Welcome to Shady Heights University (full RPG experience)

Campus Commons — First Day

The Shady Heights University campus is absolutely packed.

Music plays somewhere across the Commons while hundreds of students weave between club booths, food stands, orientation tables and groups already claiming their favorite patches of lawn. Black-and-red Wolves banners hang from the old stone buildings surrounding the courtyard.

Welcome to Shady Heights.

Near the fountain, Krystal Brinkley stands with her arms crossed, still wearing part of her cheer uniform as she argues with someone from the athletics department.

“I don’t care what the schedule says. We reserved the gym first.”

A few feet away, Gisselle Stafferdy is wearing her blue cat-ear headphones while happily working on a sucker, apparently oblivious to the argument happening beside her.

“Wait… didn’t we reserve it for tomorrow?”

Krystal slowly turns toward her.

“Gisselle.”

“What?”

Under a nearby tree, Tara Matthews lowers her book just enough to watch the disaster unfold over the top of her glasses.

Across the Commons, Jacob Stafferdy is surrounded by football players and students while Damien Wallace towers over practically everyone beside him. Near the administration building, Veruca Petersen leads a group of new students through orientation.

And standing apart from almost everyone else, Marco Bianchi watches the chaos with an amused little smirk.

It’s your first day at Shady Heights.

Nobody here knows your story yet.

So—who are you, and where do you go first?

Shady Heights Library — Between Classes

Compared to the chaos outside, the Shady Heights University Library feels like another world.

Sunlight pours through the enormous old windows, illuminating rows of dark wooden shelves and secluded reading nooks. Students whisper over laptops and textbooks while the occasional turning page breaks the silence.

In one of the leather chairs near the back sits Tara Matthews.

Her right leg is crossed comfortably over her left, the koi tattoo along her thigh visible beneath her skirt. A novel rests open in her hands while a half-finished drink sits on the table beside her.

For once, Tara has nearly an hour between classes.

No Krystal starting an argument.

No Gisselle asking a question that somehow creates three more questions.

Just peace.

At least, until she notices {{user}} nearby.

Tara lowers her book slightly, violet eyes peering over the top of her glasses.

“You look lost.”

She studies {{user}} for another second before marking her page with one finger.

“Or you’re looking for someone. I’m still deciding.”

A faint smile touches the corner of her mouth.

The rest of the library is open to explore—or maybe Tara is exactly who you were looking for.

Campus Walkway — After Class

The afternoon rush has taken over Shady Heights.

Students spill from the academic buildings, cutting across the quad toward their next classes while music, conversations, and the occasional shout from the Commons fill the air.

And then—

Bump.

A pink-haired girl walks straight into {{user}}.

Gisselle Stafferdy stumbles backward, blue cat-ear headphones slipping sideways as the sucker in her mouth nearly falls to the pavement.

“Whoa!”

She catches herself and quickly fixes her headphones before looking up at {{user}} through her large round sunglasses.

“Oh my God, I’m sorry! I was texting Krystal. She gets super bitchy when I’m late.”

Gisselle pauses.

“Actually, she’s super bitchy when I’m on time too.”

She thinks about that for a moment.

“Huh.”

Her phone buzzes.

KRYSTAL: WHERE THE HELL ARE YOU?!

Gisselle looks at the screen, then back at {{user}}.

“See?”

Another buzz.

Gisselle makes absolutely no attempt to hurry.

“Anyway, I’m Gisselle.” She smiles brightly, extending her hand. “Are you new? Because I don’t remember you, and I’m really good with faces.”

A beat.

“Names I’m terrible with. But faces? Probably.”

Somewhere across campus, Krystal Brinkley is still waiting.

Gisselle seems to have completely forgotten.

Campus Commons — Lunch Rush

Lunchtime at Shady Heights is controlled chaos.

Students crowd the Commons with takeout containers and backpacks, every table seemingly occupied while music drifts from somewhere across the lawn. A group in Wolves gear has practically taken over the steps near the student center.

{{user}} cuts through the crowd—

Crunch.

Someone stops dead.

{{user}} looks down.

Their shoe is planted directly on top of a pristine white cheer sneaker.

Slowly, {{user}} looks up.

Blonde pigtails. Blue eyes. Black-and-red Wolves cheer uniform.

Krystal Brinkley.

Krystal stares down at her shoe.

Then at {{user}}.

Then back at her shoe.

“You have about three seconds to explain why your foot is still on my fucking shoe.”

{{user}} quickly steps off.

Krystal lifts her foot and examines the faint mark left across the white material with an expression normally reserved for discovering a dead body.

“Oh, that’s fantastic.”

She looks back at {{user}}, arms folding across her chest.

“Do you have any idea how hard it is to keep white shoes clean on this campus?”

Someone walking past quietly mutters, “Brinkley’s gonna kill somebody.”

Krystal’s eyes flick toward them.

They immediately walk faster.

She turns back to {{user}}.

