Chapter 1
The start of a new academic year… ah, how beautiful.
The campus was crawling with young adults laughing, talking loudly, and already scheduling nights out or parties where, of course, everyone knew there would be booze—and lots of it. Groups of students occupied the benches, the building steps, and the patches of still-green grass, excitedly sharing stories about their summer breaks or their plans for the new semester.
The sun was still shining brightly in the sky, and the lingering heat encouraged everyone to steal just a little more of summer. Only a few dry leaves, carried by the wind along the campus walkways, served as a reminder that autumn was already creeping in.
Even though the first classes of the day were over, not all students could afford to think about their free time just yet. In the practice room provided by the university, the members of the dance team remained gathered, in no mood for jokes or plans for the night.
Some stood leaning against the walls, which were almost entirely covered in mirrors. Others had sat straight down on the floor next to their bags and water bottles. Regardless of their position, everyone shared the same heavy expression, as if the news they had received that morning had drained them of every last drop of enthusiasm.
With the start of the new school year had come the bad news.
Due to university budget cuts, the administration had been forced to re-evaluate its priorities, and the dance team was not among them. The board had decided they could no longer allocate funds to an activity that, in recent years, had brought neither trophies nor enough visibility to the school.
And, because trouble never came alone, their coach had just quit. She had recently given birth to a beautiful, healthy baby girl, whom the entire team had gone to visit at the hospital. No one could blame her for her choice, but her departure left them leaderless at the absolute worst time.
“So, what do we do now? I don’t think anyone here wants the dance team to be dissolved, right?” a light-skinned Black guy with green eyes and brown dreadlocks asked with a sigh.
Cole ran a hand over the back of his neck and looked at the others one by one, as if hoping someone would already have a saving grace solution.
“Of course not, Cole, but what can we even do? You saw what the administration told us...” replied a brunette girl with blue eyes, who was sitting on the floor, absentmindedly messing with the strap of her shoe.
Her voice was calm, but the way she twisted the strap between her fingers betrayed the anxiety she was trying to hide.
“We have to prove we can self-fund, at least for this year. If we show them we can do it and that this isn’t just ‘for fun,’ Professor Adam said he’ll allocate a budget for us,” a brunette girl with long, curly hair and green eyes replied, rubbing her friend’s shoulder.
Olivia tried to speak firmly, as if her sheer confidence alone could convince the others that the situation wasn’t completely hopeless.
“And how exactly do we do that, Olivia? Even if we all pitch in, we still won’t be able to cover all the expenses,” the brunette girl sighed.
The studio space, the costumes, travel, competition registration fees, and all the other expenses necessary for a team couldn’t be covered by a few college students’ savings.
“We could enter the dance championship. I heard first place this year is twenty thousand euros, second place gets fifteen thousand, and third place gets ten thousand. Plus, rumor has it they’ve already talked to someone to replace Mrs. Burnham,” a brunette girl with straight hair and a distinct Italian accent interjected.
A heavy silence settled over the studio.
Everyone looked around at each other, trying to figure out if the idea was brave or just downright insane. The competition could be their shot at saving the team, but everyone in the room was acutely aware of the truth: they weren’t at that level.
They weren’t even close to the caliber required for such a major competition.
The only ones who had ever reached that level of performance were the members of the class of 2022, famously known around campus as the “Golden Generation.” They had won the most trophies and built a reputation for the team that successive generations had failed to maintain.
After they graduated, results had steadily declined. The new members couldn’t keep up with the standards that had been set, and bit by bit, the team’s spark had faded.
“So, why are we even here today then? Did we come to have a group crying session or what? Because I don’t get it,” Cole said, sounding confused as he sat down on the floor too.
He stretched his legs out in front of him and rested his arms on his knees, waiting for someone to give him a concrete answer.
“Today we find out who our coach is going to be. I heard they’re strictly a volunteer, so we need to watch our behavior. They can walk out at any second if they don’t like something,” the brunette girl said, looking up for the first time since she’d started playing with her shoe strap.
“Always the mom of the group, aren’t you, Alison?” Olivia laughed softly, squeezing her friend’s shoulder.
“Someone has to be, right? Sometimes I swear you guys are competing to see who can use fewer brain cells,” Alison shot back with a laugh.
A few of their teammates smiled, and the tension in the room dissipated for just a brief second.
However, Alison’s laughter cut short the moment the studio door swung open and Director Gaggero walked in.
Everyone who had been sitting on the floor quickly scrambled to their feet. A chorus of respectful “Good afternoons” echoed through the room almost in unison, while the director responded with a brief nod and a polite smile.
“Good afternoon. I hope I didn’t interrupt anything,” he said simply, stopping in front of them.
“No, not at all. We were just discussing the dance team,” Cole replied, scratching the back of his neck, looking a bit self-conscious.
