The sound of the door slamming and the weight of his gaze stayed embedded in my back, the same way an 80%-off chocolate sign does.
"So I'm in A," I whispered, staring at the blazer in my hands. But as if a tiny man had switched on a light bulb inside my brain, a thought crossed my eyes. "What have I just gotten myself into?" I whispered. "They're going to eat me alive in that classroom."
My shoulders dropped under the weight of my new challenge.
Vane touched his earrings again, looking at me with one eyebrow raised.
"Why are you so nervous. New A."
"How do you know that?" I tightened my fists. "Can you read minds or something?"
"As much as it might seem that way, I'm not a wizard. I can barely hear you, actually," he pointed to his earrings. "But you talk a lot with your body," he added, pointing at my shoulders with one finger. "Didn't anyone teach you that's a liability?"
"I hadn't even noticed," I placed my hand on my shoulder. "It's rare that someone points it out."
He pressed his fingers briefly to his forehead, shaking his head side to side, sighing. "That kind of attitude makes you an easy target. Why did Min even consider you?"
I swallowed, staring at my ID badge. "What do you mean?"
"It doesn't matter," he cut off, turning toward a vending machine. He placed his hand on the scanner, sliding his silk glove aside with the naturalness of someone who's done it hundreds of times. He selected his item. Waited for the metallic click and picked up his can of green tea.
"What are you doing, it's ten to eight, we don't have time."
He opened his can, listening to the fizz of the carbonated drink.
"Did you forget you're an A?" he reminded me. "You, same as your German friend, start at nine. It's a small perk, though the Bs treat it like a waste of time."
He took a long sip of his drink, then began to walk. He didn't invite me to follow. He simply moved forward, regardless of whether I was there or not. It took me a second to register that I should follow him.
His steps were long but unhurried. He drank his tea in slow, spaced sips, holding the can with three fingers like a mechanical claw.
"I assume you already know the general student wing," he said without turning. "Did the C blonde show it to you?"
"Mary?"
"Yeah," he answered from behind his can without parting his lips.
"She only showed me things like the pool and the fountain."
"Something like that was to be expected," he repeated, the way someone might after accidentally drinking sour milk. "That's how she makes friends and earns influence. Hathor shouldn't have Cs like her."
"What do you mean?"
"Think about it, little camera. How would a D have influence?" He paused, taking a new sip. "Charisma," he answered. "Honestly, she was smart about it."
"How well do you know her?" I asked, catching a hint of something like contempt in his voice.
"Well enough," he answered without hesitation. "I know everyone. It's my network."
With that, he slowed his pace slightly until he stopped. Just enough to point his can toward a spot at the end of the hallway.
Two boys in green blazers were walking toward a group of gold girls chatting against the lockers. One of the greens was ahead, hands almost outstretched, uniform exactly as it should be, pace unhurried but purposeful. The other stopped right at the corner, turning to look at the group.
"See them?" Vane said, without lowering the can.
"Yeah, looks like he wants to ask them out."
"I'll make you a bet. The one in the back gets the number. The one in front doesn't," he stated like a professional gambler, taking a sip of his tea.
"You're out of your mind," I admitted. "It's obvious the one in the back can't even talk to them."
He pointed at the scene a second time with the can, retracting his mechanical claw to drink from it.
I watched, trying to be subtle. The gold girls, seeing him approach, ran their hands through their hair. One of them parted her lips slightly, as if preparing a smile.
"Looks like your calculations were off," I remarked with a smile. "The one in the back isn't even going to walk over."
He finished his sip, allowing himself to breathe. "The one in front is the co-captain of the American football team. Known for his physical dominance. The one in the back is a math nerd — someone exceptional even among the Bs."
The co-captain arrived. He said something that made the gold girl laugh. The whole scene only lasted a couple of minutes, but it ended when the center girl handed him her number.
The one in the back just watched from a distance, then rejoined his friend and they left together.
"Looks like the tipster was wrong."
He raised his can again toward the boys, who were already trading the number for homework.
"The co-captain might be very popular, but he's been faithfully with his girlfriend for seven months," he revealed without taking his lips off the can. "The nerd is a little shy, but he's been running this kind of trade since Hathor elementary. Do you believe me now when I say I know everything?" He crushed his can with one hand. "Since you lost, you're throwing it away."
He tossed it to me and kept walking.
"Wait — how do you know all that?"
He stopped and turned to look at me. "Because," he tapped his earrings twice lightly with his index finger. "I heard them." He pointed at the corner, smiling. "There's a trash can a little further ahead. Walk ahead and toss it."
