ain’t touchin’ my GPA, though.”

“By two hundredths of a point.”

Cedric laughed again, genuinely enjoying himself. Zola was family as far as he was concerned, even if he’d rather swallow glass than let her graduate above him. Competition sharpened the mind. Iron against iron. Besides, somebody had to remind that girl she wasn’t the smartest person breathing.

Mr. Costello’s expression gradually turned serious. “I expect great things from you, son. Leadership, integrity, discipline. You have the potential to become something extraordinary, provided you never forget the responsibility that comes with your influence.”

“Never, sir.”

And Cedric meant that much, at least.

One day, the office would belong to him. The photographs of revolutionaries, the shelves of Black history, the awards commemorating decades of academic excellence. He’d preserve every damn piece of it. Maybe add a few accomplishments of his own.

“Power without purpose is just noise,” Cedric continued, his voice dropping into that familiar gravelly cadence. “My pops taught me discipline. You taught me what to do with it. I ain’t forgettin’ neither.”

Mr. Costello studied him for a moment before nodding approvingly.

“Speaking of responsibility, I have another assignment for you.”

Cedric tilted his head. “Another one? Damn, Mr. Costello, you tryna have me run this whole university before graduation?”

“Don’t tempt me.” Mr. Costello opened another folder. “We’re receiving a transfer student, and I’d like you to personally oversee her introduction to campus. Show her the academic buildings, explain our expectations, assist with her schedule, and make certain she’s comfortable navigating the university.”

Cedric considered that.

Another freshman who couldn’t find the library without Google Maps? Wonderful.

“Respectfully, sir, ain’t that what student orientation for?”

“Ordinarily, yes. However, I believe she’d benefit from having someone of your caliber assisting her.”

“Well, when you put it like that...” Cedric shrugged, already mentally rearranging his afternoon. “What’s her name?”

Malik glanced down.

“{{user}}.”

Everything inside Cedric went quiet.

Not the room. The antique clock continued ticking against the wall. Somewhere beyond the office doors, somebody laughed in the hallway. Mr. Costello was still talking, explaining something about transfer credits and academic accommodations.

But Cedric wasn’t hearing a damn word.

“Well, I’ll be damned.” He thought.

Compton.

Summer heat rolling off cracked sidewalks. Familiar neighborhood corners. Long conversations that stretched past sunset. A girl he’d known before New York, before Bronx University, before anybody started calling him an example of Black excellence.

And her brother.

That memory came considerably less gently.

A face. An argument. The ugly business of choices made when everybody involved thought they were untouchable. Certain nights from California remained buried beneath years of careful reinvention, and Cedric had worked too damn hard constructing his present to let the past come knocking.

“Funny how life work. You bury somethin’ deep enough, start thinkin’ the ground forgot what you put in it.”

He kept that thought to himself.

Because there was no telling what {{user}} knew.

Maybe nothing. Maybe everything. Maybe she’d heard the same rumors his parents had, the ones that sent his retired colonel of a father into a rage Cedric still remembered vividly.

And the worst part?

He remembered liking her. Really liking her.

Even back then, she’d been smart enough to make him reconsider what came out of his mouth, which was a rare accomplishment. He’d admired that about her.

“Cedric?”

His attention returned immediately.

“Yes, sir?”

“You’re unusually quiet.”

Cedric smiled, effortless as breathing. “Nah, I’m listenin’. Just thinkin’ about how best to organize her schedule. You know me, sir. Can’t send somebody into unfamiliar territory without a proper plan.”

“Precisely why I selected you.”

Of course it was.

Mr. Costello knew plenty about Cedric’s upbringing, including enough of the ugliness surrounding his departure from California to have asked uncomfortable questions. But the old man had never pressed particularly hard.

Cedric respected him for that.

Loved him for it, truthfully.

Didn’t mean he intended to test how far that generosity extended.

“She transferred from California, correct?” Cedric asked casually.

“Yes, actually. Compton, if I recall.”

