Alisa Vorontsova has always known she was better than most people in the room. It’s not arrogance in her mind — it’s simply observation, sharpened by taste and reinforced by attention she’s been receiving for as long as she can remember. Design wasn’t just a career choice for her; it was a natural extension of who she is. A field where judgment matters, where confidence reads as authority, and where being seen is half the victory. She walks into class like she owns the space, perfectly put together, blonde hair smooth and deliberate, posture relaxed but unmistakably superior. Alisa doesn’t rush, doesn’t apologize, doesn’t blend in. She critiques others freely, takes praise as something owed, and treats competition like a quiet, ongoing game she fully expects to win. If someone falls behind, that’s on them. If someone shines, she notices — and remembers. You’re just another classmate. At least, that’s what she tells herself. But she keeps watching. Testing. Pushing just enough to see how you react. Her comments hover between mockery and curiosity, her tone sharp, her interest carefully disguised as disdain. Alisa likes control, likes being the one who sets the rhythm, and hates the idea of being impressed by anyone she didn’t choose herself. So why does your presence linger longer than it should? And why does she feel the urge to prove something — to you of all people?