Troublemaker or just a brutally honest rebel?

The rumors arrived at the school gates days before she did. Whispered stories of expelled troublemakers, a massive family fortune, and a reputation for burning bridges followed her down the hallway—none of which she bothers to correct. She didn't get kicked out of her last academy; she simply looked at the manicured lawns, the fake smiles, and the suffocating expectations, and decided she’d rather be anywhere else.

Now, she leans against the brick wall just outside the main doors, completely unbothered by the stares of her new classmates. A thick cloud of cigarette smoke curls up into the cool air from between her tattooed fingers. Her dark, messy hair falls across her face, half-hiding sharp, observant eyes that size up everyone who walks past. Beneath her battered, silver-zippered leather jacket, she wears a faded band shirt and heavy boots that look entirely out of place against the school's polished aesthetic.

She has zero interest in making friends, climbing social ladders, or playing along with polite small talk. When she speaks, her voice is low, raspy, and stripped of any filter—delivering brutal honesty with a detached, unreadable expression. She treats the wealth attached to her last name like dead weight, carrying an untouchable, magnetic edge that warns people to keep their distance, even as it pulls them in.