Page 3 of Blake University HBCU Chronicles: Nuri & Silas

T he beat dropped before they even hit the gym floor.

Bass vibrating through the soles of their Retros , lights bouncing off the silver lettering stretched across their chests like armor.

VETA XI-VX in bold font, commanding respect before a single step was taken.

Nuri and Bre stood shoulder to shoulder at the front of the formation—red distressed shorts hugging curves with no shame, black tees cropped just enough to tease, and their updos sculpted to perfection.

Long side bangs framed their faces like exclamation points, edges laid like velvet.

The crowd roared when they entered. The sisters moved in sync—every stomp, every slide, every snap a declaration.

This wasn’t just stroll culture. This was sorority royalty.

Nuri’s face stayed composed, eyes shaded with gold shimmer, lashes fluttering as the cameras flashed.

Her fingers stayed tight in formation, but her energy…

All fire. She felt the power of her line behind her.

She felt the room folding to their rhythm.

They glided into their signature step, the one that hit with a slow build, then exploded into motion.

“V-E-T-A! Never fold, never fade!”

“We the name they whisper, but the sound don’t fade!”

The crowd ate it up, and by the time they hit their final pose—lined up in a V-formation, heads turned, fingers forming the Veta sign—the whole gym felt it.

“Who’s That Line Comin’ Through With Heat?!” Nuri’s voice cracked across the gym like a whip.

“VETA XI-VX, Never Miss A Beat!” her sisters shouted in response, loud enough to shake bleachers.

Bre dipped low with a slow hip roll before popping back into formation.

“Crown On Tilt But Our Heads Stay High—Crimson, Black, And Gold ‘Til We Die!”

Every move had intention. Every glide, every shoulder roll, every dip into formation was built for impact. The floor vibrated beneath them, but their presence made the whole room still.

“Stroll So Smooth, Watch Your Boo Look Twice—” Nuri snapped as she slid through the line with precision.

“But He Couldn’t Handle A VETA If He Rolled The Dice!”

The crowd reacted instantly—cheering, phones up, flashes popping. But the Vetas didn’t flinch.

“Say It Loud—We The Talk Of The Yard!” Bre smirked as her gold hoops swung with every step.

“We Stunt So Pretty, But We Step So Hard!” Nuri pointed directly into the crowd, eyes sharp, voice cold. Recognize Greatness When You See Us Pass—We Don’t Need Permission—We Been That Class!”

The gym erupted, but the Vetas weren’t done yet. They paused at the center of the court, forming their signature V-formation, and dropped into a chant so low and tight it felt like a warning.

“VETA, VETA, Hold That Line! XI To The VX, Cross That Time! Still That Girl. Still That Sign. Once You VETA—You Never Rewind.”

The gym fell silent for a second too long… then exploded in screams, applause, and camera flashes. Nuri and Bre stood frozen in the front, throwing up their hand signs like royalty.

Afterward, they moved through the space like queens off duty.

Taking pictures with potential recruits, smiling in group selfies with faculty, and reposting clips tagged under #VetaVision.

Their presence was felt on and offline, and that was the goal—visibility with intention.

They gave away merch near the bleachers: crimson keychains with tiny gold crowns, black t-shirts with "Once Veta…

Forever Veta!" on the back, reusable water bottles, and silicone wristbands stamped with XI-VX.

Nuri paused for a moment, adjusting her bang in her compact mirror. Bre stood beside her, grinning like she was already halfway to viral.

“That step? We murdered that,” Bre said, fanning herself with a folded flyer.

“Nah, we buried ‘em,” Nuri corrected, lips slick with clear gloss. “They still gasping.”

They both laughed, but it was snatched right out the air the moment the gym lights shifted and another chant cut through the noise like a blade, the beat from O.T. Genasis’ CoCo pulsed thumped through the speakers.

“PHI RHO. PHI RHO! WHERE WE GO, LEGACY GROWS!”

The energy shifted, the crowd moved, and just like that, the noise behind the Vetas turned into whispers and sideway glances because The Phi’s had entered the building.

They weren’t just a frat…They were a presence.

Black tees. Matching pants. Black Timbs stomping like war drums. They moved through the crowd like they owned time, but the two men leading were the show-stoppers.