"Mom was right," I said, speeding up my pace. "Gamblers are cruel."
The trash can was right around the corner. It's terrifying how precise his information is. But when I threw the can away, I saw her at the same time.
"No. Not her." My skin prickled with something that felt like carbonated water crawling up my arms.
She was leaning against the lockers with her two C clones, her perfect golden hair falling in waves over one shoulder. She gestured with that ease of someone completely in their element. One of the girls laughed.
Mary smiled.
It was not the smile she had given me at the Hathor station.
"Vane is still at the corner. If I turn back now no one will see me."
But her eyes found mine on their own.
It was quick. My face. My sneakers. The blue blazer folded over my arm.
Something settled in her expression without a single muscle announcing it. She stepped away from the other two with a fluidity that made it seem like that conversation had ended a long time ago.
"Look what the cat dragged in."
"Hi, Mary," I greeted, feeling my spine match my skin.
"Where are you going, so loaded up?" she asked, her eyes moving briefly to my backpack, then to the blazer over my arm. "Is that an A jacket? Also secondhand?"
"N-no," I answered, holding out my ID. "I was transferred this morning."
"Oh," she said. A syllable that wasn't anything in particular. "That was fast. You know, I never thought a scholarship student like you would make it past Class D — especially not with that wingless butterfly attitude."
One of her C clones let out a short laugh from the distance. The other just dropped her eyes to my sneakers with an expression that didn't need words.
"I was transferred on the direct order of Director Choi," I replied, trying to stand my ground.
"Incredible. Getting our idols' attention took you pretty far," Mary continued, tilting her head slightly like someone reconsidering something without much interest. "I'd think you bribed them, but the idea is too absurd."
The air left me for a second. But I glanced at my arm, feeling the weight of my blazer.
"I'm an A, I'm an A, I'm an A," repeated in my mind.
"Mary, if you want my attention, start by using my name." I stretched out my arm and slipped on the blazer in two clean movements. "It fits perfectly. Because I deserve it." I glanced at her sleeves — equally tailored. "Your blazer is perfect too, C Cat," I remarked, watching how her perfectly shaped lips tensed into a pink "o." I counted it as a vic—
"You impress me, Suri. I think I owe you an apology," she interrupted my thoughts with a smile. "I'm sorry about the water the other day. I know it was a waste to spend it on you, but since they didn't have lemon I didn't mind."
I felt heat crawling up my neck, my chin tightening.
"Anyway," Mary continued. "I hope blue suits you better than red. Although with that secondhand uniform underneath..." She paused, tugging at my blazer to look at my shirt. "I think even gray suited you better."
I stood still, gripping my sleeves, unable to look at her smile. Listening to her friends laugh. I counted it as a defeat for me.
"I'm supposed to be blue — valuable, according to Choi — but why doesn't Mary respect the hierarchy."
"Because the hierarchy around here has been toothless for years."
The voice came from my left. Dry, no extra volume, like someone completing out loud a thought nobody asked for.
Vane was leaning against the wall on the opposite side of the hallway, laptop under his arm, new can in hand, touching his earring with his index finger. I don't know when he'd gotten there. He simply was, with the same naturalness that furniture exists.
Mary looked at him. Something shifted in her posture — barely perceptible.
"Vane, what are you doing outside your cave?"
"Not taking you for a walk, D Cat," he answered in the same tone someone reads a fun fact out loud. "A C blazer greeting an A with insults. A classic joke of this semester."
Mary clenched her teeth. "I was just having a conversation," she defended herself, with a smile that wavered.
"I know. That's why I said it."
A brief silence. The two C girls had stopped laughing.
Vane peeled himself off the wall without hurrying and walked until he was standing at my side. He looked at me and simply clicked his tongue. Then directed his full attention to Mary.
"Do you know when this stopped working?" he asked, gesturing vaguely at the hallway, the blazers, the space between the three of us. "When a C learned she could treat an A like she didn't exist, and nobody corrected her. Not because the A didn't have value. But because the A had stopped proving that she did."
Mary didn't respond. But she didn't leave either.
"Hathor is not a popularity contest for collecting followers," he pressed his can until the liquid spilled, staining his silk gloves. "Respect the hierarchy, C Cat."
Mary held his gaze for one second. Then lowered her eyes to her golden blazer. "There always has to be someone to save you," she said, turning around and walking toward her friends. But this time I didn't hear her heels resonating. "You haven't done anything to deserve being an A, you talented little spoiled brat," she turned her head just 45 degrees, revealing the tears slipping from her eyelid. "Without talent you're nothing, cousin," she finished, walking away without looking back.