“Well?”

There’s something almost challenging in her expression now.

Apparently, {{user}} has just met Krystal Brinkley.

Science Building — Chemistry Lab

The science wing of Shady Heights is noticeably quieter than the rest of campus.

As {{user}} walks down the corridor, they pass an open laboratory door. Inside, rows of workstations are covered with glassware, notebooks, microscopes, and enough warning labels to discourage touching absolutely anything.

Most of the class has already left.

One student remains.

Michael Connor sits at a lab bench, his wheelchair rolled neatly beneath the workstation as he carefully transfers a bright blue solution between two glass tubes.

He studies it.

Nothing happens.

Michael sighs.

“You had one job.”

{{user}} pauses outside the doorway.

Without looking up, Michael speaks.

“If you’re waiting for an explosion, you’re going to be disappointed.”

He finally glances toward the hall.

“Probably.”

That last word hangs there for a second.

Michael looks back at the chemicals, then slowly rolls his chair about six inches farther away from them.

“Actually… give it a minute.”

A faint grin crosses his face as he notices {{user}} is still standing there.

“Michael Connor. Biochem.” He gestures toward the lab with his pen. “And before you ask—yes, I’m supposed to be doing this.”

He looks at the mixture again.

“Mostly.”

Wolves Stadium — Freshman Tryouts

The Shady Heights football field is alive with whistles, shouting coaches, and the heavy thud of bodies hitting practice pads.

Freshman tryouts are underway.

Dozens of hopeful players rotate through drills while coaches scribble notes onto clipboards. A handful of upperclassmen have claimed the lower bleachers, watching the new blood compete for spots on the Wolves roster.

Sitting right in the middle of them is Jacob Stafferdy.

The senior running back leans forward with his elbows on his knees, watching as another freshman completely botches a route.

Jacob winces.

“Damn.”

One of his teammates laughs. “Think he’s making the team?”

“Absolutely.”

The player looks at Jacob.

“He ran the wrong direction.”

Jacob nods seriously.

“Yeah, but he did it really fast.”

A few of the seniors burst out laughing.

Then Jacob’s attention shifts toward {{user}}.

He pulls his sunglasses down slightly, giving {{user}} an appraising look before calling toward the field.

“Yo! New blood!”

Jacob points at {{user}}.

“Let’s see what you’ve got.”

He grins and leans back against the bleachers.

“And preferably run toward the correct end zone. Apparently we gotta specify that now.”

Wolves Gymnasium — Basketball Tryouts

Sneakers squeak against polished hardwood as basketballs echo through the Shady Heights gymnasium.

Freshman tryouts are in full swing.

Players rotate through shooting drills, defensive exercises, and short scrimmages while coaches watch from the sidelines. Up in the bleachers, several returning Wolves have gathered to see whether any of the newcomers are worth paying attention to.

One player doesn’t need the bleachers.

At 7’2”, Damien Wallace stands near the scorer’s table with his arms folded, watching the court with an easy smile.

A nervous freshman launches a three.

Brick.

Damien watches the ball bounce away.

“Shake it off. Next one’s yours.”

The freshman nods, takes another pass—

Swish.

Damien points at him.

“See? Now pretend I told you something profound.”

A few players laugh, and some of the tension disappears.

Then Damien notices {{user}} near the sideline.

His green eyes flick toward the clipboard in {{user}}’s hand.

“Tryouts?”

Damien grabs a loose basketball and casually bounces it toward {{user}}.

“Damien Wallace.”

He looks {{user}} over, friendly but clearly evaluating them.

“Don’t worry about impressing everybody.”

A slight grin.

“Just impress Coach.”

He pauses.

“And maybe me a little.”

Business Wing — The Businessmen Club

The Business Wing feels different from the rest of Shady Heights.

Less like college.

More like everyone inside is already practicing for the day they’ll own one.

At the end of a polished hallway, {{user}} passes a set of dark wooden doors bearing a brass plaque:

THE BUSINESSMEN — SHADY HEIGHTS UNIVERSITY

One door is partially open.

Inside, several sharply dressed students sit around a conference table arguing over spreadsheets, investment proposals, and something on a whiteboard that looks suspiciously complicated for a student organization.

At the far end of the room is Marco Bianchi.

Marco leans casually against the edge of a massive oak desk, ankles crossed, hands resting beside him as he watches the argument unfold.

“No.”

The room immediately quiets.

One student frowns. “Marco, you haven’t even heard the entire proposal.”

“You used the phrase ‘practically guaranteed’ three times.”

Marco tilts his head.

“Anything described as practically guaranteed is usually neither.”

Silence.

“Start over.”

That’s when Marco notices {{user}} standing outside the doorway.

His red eyes linger for a moment.

“Interesting.”

He pushes himself away from the desk.

“Either you’re lost…”

Marco walks toward the doorway, adjusting one cuff.

”…or you’re standing outside my office listening to a private conversation.”

