The word "disgusting" bounced off the walls of the deserted hallway, chasing me as the sound of her heels faded into the distance. I stood there, paralyzed, feeling the weight of that single word as if it were a physical blow.
The golden handle mocked me with its silent shimmer—a trophy from a world where I clearly didn't belong.
I clenched my jaw until it throbbed, my fingers tightening over my skirt, wrinkling the fabric until my knuckles turned pale.
"Don't... don't you dare cry," I whispered, my lips barely moving. "That's the one luxury I won't allow them."
I took a deep breath, filling my lungs with that custom scent.
She was right... it doesn't let me forget.
I finally pushed the door open, seeing from the threshold a nearly empty classroom filled with gazes that asked: What is she doing here?
It seemed they already knew, perhaps by the way I walked or my hunched posture. It felt like they knew everything without even meeting me.
As I endured it, something else caught my attention. Every look, though hurtful, was different. Special. As if behind the disdain there was something else shining... talent? No, that was impossible. Their eyes were those of someone asleep... a dangerous sleeper.
There was only one different gaze. A girl sitting in the back by the window; her eyes were larger, her features less circular, with a haircut that reminded me of a wolf. It was orderly in its disorder, with sharp edges made by a razor—a layered cut with natural movement. She stroked and combed it constantly. Nerves? Habit? I didn't know...
I only knew that her gaze was the only one that didn't hurt.
Everyone drew attention in their own way. But even in how unique they all felt, there were levels...
Near the window, three girls in different uniforms formed a perfect triangle. The one in the center had a presence that filled the room even while seated. Flowing blue hair. Her eyes scanned the room with a quiet authority; her loose posture didn't show arrogance, only comfort.
Behind her, carefully combing her hair, a girl in a green uniform watched her with absolute attention, nodding at every word. In front of her, another in a gold uniform held a hand mirror as if it were the greatest honor in the world.
"Mina, are you going to participate in the March festival?" I heard the one in green ask curiously.
"Don't say that, Eun-Ji," the girl in the gold uniform—the same as Mary's—said. "Without Mina, our club wouldn't be able to support so many members."
The one in the center, "Mina," I assumed, let out a suppressed laugh as she stroked the golden-clad girl's head, causing her to lower the mirror. "I'd love to participate," she declared, her tone measured. "But Yuna is right, I'm too busy with the club. I think next year will be the one."
Something about that scene unsettled me, though I didn't know exactly what. The girl in the center was glowing, no doubt, but that glow seemed... contained. She looked like a plant growing in a pot that was much too small. Her friends surrounded her with genuine affection, but also with an invisible weight that seemed to anchor her to the floor.
I closed the door without a word. The humiliation burned under my skin like acid. I needed to do something. Something normal. Something to drag me away from here.
The library.
I needed to lose myself among pages—maybe a romantic comedy or a fantasy story. Any world would be better than this one.
I'm probably one of those few special people who still actually read.
I headed toward the place Mary had ironically shown me minutes before. I was seeking solace in enemy territory. As I walked, I passed two girls in gold uniforms in the middle of a trivial conversation.
"Did you see the new music video from NEON7?" one asked.
"Yes! Vhy looks DIVINE in that white suit," the other replied, sighing dramatically. "He is the sun I wake up to every morning."
"Totally, he's my favorite," the one in glasses declared, placing a hand over her heart. "Though Zen also kills me when he sings that solo at the end."
"And what about DM?"
"Ugh... I like his rapping, but compared to Shugar... you know. Definitely last on my list."
"Shugar is perfect. I don't know how I'm going to survive when they graduate."
I walked past them. How trivial, I thought.
The Hathor library was another reminder that I didn't belong here. Crystal chandeliers hung from the ceiling like unreachable constellations; students reclined on velvet sofas that cost more than a year's rent. Not a single one had a book in hand. It was clear they came more for the coffee than the reading.
The murmur of their conversations was low and refined, as if even their whispers had a pedigree. The bookshelves weren't just shelves; they were masterpieces of cabinetry carved from dark, gleaming woods. Even the book carts looked like museum pieces, with polished bronze wheels and leather handles.
This was nothing like the dusty, cozy bookstore near my apartment. I felt like a field mouse at a Persian cat show.
With my head down, I made my way through the crowd, fixing my gaze on the calculated lines of the floor. I was so focused on not tripping and ignoring everyone's stares that their conversations were just static in my ears.
With no time to react, two pairs of polished shoes appeared before my eyes, following the momentum of a conversation I wasn't part of.
The impact was dull and wet.
A hot, sticky liquid soaked the front of my white blouse and blue jacket. The coffee burned against my skin, seeping through the fabric. It wasn't just hot; it had a light vanilla scent I had never smelled in the instant coffee I drank at home.
"Shit!" a male voice exclaimed, sharp and loaded with indignation.
I looked up. Standing in front of me was the subway angel—that tall boy with pink hair and perfect skin. But now, his once-serene gaze had transformed into the searing rage of an offended god.
In his right hand, he held an empty white ceramic cup, still dripping.
"What, can't you see where you're walking?!" he snapped, looking with horror at the brown stain spreading across my chest. "Do you have any idea how long it took me to order this coffee?!"
As I rubbed my head and felt the liquid scalding my skin, I noticed another boy beside him—equally breathtaking in beauty, but with large eyes featuring dark pupils like polished obsidian pearls. His peaceful expression had turned into one of surprise and genuine concern.
Around me, silence spread like a ripple. Conversations stopped; coffee cups were slammed onto their saucers.
All eyes were fixed on the spectacle. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw several girls discreetly pulling out their phones. The muffled flashes and the sound of digital shutters confirmed that my humiliation was being immortalized for Hathor's digital history.
