The path to classroom 1-A wasn't very different from the previous one — it followed almost the same route, only this one was closer to the café and smelled even more strongly of coffee.
I walked slowly. Not because I was lost, but because my feet still remembered the sound of the books falling.
What have I become, Grandfather?
The question was still there, lodged in my chest like a bruise without a mark. My grandfather had already given me the answer — it was me who didn't want to accept it. I just pushed it aside, the way Vane had taught me.
"Preferable. That's what we A's were. And those who weren't A's simply weren't."
I observed the hallway through my mental lens, trying to see it the way he saw it.
A girl in a green jacket with headphones on, walking without looking. "B. Consistent but replaceable."
A boy in gold with three friends, laughing at something on his phone. "C. Charisma without talent, borrowed influence."
A girl in red, alone, head down. "D. The reminder."
I stopped.
"What are you doing?"
The question came on its own, without me asking for it. I shook my head and kept walking. Memories of past clicks came back to my mind: birds, flowers, fountains… now the latest one was an example of an A.
Titled: "The A's scholarship girl."
I continued down my mental path of thorns until a loud sip interrupted my thoughts. They were C students, drinking coffee from white cups, laughing the way only an A student should. "Noise nuisances," I thought, feeling my palms tremble.
"Why would they love that five-thousand-dollar coffee so much? I haven't seen a single student below A without one." I pulled out my mental lens. "They all held their cups the same way: with two fingers and the pinky underneath, as if that were the correct way to drink it."
"Had no one ever questioned it? Or did they simply not have the discernment to do so?"
"Maybe it's a thing from their etiquette school," I let out a small nasal laugh. "If I could bring Dad a cup, he'd down it in one gulp."
Another advantage of 1-A was that they started at nine instead of eight. Lucky, because I got lost looking for the classroom. Though looking at the map they gave me, it was the same one the C Cat had shown me on the first day.
"Who would have thought the suit we bought was from class A." — I think the jacket wasn't supposed to be included — though in my defense, it was more gray than blue.
I stopped in front of the door. A golden bronze frame. A sign that read "1-A" in a typeface that cost more than my previous education. Through the frosted glass, silhouettes moved — some seated, some standing, in varied colors: golds, greens, and, in the minority, blues.
My heart hammered against my ribs like a caged bird trying to escape. My palms were sweaty, my mouth dry. I grabbed the polished door handle, turning it in one motion, hearing the firm click of the latch, and pushed the door open.
The instant silence was the first thing to greet me. Not the silence of concentrated studying, but one of absolute indifference, broken only by the soft tapping of laptops and the elegant sips of their coffees.
Several heads turned toward me in an almost choreographed synchronization. I felt a dozen gazes analyzing me, appraising me, cataloguing me, and dismissing me within seconds.
"Vane is right, the system is broken."
But not everything was darkness. In the middle of that sea of icy indifference and silent judgment, I saw her. It was Pariz.
She was standing in front of the window, looking out at the Hathor skyline, and the moment her eyes met mine, a smile so wide and bright it could melt all the ice around me lit up her face. She waved at me with a gesture that drew more attention than expected.
For the first time all day, I felt like I could breathe. Maybe — just maybe — I could survive this without being alone.
"Oh, so you must be Miss Kang," said the teacher sitting at his desk, and I heard the sound of his newspaper crinkling between his fingers. When I turned to look at him, I couldn't believe who it was. "It seems you haven't forgotten me. Of course — we see each other every day at Hathor station."
The shock hit me like a lightning bolt. It was him. The old man from the metro. The one with the furrowed brows and the pressed shirt, bald and wrinkled to a shine.
My face went red as a tomato as the memories of that morning flooded my mind: my desperate sprint, the bread hanging from my mouth, my sarcastic reply to his condescending remark.
And now he was there, sitting behind the desk as if he owned the world, wearing that same wrinkled expression he'd used on me on the train. But there was something more in his eyes: recognition, as if he had been waiting for this moment.
"Class, give a warm welcome to Suri Kang!" he called in a measured voice that showed neither warmth nor coldness — only a professional efficiency tinged with sarcasm. "She'll be joining us starting today!" His gaze turned to me. "Only here, Miss Kang, we expect you to have manners."
The emphasis on "manners" was like a public slap. He knew exactly what he was referring to, and from the way some students exchanged glances, it was obvious they had caught the hint. My first impression in this class was already ruined before I could even open my mouth.
I nodded nervously as I took my first step into the classroom, feeling the weight of humiliation settle on my shoulders like a physical load.
My momentary relief evaporated like water in a desert.
I made my way toward Pariz, raising my hand in a flat wave.
"Hel—" I was instantly interrupted by a hug that felt like a lifeline. Her warmth contrasted so sharply with Vane's. This hug was comfortable.
"I didn't expect us to be in the same class — it's good to see you here, friend," she said with a smile that reached her eyes.
