The first email was sent at exactly 7:42 a.m.
No one knew who sent it. No one could trace the origin. The address looked legit, like it came straight from the university. "Urgent Announcement – Matter of University Interest," the subject line read. Some thought it was spam. Others assumed it was just another plagiarism scandal or some internal admin mess. But when they opened the attached file, silence hit hard.
The video was barely two minutes long. Distorted voices filled the audio, but the subtitles were clear. It showed Santiago sneaking out of the faculty treasury office. Then came the screenshots—conversations, edited to protect the source, but detailed enough to make the context painfully obvious. Santiago tampering with documents, blackmailing students. And finally, pictures. Screenshots of Santiago's chats with a girl he had tricked using fake promises.
By 8:00, the email had already hit social media. By 8:30, Instagram stories were blowing up. By 8:40, students started gathering outside the faculty building.
Chaos was immediate.
—Is this real? —asked a student, eyes glued to her phone.
—No way…
—I know that girl. The one he lied to…
—What if this is all fake? —someone tried to say, but their voice got swallowed by the growing murmurs.
Santiago arrived at the university at 9. He walked in with steady steps, but his expression gave something away. Students stepped aside as he passed. Some recorded quietly on their phones. No one said anything. The silence hit harder than insults ever could.
Inside the faculty lounge, they were already waiting for him. The dean called an urgent meeting. Santiago tried to defend himself, said it was all edited, claimed it was a personal attack. But the evidence—too specific, too clean, too damning. The disciplinary committee summoned him for the next day.
From the second floor, Semiel watched in silence, leaning on the railing. Arms crossed, brow furrowed. He didn't move. He looked like a statue. From up there, he could see the courtyard filling with clusters of people, hastily drawn protest signs, a couple of hand-painted posters that read JUSTICE.
—You knew this was coming, didn't you? —Saval's voice pulled him out of his trance.
He hadn't noticed him approach. Saval stood behind him, eyes locked on him.
Semiel didn't answer right away. He just looked down.
—Since when? —Saval pushed, voice firmer now—. Since when did you know about Santiago?
—It's not that simple.
—Don't give me that shit, Semiel! —Saval snapped, slamming his palm against the railing—. This whole time? We were a team!
—I didn't have proof —Semiel said, exhaling hard—. Just... suspicions. Until recently.
Saval stared at him in disbelief. His mouth opened, then closed again. His breathing was heavy. Then, without another word, he walked away. Semiel didn't stop him.
Everything I do... even my life... it's for you, Saval.
…
Elsewhere, on the third floor of another building, Antonella watched it all through a window. A cup of coffee in her hand, a smile tugging at her lips. She hadn't slept much. Editing the files, erasing her tracks, setting up the anonymous distribution... it had taken precision. Patience. Hours of focused work.
But now, watching the chaos unfold below, she felt something close to joy. An unbelievable, quiet satisfaction.
I broke him. Finally shattered that little toy, haha.
Someone knocked on the door of the empty classroom she'd been hiding in.
—Can I come in?
It was Xavier. He had a pack of cookies in one hand and a mocking look in his eyes.
—Brought cookies to celebrate.
—You're not supposed to be here —she said, still staring out the window.
—I never was —he smirked, leaning against the wall—. Enjoying the show?
—No more than you, I'd guess.
—I enjoy chaos. You… you're after something else, aren't you?
Antonella didn't reply.
—You know this won't be the end, right? Santiago's gonna try to fight back.
—That toy's done. Obvious, isn't it?
Xavier watched her closely. For a second, his guard dropped. He looked… impressed.
—You're real sure of yourself, huh…
Antonella finally turned to face him, locking eyes.
—Let them try.
Xavier placed the cookies on a desk and left without another word.
Outside, the shouting had begun. There were signs, megaphones, chants demanding answers. Some professors peeked through windows. Others shut their doors.
Antonella turned back to the window. The chaos was beautiful, in its own way. It had been fun—watching her toy break, watching him get what he deserved.
Goodbye, little toy. It was fun while it lasted.