"What just happened?" "I'm not her cousin," I murmured, feeling a resentment that didn't belong to me. But the sound of Vane's footsteps pulled me out of the abyss of my thoughts. "Vane. Why did you help me?" I asked.
"I did it for the system," Vane cut in, pulling out a handkerchief to dry his glove. "Not because I care about you."
"The way you talk, it sounds like you have alexithymia."
"Don't go having those kinds of ideas about me," he confirmed, starting to walk. "I only care about the hierarchy, and now you're part of my rank." He indicated it by pointing at my ID. "There's a vending machine ahead. I want a tea in better condition."
I nodded, watching the contents of his can drip. I stayed quiet for a couple of meters.
"Hey," I finally said. "Director Choi explained the hierarchy to me like it still worked. Why did it actually break down?"
"Min explained how it's supposed to work," Vane revealed, without turning. "That's not the same thing."
"Then explain the difference to me."
He stopped abruptly, scratching the back of his neck with a sigh. He looked at the ceiling, then at me, then at his watch, and resumed walking, sighing again.
"The As stopped wanting to. It's that simple."
"Wanting to what?"
"Prove themselves. Build something. Justify their position," he took a sip from his crushed can. "They let the system do all the work, and when you leave the field open..."
"Someone else takes up the space," I interrupted, watching a small smile form on his face.
"Yes," he confirmed. "Not because they deserve it. But because it was available. That's why you have to resist the Cs — as the New Yean that we are."
"Like Mary."
"She's a good example," he nodded. "She has 14 students loyal to her. With that, they're already thinking about moving her up to B — if it weren't for the current student council president, that absurdity would've already happened."
"And what did the current As become?"
"Preferable," he carved the word out with something close to resentment. "They're no longer the ones to look up to. They're just the safer path. They're still more talented than average, but the Bs have become the favorites."
The hallway opened into the north wing. The smell of French air freshener had faded, replaced by coffee and printed paper.
"I assume you already knew the exchange room," he opened the door, walking through first.
I looked around — a waiting room like one you'd find in an airport, with a receptionist eating cinnamon cookies.
"Sure, though I only came in once to get the D blazer," I explained, holding out my ID to the receptionist, who simply nodded and rose from her seat toward what appeared to be a small vault.
Vane laughed, settling into a chair with his legs stretched out. "I'd recommend taking out your personal things, since Min doesn't want to see you with that old little backpack."
"Hmm?" I hesitated. "They can buy me another one in a month, if that's what you mean."
Vane laughed again, pointing with his new can toward the reception desk, with his three-fingered grip.
The receptionist was holding a new, polished brown leather briefcase with at least three compartments in front and two on the sides — one of which I was certain was shaped exactly for my camera. In the center, near the top, the Hathor symbol had been branded into the leather with a red-hot iron rod in a deep brown.
"Miss Kang, Hathor Preparatory is pleased to present you with this gift." I received it with trembling hands, feeling how smooth and firm the exterior was. "Your books are already inside. You only need to leave your backpack on that desk and you can head back to class."
I nodded, pulling out my camera and a pack of film rolls, along with a couple of chocolates.
The whole process happened so fast I barely had time to thank her, before Vane was nudging me toward the exit, pointing at his nearly empty can.
We walked out of the exchange room into the central hallway. At this hour, students moved with that precision characteristic of Hathor — groups conversing without blocking foot traffic, backpacks perfectly adjusted, uniforms without a single misplaced wrinkle. All with that silent order that didn't need anyone to announce it.
Vane moved through all of it like he was part of the scenery.
That's when he pointed. "I'll make you another bet," he said, smiling for the first time.
A gold-blazered boy at the far end of the hallway was carrying an impossible tower of books that defied all structural logic. He held them steady with his chin pressed against the top one, arms extended to their maximum, taking short, tense steps like someone walking on ice while refusing to admit it.
"They call him the literary tower. Whenever he carries more than fifteen books, they fall. If they fall you win, and you can ask me for anything," he added with a confident smile. "If you lose, you throw away my can."
"He's carrying eighteen today," I remarked, feeling my throat close. "They're going to fall."
"Just watch," said Vane, taking the last sip of his can.
"No," I interrupted, feeling my fists tighten.
He glanced at me sideways, pressing his empty can slightly.
"I'm not going to bet on someone's misfortune," I said, holding the new briefcase against my chest. "That's not right."
Vane lowered the can slowly. He turned to look at me, and in that instant I understood his gaze — tense, with one eye open slightly wider than the other.
"What is a person?" he asked.
"W-what?"