Nuri’s breath caught, lips parting like they forgot how to hold composure when she saw Memphis and Professor Silas Sullivan. She’d known he was Phi. Had heard the whispers. Had seen the old throwback photos on the frat wall in the student union, but seeing him perform was something different.

With that crisp fade, and a black tee stretched over a frame that did not belong to a professor. Jaw clenched, gold ring glinting on his finger as he threw up his sign and stepped in rhythm like this was muscle memory. He did something to Nuri and hadn’t laid one finger on her.

Professor Sullivan wasn’t even watching the crowd.

He was locked in. Movements, sharp. Precision deadly, and the second he felt her eyes on him; he looked up and their eyes locked.

This time… it wasn’t curiosity. It was heat…

Heat that traveled right between her thighs, making her clit thump in a way that made her yearn to be closer to him.

Shit. Nuri’s lips parted just enough for a small breath to escape, but her stare stayed.

She didn’t see the rest of The Phi’s. Didn’t hear the crowd anymore.

All that existed was him, right there, moving like a man who knew he was being watched… and didn’t mind feeding the flame.

Bre whispered beside her, low and playful. “Girl, gone over there and talk to that man”

Nuri couldn’t respond.

Didn’t even flinch.

Because when Professor Sullivan dropped into that last step, looked her dead in the eyes, and smirked like he already knew how she tasted—her body betrayed her.

Pulse quickened. Legs tightened, and her pussy pulsed again.

Hard. She clenched her jaw and looked away before she lost all sense of composure.

That man was lethal. Not in the way boys on campus liked to play pretend. Professor Sullivan moved like a man who’d already broken things that were once whole. Who knew how to fuck you without ever touching you. Who could ruin your focus with a look and leave you needing answers.

Approximately Three Hours Later…

Nuri had made her rounds at the pep rally and was ready to switch gears.

She and Bre had plans to go out afterwards.

The energy inside the Blake University gym was still alive, and humming with leftover adrenaline, phone flashes, and applause.

What started as a stroll became so much more—it was unspoken, but they were building a legacy, femininity, and deepening their sisterhood.

Nuri felt it in her bones, the way the gym walls held every echo of their steps like scripture.

The way cameras flashed like stars from the bleachers.

The way individuality and intention shared the same air. One last time the VETA’S lined up.

No grand intro.

No dramatic chant.

Just presence.

The VETA’S weren’t here to prove anything. They already had. Nuri stood at the head of the line, ready to give everyone something to remember until their next performance at the block party. Her hair and makeup was still flawless despite the heat, and her spirit… full. Not loud. Not boastful.

Just full.

Bre gave her a quiet glance—that said, “You good?”

Nuri just nodded.

The music was slower this time. Mellow bass, soft hi-hats, the kind of beat that made you move with intention instead of impact.

They strolled like silk. Soft steps, shoulder dips, a little sway in the hips that wasn’t meant for attention, just balance.

It was a love letter to themselves. Every turn was familiar.

Every glance over the shoulder, every synchronized glide—it was all muscle memory.

They weren’t performing. They were remembering.

And when the last beat dropped, and their formation stilled into that clean finish, the applause didn’t matter as much as the exhale that came with it.

“We don’t break. We don’t bend. We walk in grace, we lead, we trend.

Crimson blood, black soul, gold crown—If we rise, we rise loud.

If we fall, we fall proud. This line is legacy.

This line is love. Forged in fire. Watched from above.

Veta XI-VX—forever in motion. We speak in steps.

We move in devotion. We don’t just wear this…

we are this. Every breath, every beat…V-E-T-A! ”

The sun sat boldly in the sky, warm and honey-colored; spreading itself across the campus like a curtain.

Nuri walked with no real urgency, but still with purpose.

With Starbucks in one hand, shades tucked on the collar of her crop tee, her mane caught the wind just enough to remind her that she looked damn good.

She was never one who craved attention, but always got it anyway.

Nuri was halfway to the psych building when the shift happened.

The music changed, the crowd got louder, and the energy thickened like something electric was about to spark.

As she maneuvered through the crowd, she noticed a step battle had broken out near the fountain.

The Phi’s on one side. The Megas on the other.

Black boots and deep chants. Chest bumps.

Dust rising off the concrete as the crowd circled tight.

Loud, wild, and magnetic was a major understatement.

Nuri paused for a second, just long enough to enjoy the show before continuing to class.