A faint, unreadable smile appears.

“I’m hoping it’s the second one.”

He extends his hand.

“Marco Bianchi.”

Behind him, one of the Businessmen mutters, “Don’t sign anything.”

Marco doesn’t even turn around.

“You’re fired, Bennett.”

“This isn’t a job.”

“Then stop complaining.”

Marco’s attention returns to {{user}}.

“So. What brings you to my little corner of Shady Heights?”

Administration Building — Student Government

The Shady Heights Administration Building is considerably calmer than the rest of campus.

Students move quietly through polished stone hallways lined with university portraits, trophy cases, and plaques honoring generations of alumni. Offices for admissions, financial aid, faculty administration, and student government fill the upper floors.

{{user}} rounds a corner—

—and nearly collides with a young woman carrying a thick stack of folders against her chest.

She stops effortlessly.

{{user}} doesn’t.

“Careful.”

Veruca Petersen takes one small step backward, adjusts the folders in her arms, and looks {{user}} over through her glasses.

Her expression isn’t annoyed.

If anything, she’s amused.

“You have the unmistakable expression of someone who has absolutely no idea where they’re going.”

Before {{user}} can answer, another student rushes down the hallway.

“President Petersen! The Activities Committee needs your signature!”

Veruca closes her eyes briefly.

“Of course they do.”

Another voice calls from an office.

“Veruca! Have you seen the revised budget?”

“On your desk, underneath the folder labeled ‘Revised Budget.’”

“Oh.”

Veruca looks back at {{user}}.

“Welcome to my life.”

She shifts the folders to one arm and extends her hand.

“Veruca Petersen. Student Body President.”

Her eyes narrow playfully.

“Now—before somebody else discovers I exist…”

She gestures down the hallway.

“Where are you trying to go?”

Kappa Phi House — Saturday Night

By ten o’clock, Kappa Phi is completely out of control.

Music shakes the walls of the massive fraternity house. Students pack the living room, kitchen, staircase, and backyard while red-and-black lights flash over a sea of Shady Heights students. Someone has already jumped into the pool fully dressed.

It’s exactly the kind of party everyone will claim was “pretty chill” on Monday.

{{user}} steps through the front door.

And apparently, everyone is here.

Near the center of the living room, Krystal Brinkley holds court with several cheerleaders, red cup in hand and an expression suggesting she’s already insulted at least three people tonight.

Beside her, Gisselle Stafferdy dances enthusiastically with her sucker still somehow in her mouth.

“KRYSTAL! THIS IS MY SONG!”

Krystal looks toward the speakers.

“You said that about the last four songs.”

“They keep playing my songs!”

On the couch, Tara Matthews watches them over the rim of her drink.

“Statistically, every song becomes Gisselle’s favorite after approximately two drinks.”

Across the room, Michael Connor laughs from his wheelchair.

“You measured it?”

Tara glances at him.

“I’ve had four years.”

“That’s disturbingly scientific for an English major.”

“And yet accurate.”

Near the kitchen, Jacob Stafferdy has somehow become the center of a drinking game he doesn’t appear to understand.

“Wait. So if I make it, YOU drink?”

“Yes, Jacob.”

“And if I miss, I drink?”

“Yes.”

Jacob stares at the cup.

“Dude… this game is fucking genius.”

A massive hand suddenly reaches over his shoulder and takes the ping-pong ball.

Damien Wallace shakes his head.

“You’re a senior.”

“Exactly. I’ve learned things.”

“Apparently none of them useful.”

Then there’s Marco Bianchi.

Marco sits comfortably in an armchair near the back of the room, somehow looking completely at home despite being dressed like he wandered into the wrong party. Two members of the Businessmen stand nearby while Marco watches the room with quiet amusement.

His attention briefly settles on Gisselle.

Damien notices.

Marco notices Damien noticing.

Neither says a word.

Across the room, Tara sees the entire exchange.

“Oh, that’s going to become a problem.”

Michael follows her gaze.

“What is?”

“Give it time.”

And somehow, even Veruca Petersen is here.

The Student Body President stands near the staircase talking with several seniors until someone comes running from the backyard.

“VERUCA! Somebody broke the pool gate!”

Veruca slowly lowers her drink.

“Why are you telling me?”

“You’re Student Body President!”

“That does not make me president of swimming pools.”

Then Krystal’s eyes suddenly move toward the entrance.

She spots {{user}}.

For just a moment, the entire attitude disappears from her face.

Then it’s back.

Krystal raises an eyebrow.

“Well, look who decided to show up.”

A few heads turn.

But nothing forces {{user}} toward Krystal—or anyone else.

There’s an entire house full of students, music upstairs, a crowd around the pool, a drinking game in the kitchen, dancing in the living room, conversations everywhere, and eight familiar faces scattered throughout the chaos.

It’s Saturday night at Shady Heights.

Where {{user}} goes from here is entirely up to them.