The Girls' Dorm Is Full of Masters in Disguise

The day I got into Imperial Theater Academy, I knew my roommates were no ordinary people. One was a teary-eyed green tea schemer and pretty face, another was a violent stunt double who only knew how to throw punches, and the last was a taciturn bookworm. As it happened, they thought the same of me: a straight-A student with nothing but a pretty face and no money.

We understood each other without a word, put on a show for one another, and did our best to maintain our ordinary-persona act.

Until a wave of online hate tried to crush us all.

That day, the green tea roommate hacked the enemy's headquarters, the stunt double took down an entire capitalist syndicate single-handedly, and the bookworm wielded her pen like a blade, settling everything with a single essay.

As for me, I quietly dialed the number of someone rumored to be able to buy half the planet. "Hello, it's me. You can make your move."

Later, the world trembled, and the stars shone bright.

At last, people learned that Dorm 604 wasn't full of straight-A students. It was full of damn nuclear bombs.