From the desk, the wrinkled teacher interrupted my heartfelt welcome. It was clear the happiness had left along with his hair.
"Hey, everyone, take your seats!"
By reflex I looked for my special seat: front and center. Coincidentally it was empty, as if it had been waiting for me. I went over, placed my bag down, adjusted the straps at the back, and sat down, claiming it as my personal throne.
"Hey, are you sure about that seat?" Pariz whispered beside me, still standing. There was something in her tone that put me on alert.
"Why, are there assigned seats?"
She shook her head, her hair swaying with the motion.
"It's not that, it's just…" her message was cut off by the entry bell. Her expression shifted to one of frustration mixed with resignation — like when you try to warn someone about danger but it's already too late. "That seat belongs to…"
Who? Finish the sentence, Pariz! I screamed in my mind, watching her trail off, her face wearing that expression of total helplessness, as if she had failed some important mission.
"Pariz…?"
I heard footsteps approaching with force in my direction — abrupt strides that were impossible to ignore. The sound resonated against the marble floor like war drums.
"What are you doing here?" asked a familiar voice, questioning my presence with an authority nobody had asked for. When I turned around, the image that greeted me was the least pleasant I could have expected. Standing in front of me, the pink-haired boy — Vhy, the idiot from the café — leaned casually against the desk with another cup in his hand. "Suri?"
His eyes showed surprise, not anger, as if saying I didn't see this coming. But there was something else in his posture that my eye caught: an almost imperceptible tension in his shoulders, a stiffness in the way he held his backpack with one hand.
The other students — even some from other classes — noticed the tension immediately. I saw loaded glances being exchanged, discreet whispers spreading like ripples in a pond, smiles that didn't quite reach the eyes but promised entertainment. Some even put down their phones, turning completely around to get a better view of the drama about to unfold.
"Well… the principal transferred me to this class," I replied, trying to sound more confident than I felt.
"Yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah. But you're in my seat."
I felt the saliva stop in my throat.
Now what do I say…
Do I give it up…?
Do I move…?
Wait, why would I?
I have a blue jacket too, I'm in this class too, I'm Vane's equal. Even if you're considered the king, to me you don't even rank as a baron.
"Does it bother you? Oh what, does the little king not like mingling with the riffraff?" I noticed the discomfort in his gaze as everyone now turned to watch him. It was easy to spot the drops of sweat beginning to form on his forehead. I wanted to see his reaction, his little-boy tantrum in front of everyone. "Don't tell me — are you starting to give me some impor—"
I didn't get to finish the word.
The sound that came from his throat was not a laugh. It was something much worse. A low exhale, a breath through the nose full of a contempt that hit me harder than any shout could have.
My words hadn't landed where I intended — they had simply seemed… amusing to him? Like the bark of a chihuahua that thinks it can intimidate a wolf.
His movements slowed, becoming deliberate — like those of a predator that knows its prey has no way out. He set his coffee down on the desk he claimed as his. The dry clack of porcelain against wood resonated in the classroom's sepulchral silence like a judge's gavel. It was a period — an act of territorial possession that allowed no debate.
Then he leaned toward me. My instinct screamed at me to lean back, but I forced myself to stay still, to not give him the satisfaction of watching me retreat. It wasn't a threatening posture in the physical sense — it was confidential, intimate, as if he were about to tell me a secret, and that made it a thousand times worse.
The scent of vanilla coffee and his cologne — which probably cost more than my camera — filled the small space between us, creating a bubble of forced intimacy that made me feel claustrophobic.
His voice was an icy whisper, venomous, meant only for me but audible enough for the nearest students to catch every word.
"Importance?" he completed, tasting the word as if it were something unpleasant in his mouth. "Don't confuse yourself. An insect that crawls into my room also gets my attention. And that doesn't give it 'importance' — it just makes it a nuisance."
"Nuisance."
The words hung in the air like daggers, stabbing into me. He hadn't simply insulted me. He had completely dehumanized me, reducing me to something that gets crushed under a shoe and then forgotten.
As quickly as he had leaned in, he straightened up. The mask of perfect indifference returned to his face as if it had never left — as if the last thirty seconds had been a hallucination. The shift was so fast and complete that it made me question whether the venom he had just spewed had been real.
His voice returned to a normal volume, loud enough for the whole class to hear, with a casual tone that contrasted brutally with the cruelty of his previous words.
"Now, if you're done with your tantrum, that's my seat."
"My tantrum… he had flipped the situation completely, painting me as the irrational little girl who had made a scene over nothing."
"What are you waiting for — do you need a map to find yours?"
The whispers and stifled laughs that swept through the classroom were confirmation of his total victory. He had publicly executed me — not with a shout or a fight, but with a few perfectly sharpened words that cut deeper than any physical blow.
