Whispers trailed behind him as he kept his head down, walking beside his mother to the office. He glanced up at the sign above the door: Vice Principal.
His mother's sharp knock cracked against the door. A deep voice allowed them inside. Christan's muscles stiffened involuntarily at the authority behind that deep voice.
He faced one of Goldleaf's infamous teachers for the first time.
The man behind the desk kept his eyes on the laptop screen, ignoring them. With fuller cheeks and a soft jawline, he looked softer than his broad build suggested.
He tapped away on his keyboard as they sat across from him.
'This is a Goldleaf's infamous teacher?' Christan thought as he looked at the man. He'd expected someone scarier.
Gazing in the room, though the exterior was worn and aged, the inside had modern furnishings. A nameplate on the desk shone — Vice Principal Luken.
When the man finally decided to acknowledge them, dimples appeared in his cheeks with a smile.
"Welcome, Mrs...?" He started with an amiable smile; however, the question hung in the air. His eyes flicked toward Christan before returning to his mother.
His mother returned a faint smile. "Vance."
"How long was your journey to reach us today, Mrs. Vance?" He casually asked as if it was custom.
"Three hours," she replied with a soft smile.
Luken's eyebrow raised. "You must be exhausted from such a long journey. I shouldn't tire you more. Let's get it done."
His gaze settled on Christan, lingering on his auburn hair that brushed his shoulders.
"His hair exceeds our standard length," the principal said, his tone making it clear this was a violation. "Our enrollment guidelines state students must have short-cropped hair."
His mother glanced toward him. "I'm sorry for my negligence. Hopefully, that won't cause any problems going forward, right?"
The principal waved his hand dismissively. "It's not an immediate concern. He'll meet every standard after enrollment."
The words "after the enrollment" stuck with Christan, adding to his shivers as he quietly waited for the process.
"Your full name?" Luken's voice cut through his thoughts.
He swallowed and forced out, "Christan Vance."
Luken's fingers played across the keyboard. "You've read the joining instructions. There were documents you were supposed to bring."
His mother took the files from Christan's backpack and gave them to the principal.
Luken flipped through the pages, scanning each document. Age: 16. Hobbies: blank. Mother: single parent, businesswoman. Health: no issues.
Then his finger froze mid-turn on a particular page. His eyes blinked as if rejecting what they saw. It was momentary but didn't go unnoticed by mother and son.
Christan's stomach tightened. He had never bothered to read the joining instructions, not even troubled with anything before coming here, so he had no idea what was filled in.
He glanced at his mother. She sat calmly, watching the principal, waiting for him to voice his concern.
Christan's fingers dug into his thighs, his eyes drifting to both sides. 'What had she written?'
"He moved from six schools?" Luken asked, not trying to believe it. "That's... a record."
Christan took a deep breath of relief he nearly gasped.
"Yes, unfortunately," she sighed. "This will be Christan's seventh school. But I'm confident Goldleaf will be different."
"The reports mention bullying incidents," Luken said carefully, studying Christan's slender frame. "I see, we'll need to ensure he doesn't go through the same thing."
Christan's jaw clenched. Of course, that's what everyone saw; he was fragile—never bothering to ask, always assuming he was the victim. Not that it had ever been the other way around.
Confusion flickered across Luken's face as he studied Mrs. Vance. She appeared smart. It was over the news that this school was special for those fresh out of detentions, yet she was bringing her son here.
"Vice principal, is there a problem?" Mrs. Vance asked.
"Not at all." His voice hesitated. "I was just... We need some confirmations. After you sign here and provide your contacts—you understand you won't see your son for three years. As you should know, students aren't permitted phones."
"I'm aware of everything. I've prepared for that," Her voice didn't have any concerns. "Where should I sign?"
As Luken directed her to the signature line, Christan's shoulders fell. He already knew Goldleaf was an isolated disciplinary academy with strict boarding policies.
But still, hearing those words—three years, no outside world, no phone—the reality crashed into him harder than expected.
"Christan, there are visiting days," Luken added, smiling nicely with assurance. "You'll see her from time to time."
He nodded even though that wasn't what worried him.
"Mrs. Vance, you'll have to say your goodbyes here. The rest of the process requires only him."
Her smile never wavered. "Of course. Thank you."
They walked out together, stopping a few paces from the office door. His mother turned to him, her expression softening.
"I'll miss you," she whispered. "But this is for the better."
His fingers tightened around his suitcase handle until his knuckles turned white. "Drop the act."
The facade cracked. She wasn't worried—she wasn't even guilty.
"I know you hate this school," she admitted, "But things have been chaotic. Maybe... this is what you need."
'Right. A place to hide. She had finally found a way for me to stay out of her sight. Good for her.' His lips curled into a humorless smile. "If that's what you want."
He pulled his suitcase forward, attempting to brush past her. Her fingers snapped around his arm, stopping him.
"Son." Her voice hardened. "This is the seventh school you've been moved to. I hope you won't ruin it before getting your certificate. No matter what, you have to graduate. Do you get what I mean?"
The words were unpleasant to his ears. "Don't you think it's too late to care about that?"
"You're right. It was my fault—ignoring everything until it was too late." Her fingers dug deeper. "So we have to fix it. No other school would accept you except this one. Make sure you don't get expelled."
He stared at her with sad eyes, his throat burning. "You were supposed to be worried."
"I am worried." Her voice wavered, not with emotion but with restraint. "Every second, I worry you'll mess up again." She inhaled sharply. "But I'm telling you, Chris—keep your head down and fix that sick brain of yours!" The words she'd held so long hissed between clenched teeth as she struggled to maintain her composure.
Something cold and dark boiled in his chest. His smile returned, sharper now. "Is the certificate what you want? Fine. I'll get that for you."
Her eyebrows shot up. For a heartbeat, doubt clouded her expression. Was he threatening her? She questioned her decision to bring him here, then hardened. No, there was no better place for him. She only wanted her son to be normal. Was that too much to ask?
Without another word, Christan seized his suitcase and backpack, turning away. Two steps later, he halted.
"You were right about one thing," he said bitterly. "This is a good place to hide—from you."
He walked away to complete his admission, never looking back, leaving his mother standing alone in the corridor with nothing but the fading sound of his footsteps.