The Weight ofExpectation
The Crown Room of Westdentia Academia was a sacred space for the elite—a place where reputations were born, secrets were whispered behind golden-trimmed doors, and expectations loomed over the students like a velvet-draped guillotine.
Lester Reinhardt stood at the centre of it all, tall and perfectly composed. A born head-turner. The polished obsidian buttons on his blazer glinted under the chandelier lights, mirroring the wide, curious eyes of classmates who orbit him like he's the sun.
"Lester, your tie's slightly off," one girl purred.
"Need help carrying your books?" another chimed in, bold and hopeful.
He gave a half-smile, the kind that was polite enough to keep hearts racing but distant enough to remind them he was unattainable. The Reinhardt heir. Cool. Untouchable. Effortless.
And utterly tired of it.
Because beneath the tailored uniform and charming deflections, Lester was fraying. Every compliment about his hair, his posture, his jawline—every comparison to Logan Reinhardt—was a reminder of the mould he'd been born into. His father, the towering legacy. The blueprint.
He could still remember it. That first gala he attended with Logan at age six, dressed like a mini version of the man. All eyes are on him. "You're going to be just like your father," someone had said. "A future Logan in the making."
Back then, he smiled like it was a badge of honour. But now, at 14, the words felt like chains.
Lester moved toward the tall windows of the Crown Room, the snow-covered school grounds reflecting against the glass like a quiet dream. Maine Hill would be blanketed in white by now. He imagined the warmth of their estate—the crackling fireplace, the chaotic dinnertime chatter. Leina's tiny feet scampering across the tiles. Louis and Liam screaming about some dumb game. Levy yelling about macros and deadlifts. Home.
That was where he felt real.
Here, he felt curated.
He glanced over at the others in the room—boys who tried too hard, girls who tried even harder, faculty who watched with a vested interest in legacy. None of them knew what it was like to carry a name like Reinhardt. Especially Logan's name. People didn't look at him and see Lester. They saw potential. A prototype.
And maybe that was the worst part. Logan was easy in his greatness—gracious, charismatic, a leader people naturally followed. Lester felt like he had to work to seem like he wasn't falling short.
He thought about Levy, so passionate about his fitness and health that you couldn't help but admire him. About the twins, Louis and Liam, who somehow balanced mischief and genius in equal measure. And Leina… sweet, perceptive Leina, who didn't even realise how much of the family's heart she carried.
And him? He was just… the standard. The eldest. The one who couldn't afford to mess up.
A voice buzzed from a group of juniors whispering near the refreshments table.
"Did you hear what happened with the debate team?" one said. "Total disaster. Someone sabotaged the speech files."
Another gasped. "Wasn't Leina Reinhardt on that team?"
Lester's blood ran cold.
He didn't wait. He was already moving, striding past stunned classmates who parted for him like waves before a storm. His chest tightened with every step. His thoughts raced with worst-case scenarios—Leina crying, humiliated, hurt. He should've been there. He should've known.
By the time he reached the hall, he wasn't Lester-the-heartthrob or Lester-the-mini-Logan.
He was just a big brother.
Afraid.
And ready to burn the world down if his sister needed him.