"Among the blues there is rank," I thought. "I'm not yet considered one of them."
I rose from the desk, grabbing my bag with one trembling hand. He was watching me like a smug idiot. His face, his perfect face… I want to destroy it.
My only impulse was to move my hand toward his face and give him a sample of the damage he had caused me. Rage ran through my veins like lava, clouding my vision and making my muscles tense.
But before I could carry out my revenge, my hand was stopped by a firm grip.
It was Pariz, her fingers wrapping around my wrist with a surprising firmness.
"Let it go… don't give him the satisfaction," she whispered in my ear as we began to walk away. "I usually sit in the back — nobody looks at you there."
Her grip conveyed her precision; her tone, her acceptance.
"No…" I murmured, looking at Pariz's worried face. "If my presence bothers him…" I said, turning to look at the seat beside him. "Then I'll enjoy that."
I pulled free from her grip with renewed determination, heading toward the seat right next to Vhy's and sitting down with all the dignity I could muster. His surprise was immediate and delicious to witness.
"What!?" he blurted when he saw me settling in comfortably. "What are you doing?"
"Nothing, just taking my seat," I replied with a smile I hoped was just as irritating as his. "I can't see the board from far away."
His surprise and irritation were such that he couldn't hold my gaze. He was adorable and a complete idiot at the same time.
"Very well," said the teacher, setting down his newspaper and turning toward the interactive board. His voice cut through the air like a guillotine. "As I told you last class, these seats are permanent. There will be no changes under any circumstances."
The word "permanent" resonated in my head like a funeral bell, bouncing off the walls of my skull until it became a deafening echo. Permanent. This wasn't a temporary trial I could endure for a few days until things settled down. It wasn't a situation that could change if I behaved or found a convincing excuse. It was a sentence — at least for the rest of the school year.
Reality hit me like a hammer: I was going to spend the next several months sitting beside Vhy, enduring his presence, his comments, his daily contempt. The air grew thicker, as if someone had stolen all the oxygen from the room.
I felt myself freeze as I turned my neck toward Vhy, as if in slow motion. Equally, as if the movement cost him something, the café demon turned to look at me.
Then, with the same deliberate slowness, he directed his attention back to the board.
From the back, a group of girls — wearing every color except red — let out a sharp shriek upon hearing what the teacher had said, as if someone had announced the apocalypse.
"No, Professor!" shouted a girl in a gold uniform as she spilled her coffee on the floor, creating an aromatic puddle that spread across the tiles like a stain of despair. "See, Yuna, Mina — we lost the spot next to Vhy because of your double coffee!"
Tears streamed down that girl's face as she similarly spilled her own coffee, creating a double disaster that seemed to perfectly symbolize their personal tragedy.
"The second coffee was for Vhy! It's his favorite and I wanted to give it to him!" she sobbed, as if she had missed the opportunity of a lifetime.
"Look at him, he already has one!" her friend yelled, pointing at the cup Vhy held with total indifference to the drama unfolding in his name.
The scene was so absurdly dramatic it would have been comical if I weren't living through my own tragedy in real time. These girls were crying over being near Vhy, and I was already looking for a way out.
At that moment, I heard hurried footsteps approaching from the entrance. A boy in a hoodie walked quickly, apologizing as he made his way past the students blocking the aisle with their caffeinated drama.
"Excuse me, ladies, I need to take my seat," he said, sitting beside Vhy as if it were the most natural thing in the world. "You shouldn't have popularized that coffee — now the whole school smells like it," the boy remarked, pulling his hoodie down in one motion.
"What did I do, Jhin? I just liked drinking it," Vhy replied, as if it were the most innocent thing in the world, completely oblivious to the chaos he had caused.
His words crossed my mind. "Mystery solved," I said out loud, noticing that Vhy held his cup the exact same way.
Jhin shifted his attention away from Vhy, directing his gaze toward my presence. His eyes went wide as plates when he recognized me, and his expression shifted from casual to completely horrified.
"Wh-what is she doing here?" he stammered, clearly just as surprised as Vhy had been — but with an added touch of panic that offended me.
"That's exactly what I'm wondering," said Vhy, taking one last sip of his coffee, as if my presence were a cosmic mystery not worth solving.
No, no, no! This has to be a bad joke. I'm not going to have to put up with one of them — but both. I leaned back against the desk, feeling my will to exist slowly drain away. Fate clearly had a very twisted sense of humor, and I was the punchline of its cruelest joke.
But beside me, I heard the creak of wood protesting under new weight. It was Pariz, joining me in my odyssey.
"I don't usually sit up front, but I can't leave you alone — not unless I want you to break everyone's face."
The fans' coffee drama continued in the background, but it felt distant now, like watching a movie with the volume turned down. My new reality was far more terrifying than any tantrum over spilled coffee.
This was only the first day, and I could already feel it was going to be the longest year of my life.