Kara Zane & Dante Harso | 01- The First Strike

Kara Zane slammed open the heavy door of the training hall, a bundle of barely-contained rage wrapped in a too-tight black blazer and heeled boots that clicked furiously across the polished floor.

If it weren't for that blind idiot ramming his half-dead car into hers this morning, she wouldn't be late.

Now she looked — and probably smelled — like existential despair.

Her hair was pulled into a hasty bun, strands stabbing out rebelliously like her patience.

Sharp, calculating eyes scanned the room.

Wooden benches lined the hall, packed with first-year rookies fresh out of law school, buzzing like nervous flies.

She spotted an empty seat halfway down the row and stormed toward it.

But her eyes caught the sight of-

A figure, sprawled across a corner seat like it was his private lounge, legs stretched out, one arm slung over the backrest lazily.

Dark hair fell into sharp, obnoxiously handsome eyes, mouth tilted in a crooked grin that screamed “punch me.”

Dante Harso.

Of course.

The golden boy.

Privileged and unfortunately, genetically blessed with looks. His father — Judge Harso — was practically a legend among the High Court ranks, bending laws and careers with a single phone call.

Dante smelled like expensive apathy and generational wealth.

Kara clicked her tongue and slid into her seat.

He didn’t even bother— too busy tipping back in his chair, watching the ceiling like it owed him money.

The next few hours were a blur of Instructor Weller barking at them about "conduct," "client confidentiality," and "making yourself useful instead of being a useless sack of degrees."

Kara took notes furiously, determined to build her empire.

Dante doodled little flaming skulls on the margins of his handbook.

When the session finally ended, Kara practically melted into her seat.

Her brain felt deep-fried with informations , the headache of stress finally reached her system.

Next Morning: First Mock Debate Assignment

The hall buzzed with anxiety of rookies.

Instructor Weller slapped the pairings up on the board with a grimace like he was tossing meat into a pit.

Kara scanned it once, looking for her name , then she found it.

> Kara Zane + Marcus Yeo vs. Dante Harso + Lilian Verge

Debate Topic: Should Corporate Whistleblowers Be Legally Protected From Retaliation?

Oh, perfect.

She was on the "anti-whistleblower" side —

The first teams went up for their debates.

If you could even call it that.

One poor rookie — Kevin Something — stood trembling at the mic, voice squeaking like a dying mouse.

> Kevin (stammering):

"I... uh... believe that whistleblowers... are, um, very important... but also, uh... sometimes they, like, make things... bad? I mean, not bad... but like... problematic... for... um... society?"

Instructor Weller facepalmed audibly in the background.

The next rookie wasn't much better.

She read from her cue cards in a monotone drone that could legally be classified as emotional torture.

The "arguments" floated weakly into the air like sad little balloons that immediately popped from sheer embarrassment.

Kara watched, unimpressed.

This wasn’t a debate.

It was a funeral for logic.

By the time the fifth pair was done, half the audience looked either asleep, dying inside, or both.

And then...

Kara’s turn.

Kara rolled her shoulders back, smirking.

She thrived in the mud.

Debate Begins.

Lilian, Dante’s partner, stepped forward first, clutching her cue cards like they were holy relics.

"Whistleblowers are the backbone of corporate accountability," she chirped, voice syrupy yet stable.

"Without protection, justice would be silenced before it even spoke."

The audience nodded politely.

Kara sauntered to the mic, heels tapping with dangerous precision.

She smiled, the kind of smile you show before ripping someone's ego apart.

> Kara:

"Aw, that's adorable. But see, justice isn’t a fairytale — it’s a battlefield. Whistleblowers aren’t always heroes. Sometimes, they’re disgruntled employees with personal vendettas, armed with half-truths and a thirst for chaos."

A low "ooh" rippled through the room.

> Kara (tilting her head):

"So before we hand out sainthood, maybe we should ask: what’s stopping them from setting fire to a company just because they didn’t get a promotion?"

Lilian blinked rapidly, clearly not ready for bloodbath mode.

Kara leaned into the mic, voice silk and steel.

> Kara:

"In the real world, loyalty isn’t rewarded. It's exploited. You want protection? Earn it. Prove you're not just another wolf dressed as Little Red Riding Hood."

Mic drop.

The room was stunned for half a second —

then Dante shifted lazily, pushing himself up from his seat, grabbing the second mic.

Finally, he looked interested.

He flashed a grin that could only be described as "oh, it's fun."

> Dante (mockingly):

"Such a heartwarming story, Zane. Truly. I'm wiping a tear. But let’s not pretend corporate saints exist either."

"Companies lie. Hide things. And the people brave enough to rip off the mask? They deserve more than a pink slip and a lawsuit."

He paced casually, every word dripping arrogance.

> Dante:

"If we crush whistleblowers just because a few might be bitter, we’re handing corporations a free pass to screw everyone else over."

Kara crossed her arms, unimpressed.

Dante noticed — and grins.

Challenge accepted.

She took the mic again.

> Kara (coldly):

"Oh please. No one's handing out free passes. We're suggesting—brace yourself for this—basic accountability. You can blow whistles, sure. But without rules? It's just chaos dressed up as courage."

> Kara (leaning closer, smirking):

"And last I checked, chaos doesn’t win lawsuits. It gets laughed out of court."

Dante laughed — an honest, amused sound.

She was entertaining.

Finally, something interesting in this godforsaken rookie year.

He shot back:

> Dante (grinning):

"Maybe if the courtrooms weren't rigged like slot machines, we wouldn’t need chaos."

"Sometimes a little anarchy is exactly what keeps the suits sweating at night."

They threw each other off the cliff verbally, throwing statistics, famous case examples, savage metaphors.

At some point, half the class just started watching like it was Netflix.

It wasn’t just a debate.

It was a war dance.

Kara’s words: sharp like razors.

Dante’s retorts: smooth like poisoned honey.

By the end, both were staring at each other, adrenaline crackling in the air.

Instructor Weller finally stood up, rubbing his temples like he regretted his career choices.

> Instructor Weller:

"Enough. It’s a tie. Both sides had enough venom to make my blood pressure raise."

Muffled laughter from the audience.

Kara snapped her folder shut with military precision.

Dante casually tossed his mic onto the table, smirking at her like she was his new favorite problem.

Later That Day:

The rookies were assigned to their real work:

Legal research drills.

Case study reviews.

Endless document drafting.

Kara buried herself in notes.

Dante?

Still sprawled out in the back, tossing a stress ball in the air, eyes occasionally flicking toward her.

Because fate — and trouble — had a funny sense of humor.

[TO BE CONTINUED...]