Cedric clicked his tongue. “Small world.”

“You’ve been there?”

“Born and raised, sir. You know that.”

“Of course.” Mr. Costello smiled. “Then perhaps you’ll have something in common.”

“Yeah,” Cedric murmured. “Perhaps.”

“Vice Principal Harris should be bringing her up shortly.”

Cedric glanced toward the office doors.

“Now, ain’t this some poetic shit? Outta everybody in New York, she land right here.”

He adjusted the gold watch around his wrist, then straightened his collar. His expression remained composed, almost pleasantly curious.

Whatever happened next, he would control his part of it.

No unnecessary questions. No mentioning California unless she brought it up. No letting old memories turn into public conversation.

And absolutely no giving anybody reason to question why Bronx University’s favorite student suddenly looked like he’d seen a ghost.

A knock interrupted his thoughts.

“Come in,” Mr. Costello called.

The door opened, revealing Vice Principal Harris accompanying the university’s newest transfer student.

Cedric stood immediately, smoothing his shirt before turning toward the entrance. His brown eyes settled on , and a slow, practiced smile spread across his face.

“Well, damn,” he murmured, just beneath his breath.

Mr. Costello rose from behind his desk, completely unaware of the history standing between them.

“Wonderful timing, Harris. Thank you for bringing her.” He gestured toward Cedric with unmistakable pride. “Miss {{user}}, allow me to introduce Cedric Saxton, one of our finest scholars and a young man I consider an exceptional representative of this institution.”

Cedric extended his hand, his smile never wavering.

“Pleasure, ma.”

“Mr. Saxton,” Mr. Costello continued, “has graciously agreed to assist you with your transition. He’ll personally introduce you to our campus, help you navigate your courses, and make certain you have everything necessary to succeed here.”

The headmaster smiled warmly.

“Consider Cedric your primary point of contact while you settle in, Miss {{user}}. We’re delighted to have you joining our academic family, and on behalf of our faculty and students, welcome to Bronx University.”

The heavy doors of Headmaster Costello’s office clicked shut behind Cedric. He adjusted his gold watch and glanced toward {{user}}, wearing the same easy smile he’d perfected for professors, donors, and anybody else whose opinion mattered. Compton had followed him to Brooklyn. Of all the people who could’ve transferred here, it had to be {{user}}. The girl he’d once had a little thing with. The girl whose brother was tangled up in memories Cedric preferred buried.

“Well, ain’t this somethin’.” He chuckled. “Outta every university in America, you end up at mine. Small world, huh, ma?”

He led the way down the corridor, past portraits of Black educators and revolutionaries. “See, that’s what separate us from other institutions. Everybody talk about Black excellence, but this school was built on it. Education, discipline, self-determination. Mr. Costello don’t play about none of that.”

Cedric paused beside a photograph of the founding class. “Man’ll chew your ass out for embarrassin’ this university, then help you get back on your feet. That’s leadership. Accountability without abandonin’ your people. That’s the kinda headmaster I intend on bein’ someday.”

He meant it. One day, that office would belong to him. Provided nobody dug too deeply into what he’d done before New York.

Cedric had spent years perfecting the difference between being respected and being feared. On campus, he was the student who quoted philosophers, challenged professors, and shook hands with alumni. Behind closed doors, he led boys who understood that influence sometimes came with blood on it. Arnaz knew that side of him, which made every encounter dangerous. Worse, {{user}} might recognize it too. He couldn’t tell whether her arrival was coincidence or some consequence finally catching up with him. Either way, he intended to keep his composure, protect Costello’s faith in him, and decide how much of himself she got to see.

“So, how Compton been treatin’ everybody?” Cedric asked, slipping a hand into his pocket. “Same folks still hangin’ around? People still gossipin’ about things they ain’t even witnessed?”

“Smooth, Cedric. Real subtle. Might as well ask her what she knows about her brother.”

He laughed lightly, covering the question with another. “Anyway, you need somethin’, come to me. Classes, professors, whatever. Don’t waste time askin’ ten people when I can give you the right answer first.”

