The next morning, the sun rose too early and my dignity rose too late.
I spilled instant coffee on my blouse at 6:42 a.m., ran out of hot water at 6:45, and caught my reflection in the mirror at 6:50—still not used to the goddess staring back.
This body was ridiculous.
Everything looked effortless on it—even the crumpled uniform and the messy bun I tied with a leftover ribbon.
I stared a second longer than I meant to.
And just like that, it happened again.
A thought. Uninvited. Quick and bitter.
"Even like this, they'd still choose her over you."
It wasn't Nina's voice.
It was mine. The old one. Alma.
The girl who used to hide behind velvet curtains and hope the staff forgot to invite her to family dinners.
I shook it off. Tied my shoes, grabbed my bag, and marched out of the apartment like I was late to my own revenge plot.
The school greeted me with its usual chill.
I walked through the gates, chin high, ignoring the stares and whispers I was starting to catalogue like menu items.
Today felt heavier.
Not because of my bag, but because of the ranking board that had gone live yesterday.
And the fact that my name still sat like a phantom at the bottom—unranked, unregistered, unworthy.
I slid into my seat at the back of Room 3-A just before the bell rang.
Seo Rayan was already there, of course. Notebook open. Pen ready. Shoes aligned.
He didn't look at me, but he definitely noticed my arrival. His hand paused for a fraction of a second in his writing.
He was becoming a habit. A presence.
Unbothered. Sharp. Cold.
But he didn't ignore me like the others.
And in this place?
That alone made him interesting.
— "Morning," I said casually, unpacking my things.
— "You're two minutes early," he replied, still writing.
— "Thanks. It's one of my many flaws."
His pen moved smoothly across the page.
— "You know most students here don't bother greeting anyone unless there's a transaction involved."
— "Then consider me emotionally bankrupt."
His mouth twitched. Not quite a smile. But something.
I filed it under "Possible Human Emotion – Investigate Later."
Class started, and so did the parade of pressure.
The teacher announced that we'd be having our first group presentation next week, based on a case study in international ethics.
Everyone groaned in perfect synchrony.
Then she dropped the bomb:
— "Groups will be assigned randomly."
There it was.
The sound of forty Type-A students having a collective cardiac event.
The projector blinked, and names began to shuffle on-screen like a cruel lottery.
My name landed with a soft click.
Group 4:
– Seo Rayan
– Lee Nina
– Jeong Haeun
My stomach flipped.
Beside me, Rayan's pen paused mid-sentence.
In front of me, Haeun turned her head slowly. She didn't speak. She didn't have to.
The curve of her lips said enough.
Oh, this will be fun.
Group 4.
Rayan, Haeun… and me.
I don't know who I had offended in the cosmos, but clearly the universe had decided I needed character development.
After class, the teacher told us to meet in the back study room to begin outlining our project.
It wasn't a request.
The room had a glass wall and three chairs too close together for comfort.
A digital board blinked gently in the corner, waiting for input like a smug referee.
Rayan entered first, dropped his bag by the table, and opened a notebook.
Haeun followed, not even glancing at me. She took the seat across from him, legs crossed, back perfectly straight.
I walked in last and took the remaining seat like it was the only one not poisoned.
For ten seconds, no one spoke.
Then Haeun opened her laptop with a dramatic sigh.
— "Let's make one thing clear," she said, eyes still on the screen.
— "I won't do all the work. I've done enough of that already in this school."
Her voice was soft, sweet, and coated in venom.
I smiled politely.
— "No problem. I'm excellent at pretending to cooperate."
Rayan didn't flinch.
He simply reached into his bag, pulled out a thin folder, and slid it across the table.
— "I prepared a framework," he said. "We each take a section. I'll handle the economic implications. Haeun, you cover diplomatic precedents. Nina, ethics and cultural impact."
His tone was neutral. Too neutral.
Like he was managing two volatile stocks about to crash into each other.
Haeun tilted her head, finally looking at him.
— "You planned this?"
— "I expected the announcement yesterday."
She didn't argue. That in itself was telling.
I scanned the folder.
Neatly typed notes. Sources. Timeline. Even a draft of the visual layout.
The man had project-managed our entire workload before we even knew we were working together.
I looked at him sideways.
— "Do you sleep, or do you just regenerate in a cryo pod between deadlines?"
This time, he did smile. Briefly.
And there it was again—that flicker of something real beneath the ice.
We each opened our laptops and began dividing the sections. Haeun spoke only when necessary.
Rayan answered everything in short, efficient sentences.
Me? I sat still. Watched. Filed everything.
Haeun was trying to establish dominance.
Rayan was maintaining control.
Neither trusted the other.
Which meant they might both overlook me.
Perfect.
