Look, I was right! : Final Fantasy VII still belongs to Square.

Through the curtain, Scarlet could hear the clamor of the crowd milling outside. The velvet drapery did little to muffle the din - its purpose was to obscure vision, not sound; and it was the latter that was tying her stomach in knots.

It won't be long now. Reassured by the thought, the woman exhaled slowly. Four long years of effort were about to be paid off in one shining moment.

You didn't think I could do it, did you? None of you did. Her lips curled into a sly, chilly smirk as she leaned back to rest her shoulders against the wall. She could remember as well as if it had been yesterday the stares she'd received the first time she walked into the lab at Midgar Tech; how quickly they'd turned to curses when her previous existence in the slums had come to light. Not the details of how she'd eked it out - though those would give her classmates a real shock, she knew - but rather, the fact that she'd lived there at all.

Slumdweller.

It hadn't been a hard thing to discern. The majority of the student body was made up of pampered, privately-schooled brats - coquettish debutantes, and their boyfriends chosen from only the most affluent of families. They may as well have been raised as a hive, with their structured playdates, their ten-thousand gil a year primary school tuitions, their invitation-only dances; and spotting an outsider in their midst had become as simple for them as picking out the kitten in a pack of feral dogs. And Scarlet, unfamiliar in her dress of crimson silk and painted lips, had been spotted with ease.

But she was no kitten.

The days of schoolyard catfights had passed long before Scarlet had arrived on the plate; this was University, with no room for such fiascos. Even so, the lack of direct physical violence hadn't prevented anyone from assaulting her with words and spittle. Her clothes, while fashionable, were worn in a manner that suggested she had no clue as to what was currently stylish; long, low-cut dresses better suited to a night on the town than an afternoon in class. Her knowledge of Midgar politics and events - save where they pertained to Shin-Ra, Incorporated - was negligible at best; and her words were laced with hints of an accent that proved itself to be wholly untraceable to the dialects of the surface cities.

A Sector accent.

What else could she have been, under those circumstances? Nothing the higher-class students at Midgar Tech could comprehend - and so she'd become the year's object of scorn. She wasn't the first progeny to find herself on the plate because of her skills; but as the rift between surface and slums had widened, the occasions of it had dwindled so much as to make a situation formerly considered little more than an oddity a true rarity.

She'd borne their disdain, their barbs, their out-and-out insults. Necessity had forced her to adopt an air of nonchalance - as much as she came to hate her peers, she feared her benefactors more. Scarlet knew that if she proved herself incapable of dealing with the tasks set before her, Kaga would have no qualms about tossing her aside in favour of someone more competent - and without his backing, there would be little chance that she could support herself well enough to remain on the plate.

Over time, as it became obvious that their attacks were having no effect on the strange woman, they'd begun to leave her alone. The taunting ceased, but there were never any apologies. Nor were there any hands extended, and truth be told, she preferred it that way. The concept of true friendship was very nearly unknown to her - those she'd had as a child had been severed when Rebeka had returned to the slums, and opportunities to form new ones had never been forthcoming thereafter. Not when you're alone among the people who killed your only real family. Not when you're planning to betray those people the first chance you get. Not when you do.

She wondered, sometimes, if any of her former associates were aware of where she'd gone. To her knowledge, no one had seen her leave - at least, not anyone who would have realized; not anyone who would have thought to mention that a whore had accompanied one of her clients beyond the 8-stop. That didn't mean that she hadn't been, of course; Scarlet knew as well - or better - than anyone else just how many eyes the underground had. But she hadn't returned that night, or the next, or any after that - for all anyone in the slums knew, she might have been killed by the man she'd left with. It happened from time to time; and who would really miss a streetwalker with a knack for wiring? With her flat burned out, there would be no evidence left behind to suggest otherwise - she might even have been found out by SOLDIER, and been "removed." It happened.

No, she might not have been one of them, those prim-and-proper-seeming princesses; but she wasn't a slumdweller, either - and after tonight, she never would be again.

Her eyes opened as the first strains of music filtered backstage; an alma mater she'd never bothered learning. Yes, tonight all eyes would be on her again; but it would be for what she'd become, not what she'd been.

"Graduating with honours. Scarlet Kirana."