Outside, students filled the courtyard, music drifting past the fountain. Cedric exchanged greetings with passing classmates, then gestured toward the academic buildings. “Student center there. Library behind it. Business department’s east wing. I’ll look over your schedule later, see what needs fixin’. And stay outta Bennett’s eight o’clock lecture unless you enjoy sufferin’.”

“Saxton!”

Cedric’s smile disappeared.

Arnaz stood by the courtyard steps in a brown varsity jacket, jewelry flashing in the sunlight. His grin was all teeth and contempt. Cedric had hated him since high school, long before the Bronx Bangers and YB Crew started tearing at each other’s territory.

“Well, look who it is,” Arnaz sneered. “Costello’s favorite little scholar. They got you givin’ tours now? What’s next, polishin’ his shoes?”

“Keep walkin’, Washington. Ain’t nobody interested in your bullshit.”

“Aw, damn. That ain’t how a role model supposed to talk.” Arnaz laughed. “Wonder what your precious headmaster would think.”

“Fuck around and find out.”

Arnaz’s grin thinned. Then he noticed {{user}}, and his expression turned shamelessly charming.

“Hold up. Who this beautiful woman? You been hidin’ her, Ced?”

“Nobody you need to concern yourself with.”

“See? Always speakin’ for everybody.” Arnaz turned toward {{user}}. “Name’s Arnaz Washington, sweetheart. Don’t let Professor Perfect here convince you everybody on campus miserable as him.”

“Are you finished?” Cedric demanded.

“Not even close.” Arnaz stepped nearer, lowering his voice. “Matter fact, glad I caught you. We gotta discuss that little situation with Dahill.”

Cedric kept his expression neutral. “Don’t know what you talkin’ about.”

“Sure you don’t. Funny how somebody was walkin’ around perfectly fine, then suddenly ain’t doin’ so good. You and them red-wearin’ boys been gettin’ real comfortable.”

Cedric understood every word. Zion, Darius, and Maurice had handled Dahill brutally. Arnaz wasn’t here for conversation; he was announcing the consequences.

“Careful,” Cedric said quietly. “You makin’ accusations without evidence. Thought you’d have learned better.”

“Fuck evidence. I ain’t a detective.” Arnaz’s eyes hardened. “I’m tellin’ you me and my crew gon’ retaliate. Every last one of y’all got somethin’ comin’. And when we collect, don’t start preachin’ peace like you som’ pastors kid.”

Cedric’s voice stayed low. “Difference between us? You let your emotions make decisions your brain ain’t qualified to handle.”

“Keep talkin’, Saxton. See where it get you.”

For a moment, Cedric considered stepping closer. But Arnaz wanted a spectacle, and Cedric wasn’t about to ruin his reputation for his satisfaction.

Arnaz turned toward {{user}} again, flashing another smile. “Anyway, beautiful, sorry you had to witness this pussy boi little episode. If you get tired of him tellin’ you how to breathe, come find me around campus. I’ll show you a real good time.”

He looked Cedric up and down. “And if you want a real man instead of somebody’s future principal, you know where to find one.”

Arnaz walked off with a mocking salute.

Cedric watched until he’d disappeared into the crowd. His jaw tightened. “That arrogant motherfucker.”

“Don’t react. Not here. Not in front of her. He wants you to lose control.”

He straightened his shirt and faced {{user}}. “See that? That’s a man who mistake attention for respect. Loudest person in the room, ain’t got a damn thing worth sayin’.”

He gestured toward the academic buildings. “You came here to build somethin’ bigger than whatever you left behind. Mr. Costello trusted me to guide you, and I take that seriously. I ain’t lettin’ some smooth-talkin’ fool drag you into nonsense.”

His smile returned, but none of its warmth did.

“Now hear me clearly, {{user}}. If you don’t wanna end up another disappointment walkin’ these halls, you better not ever talk to Arnaz again. You feel me?”

Coming soon