—
At one point, Haeun reached for a pen and brushed Rayan's hand by accident.
The look she gave him was calculated—just a half-second too long.
He didn't react.
But I noticed.
Because Alma would have noticed.
That reflex came back so suddenly, it jolted me.
A memory: my mother at a gala, brushing a duke's cuff with the tips of her fingers, then turning away as if nothing had happened.
A move, not a mistake.
The moment passed.
But something clicked into place inside me.
Maybe I wasn't just here to survive.
Maybe I could still play the game.
We worked in near-silence for twenty-five minutes.
By "worked," I mean:
Rayan actually outlined our topic with terrifying precision,
Haeun made subtle edits while checking her reflection in her screen,
And I pretended to take notes while discreetly mapping the social battlefield.
They were both brilliant.
But brilliance came in different flavors.
Rayan was the kind of smart that burned slow—cold, layered, meticulous. He didn't need approval, just results.
Haeun was sharp like a blade. Strategic. Everything from her voice to her handwriting was designed to cut.
And me?
I was the wild variable. The unknown. The misfiled girl who wasn't supposed to sit at this table.
They were too busy assessing each other to see what I was doing: watching, absorbing, calculating.
And smiling.
Because the thing no one ever suspects is that the clown in the corner is sometimes the only one who understands the rules.
— "I think we should frame the argument around public image," I said at one point, breaking the quiet.
— "If we treat ethical failures as international liabilities, the cultural section becomes a turning point."
Both heads turned toward me.
Haeun raised an eyebrow.
Rayan adjusted his glasses.
Then Rayan nodded, just once.
— "That could work. Add it to your outline."
Haeun didn't respond.
But I saw it. The brief flicker in her expression.
Not annoyance.
Surprise.
Good.
That meant I wasn't invisible anymore.
Once we finalized the structure, the meeting ended with the clean efficiency of a business deal.
Haeun stood, gathered her things, and left without saying goodbye.
Rayan lingered. Closed his folder. Checked his watch.
— "You handled her better than I expected."
I blinked.
— "Is that a compliment?"
— "It's a rare observation."
I tilted my head.
— "Do you always talk like a courtroom transcript?"
He looked at me then. Directly. Calmly.
— "Do you always deflect when someone gets close to the truth?"
My smile faltered.
Just for a second.
And he saw it. I knew he did.
Before I could respond, he slung his bag over his shoulder and walked out, like he hadn't just thrown a subtle grenade in my direction.
I sat there, alone in the study room, heart still steady—but mind racing.
So.
Seo Rayan wasn't just smart.
He was dangerous.
After the group meeting, I headed to the library.
Not to study.
To observe.
Old habits. Alma habits.
When you grow up ignored, you learn to gather information in silence. You learn that what people say when they forget you're there is more honest than anything they'll ever tell you directly.
The library was elegant and sterile. Rows of shelves, glass dividers, soft lighting. Students read quietly, most with earbuds in, others taking notes on sleek tablets.
I chose a corner table near the back. Low visibility. Perfect view.
From there, I watched.
Rayan sat near the front, alone, flipping through a law journal like it owed him answers.
Haeun entered twenty minutes later, flanked by two other girls. They didn't sit with him. Of course not.
Different orbits. Same battlefield.
A trio of popular girls laughed too loudly by the window.
A group of boys whispered over mock exam scores.
The school was a machine. Everyone was a part.
Except me.
I was still the smudge on the blueprint.
I pulled out my phone to check the time—and that's when it buzzed.
An unknown number.
Message:
"Nice job today. You didn't embarrass yourself."
No name. No photo.
Just that one sentence.
My eyes flicked toward Rayan.
He didn't look up.
But he knew.
Of course he knew.
I didn't reply.
Instead, I locked my phone and leaned back.
And that's when I noticed something strange.
On the side wall, near the librarian's desk, a screen flashed momentarily. Then again.
Students' names. Numbers. Colored bars.
I stood slowly, pretending to stretch, and wandered closer.
It was a live update of participation stats. Something internal—probably visible only in select areas.
Most students were stable. A few had minor gains.
Then I saw it.
My name.
Lee Nina: 0.13% increase.
It was tiny. Insignificant.
But it was there.
Evidence.
I turned, walked calmly back to my seat, sat down.
Then I smiled.
They were watching.
Which meant…
I could start performing.
Not in the dramatic, fake-laugh, "look at me" way.
No.
In the strategic way.
The dangerous way.
Tomorrow, I'd raise my hand.
Make a point.
Drop a reference no one expected.
Not enough to stand out.
Just enough to be noticed again.
The ghost was about to materialize.
And when I did?
They wouldn't know where to place me.
And that meant they couldn't control me.