The director swept his gaze across the young adults gathered before him. His expression wasn’t cold, but it wasn’t warm enough to offer them much hope either.
“I am glad to hear you are taking an interest in this activity. Believe me when I say I was not happy about having to cut the team’s funding, but the group simply no longer has anything to justify its existence,” the man explained, putting his hands behind his back.
His words hung suspended in the air for a few moments.
“We know, but we’re hoping we can prove that the survival of this group really matters to us. Most of us have only been dancing for a few years, but that doesn’t mean we aren’t willing to work hard,” Olivia said.
“Alison is the only one who’s been dancing since she was four or five. Couldn’t she just lead us? I’m sure she’d do great, and we wouldn’t do anything reckless,” a blond guy with hazel eyes chimed in.
Alison snapped her gaze toward him, blindsided by being put on the spot without warning. She couldn’t deny that the idea flattered her, but she also knew that passion alone wasn’t enough to officially run a university team.
“Unfortunately, Mr. Throne, Miss Bennett is not certified to coach you, regardless of how many years of dance experience she has under her belt. However, I have spoken with someone, and he has offered to work with you on a volunteer basis.”
Alison crossed her arms over her chest. “He? It’s a he? Who is he? Do we know him?”
The director smiled faintly, as if he had been anticipating that exact question.
“Let’s just say the Golden Generation relied on him throughout their entire college career. Logan, you can come in.”
The door opened once more.
A tall, well-built guy walked into the studio, sporting jet-black, curly hair and green eyes. He was wearing a white T-shirt that hugged his chest and arms tightly, paired with a pair of gray sweatpants. His face looked expertly chiseled, with sharp, well-defined features, and his expression gave absolutely nothing away about what he was thinking or feeling.
He stopped next to the director and scanned the team members with a level of confidence that made a few of them instinctively straighten their posture.
Alison’s stomach took a sudden plunge, and her throat went abnormally dry.
She knew Logan. Of course she knew him.
Back when she was still in middle school and used to hang out at Olivia’s house, he was almost always there with his friends, either in the living room or the backyard. He was the older guy who seemed to take up too much space wherever he went and who always had something to say about how loud she was.
Years had passed since then, but their dynamic had never been great. Logan had always managed to get under her skin with just a few words, and Alison had never been the type to back down from a challenge.
“I don’t believe it, it’s actually him!” an enthusiastic redhead gasped.
“Logan Johnson, the star of the Golden Generation!” another blonde girl added, making no effort to hide her admiration.
A small, smug smirk tugged at Logan’s lips. It was obvious the reaction didn’t surprise him and that he was well aware of his own reputation.
His gaze settled on Olivia and Alison. He measured them up from head to toe, raising an eyebrow. However, his eyes lingered a fraction of a second longer on the brunette.
Alison looked nothing like the teenager he remembered. Her features had matured, and the petite, sassy girl had turned into a young woman whom, for a few moments, he struggled to connect with his memories.
Logan had been living abroad since graduating college and had only moved back to the city a month ago. In all that time, he and Alison had had no reason to talk, nor had they crossed paths.
“Little sis… I didn’t know you were still hanging out with this loud mouth,” he said smoothly.
Alison narrowed her eyes, feeling the old irritation flare up almost instantly. After all these years, Logan had resorted to the exact same way of provoking her.
“First of all, don’t talk like we didn’t literally just speak on the phone this morning. Second of all, her name is Alison. How many times do I have to tell you? And third of all, you couldn’t have given me a heads-up that you were going to be my dance coach?” Olivia protested.
Logan shifted his gaze to his sister.
“I’m not a coach, I’m a volunteer. Mr. Gaggero called me and informed me that you guys failed, in three years of college, to bring home even a single trophy. As a result, due to budget cuts, he is forced to pull your funding.”
A few of the team members looked down, stung by his bluntness. Logan, however, continued in the same serious tone, without raising his voice.
“I figured it was a good time to come back and try to restore this team’s funding together, along with its former glory.”
He didn’t sound like he was just speaking out of obligation. For a second, a hint of genuine attachment to the team he had spent his college years with bled into his voice.
Logan Johnson had always been serious, but he was never—or rarely ever—cruel without a good reason. He was calculated, observant, and used to analyzing people before telling them what he actually thought of them.
And now, that very calculated man was looking right at the girl six years his junior.
Alison was talking to Cole, trying to act completely unfazed by his sudden appearance. She turned her body slightly toward her teammate, replying to something he whispered, but she could feel Logan’s eyes on her.
When she looked up, she caught him staring right at her.
Logan didn’t look away.
Instead, the corner of his mouth ticked up into a barely perceptible smirk—the exact same annoying smirk Alison remembered so vividly from her teenage years.
She pressed her lips together and tilted her chin up, refusing to give him the satisfaction of a reaction.
The new academic year had barely begun, and Alison already had a feeling it was going to be way more complicated than she had anticipated.