"Tell me what a person is," he repeated, with the same intonation. "Explain it to me in your own words, letter by letter."
His gaze slowly dissolved, leaving only its residue in the air — an invisible challenge to my worth.
"A person..." I considered it. His question was so direct it took me a moment to process. "A person is someone with a heart," I said. "With feelings and empathy."
Vane nodded slowly, as if he'd been expecting exactly that answer.
"Does Mary have a heart?"
I went quiet.
"Do the girls who laughed at you in the hallway have a heart?" he continued. "Do the ones who photographed you in the cafeteria have a heart? Do all the ones who looked at you like you didn't exist or weren't worth anything have a heart?" He paused for the smallest moment. "Are they still people?"
I gripped the briefcase tighter.
"That's different," I argued, pressing my chin.
"Why?"
"Because acting badly doesn't make you less human."
"No," Vane agreed, turning his can slowly between his fingers. "But at Hathor, we don't bet on humanity. We bet on the person." He pointed again at the tower. "He's wearing a gold blazer and carrying Class A books while being a D student. Without you even knowing it, he already disrespected you."
I didn't respond.
"Just remember, Suri — who has actually helped you, and who has hurt you," he placed a hand on my shoulder. "The A knight who offered you his blazer, the ice prince who got those C bullies off your back, the German girl from the locker room who gave you a new uniform." He stopped, and in an instant he pulled me into a hug. "And me, Suri. All of us from A."
"What are you doing?" I whispered, feeling like I was being swallowed whole.
"Tell me, Suri — do you consider me someone without a heart?" The tower kept moving at the far end of the hallway, and with each step the books wobbled more. "I'm not asking you to hate him," Vane continued, with a cracked tone, almost on the edge of tears. "I'm asking you to observe. To see how this really works. You know it's wrong to judge by the blazer." He pulled back, looking me directly in the eyes with his hands still resting on my shoulders. "I'm asking you to do it based on what you've lived through. Not the color. The evidence."
My eyes went back to the boy with the tower.
"He's not Mary. He's not any of them," I whispered to myself, pressing my jaw. "But he's also not someone who would have reached out a hand when I needed it."
The tower began to sway at the exact moment the boy tried to turn at the corner.
My feet didn't move on instinct — my body pulled itself away from Vane's grip without meaning to.
I saw the book at the top. I saw the boy tense his chin trying to compensate. I saw the exact moment the weight won.
"You can help him," I told myself. "You're three meters away."
But Vane placed a hand on my shoulder. "Be careful — remember what happened with the C blonde not long ago," he reminded me. "How she looked down on you even after you became an A."
"This has nothing to do with Mary," I screamed internally. "What if it has everything to do with her?" That thought stopped me, tensing my leg until every trace of momentum drained out of it.
I watched the top book slide. I watched the rest follow in their own succession. I watched the tower slowly collapse. All of it in slow motion, listening to each volume hit the polished marble, resonating with a dull thud.
The boy stood in the center of the wreckage. His chin still tilted upward toward where the last book had been. His hands open in the air, empty, as if they still didn't know what to do with the space left behind.
I didn't move.
My shoulders folded inward on their own. I felt something cold settle slowly in my chest — no edge to it, no sound, just weight. The kind of weight that doesn't crush you but stays there, waiting for you to name it.
"Help him. Help him," it repeated, as I extended my hand. "— who has actually helped you and who has hurt you," I remembered his words, lowering my hand, and with it, my intention.
The boy began picking up his books alone, crouching down, eyes fixed on the floor. The students in the hallway continued their path with that precision characteristic of Hathor — that silent order that didn't need anyone to declare it.
"You won, Suri," the A beside me broke the silence. "Let's go."
I followed Vane on pure instinct, looking one last time at the boy with the books over my shoulder, unable to hold his gaze.
My ID slipped from my fingers without me noticing. The plastic hit the floor with a small, definitive click.
"You know what my secret is?" said Vane beside me, picking up my card between two fingers. He leaned close to my ear. "I hate those who disrespect the hierarchy."
He held it out to me. I took it without looking at him.
"I think that's all for today," he began to walk away, tossing the can into a nearby trash bin. "Good luck in class, little camera. I expect great things from you."
His words echoed in the cold hollow of my chest. I gripped my ID, causing no damage to my new status.
"What have I become, grandpa?"
The camera on my chest vibrated with a soft, dry click, taking a photo without my permission.
When I looked at it, I noticed.
It was only my reflection in the marble — my face dissolving into it, leaving only the blue blazer, my bag with the Hathor logo. It looked like just another student. A very standardized one.
"That."