"Man, calm down," the boy with the obsidian eyes intervened in a soft voice, placing a hand on his friend's shoulder.
"But... she spilled my coffee..." the pink-haired demon defended himself before turning back to me. He shook his head in an exaggerated motion, his hair flowing with the momentum like a shampoo commercial. "I'm getting another coffee. See you in class, Jhin."
When the boy from the train turned to leave, his expression changed for an instant. The mask of indignation slipped, revealing something else: Weariness? Resignation? It was so brief I might have imagined it. On the lapel of his blazer, he wore his small silver jester mask pin, clutching it with hatred.
"Yeah, sure, Vhy," he replied to his friend before addressing me. "I am so sorry, truly."
As he stepped closer, I caught a scent that contrasted brutally with the spilled coffee: something fresh and citrusy, but with a woody undertone that could only be a custom-made perfume.
His attitude was so unexpected, so different from the reaction of the subway demon.
Is this kindness? Genuine kindness in a world like this?
"You're new, right? My name is Jhin, nice to meet you," he mentioned, extending his hand.
I noticed that as he spoke, he lightly bit his lower lip. A nearly imperceptible gesture, but one that contrasted with his perfect image.
I took it, feeling the soft yet firm grip of his hand alongside the cold metal of his Lotus ring. He helped me up, practically carrying my entire weight.
"Y-yes..." I muttered, answering his question. "It's my first day," I mentioned almost as a reflex, seeing a look close to surprise on his face. His kindness was a pleasant find, like a honey candy after a spoonful of salt.
But then I saw it. His gaze traveling over my stained uniform from head to toe, analyzing my situation...
He was doing it too... he saw me that way, too. I held back, clenching my jaw.
I felt as if the ground beneath my feet was breaking, while a sea of emptiness pulled me into its waves.
Is everyone in this world the same? I wondered.
I looked at my stained uniform and then at Jhin's. Mine was a slightly faded blue that betrayed its history of at least one previous generation. His was a deep, vibrant blue with perfect stitching that fit his figure exactly.
Everyone here had custom-tailored uniforms. Blue, green, gold, and red. Mine looked more like a dull grey than the original blue.
"Leave me alone," I spat, dropping the warmth of his hand as if it burned. My hands were shaking so much I had to clench my fists to hide it. I felt a ringing in my ears and my mouth was dry, as if my body were preparing to flee or fight.
I already made the mistake of trusting once... I won't do it twice.
The obsidian-eyed boy seemed surprised, as if his practiced charms weren't working.
"What happened? Did I do something wrong?" he questioned with a trembling gaze, but as if a light had switched on in his pupils, he began to take off his jacket, extending it toward me. "Here, take this to cover the stain so they'll let you into our class."
Is he seriously... offering me his jacket? I thought, taking it with trembling hands.
A familiar heat climbed up my neck to my cheeks. That damn blush that always betrayed me when I was embarrassed. His actions seemed genuine; I really wanted to think they were...
"I said leave me alone. I can clean myself up. I don't need anyone's charity."
"What? But I want to help," he insisted, grabbing my wrist. "We can go order a new one for you; you're new, I'll take you."
When he took my wrist, I could feel his tremor, his warmth, and his concern. But something inside me screamed something else. From my lungs to my throat, an acid began to melt me from within. I felt that if I didn't expel it, if I didn't release that knot in my diaphragm, I would choke.
In a move I'd seen in movies, I yanked my wrist from his hand, feeling stronger with that simple act. "Do you think I don't know guys like you? With your perfect faces and unlimited cards?! You're just another spoiled brat in a school that isolates you from reality!"
His face changed instantly. The warmth in his eyes evaporated, replaced by a cold incredulity.
"Fine," he said, his voice tense like a string about to snap. "Whatever you want." He snatched his jacket back from my hands and looked at me as if I had just slapped him.
In his haste and anger, a small white envelope slipped from his left pocket, fluttering to the floor and landing right at my feet.
He didn't seem to notice.
The crowd, which had stopped to watch the spectacle as if it were a play, lost interest and returned to their refined conversations. I was left alone in the middle of the hallway, sticky, humiliated for the third time in less than an hour, with my heart beating furiously against my ribs.
I leaned down and picked up the envelope. The paper was thick and high-quality, almost velvety to the touch. In one corner, embossed in silver ink that shimmered under the lights, was a logo I recognized instantly from billboards and magazines: a stylized "N7."
I turned it over with trembling fingers. On the back, a small sticker sealed the envelope. It had another logo, one I also knew—a girl group I'd heard many times on the radio: a faceted crystal amethyst. It was the Amethyst logo.
My brain connected the dots at lightning speed. The arrogant coffee boy and the obsidian-eyed boy. They weren't just students. They were members of one of the most famous idol bands in the country. NEON7, the band that had broken sales records in only their two years of existence. The one that had fans camping outside their concerts for weeks. The one my mother listened to while cleaning the house, imitating the high notes like a sixteen-year-old fan.
Vhy, the vocalist with the perfect voice, and Jhin, the second lead vocalist. How did I not realize it sooner?
As I watched Jhin catch up to Vhy, a part of me wanted to scream in frustration.
Three humiliations in a row.
Was this some kind of record?
Or just the standard welcome for scholarship students at Hathor?
The idiot who had spilled coffee on me and the gentleman I had just insulted weren't just any students.
NEON7. My brain processed the information as my fingers held the envelope. The irony was almost painful: my mother collected every magazine they appeared in, and now I had insulted one of them. If she knew her daughter had offended her teenage idol... she would disinherit me.