Yunho stood at the gate earlier than he ever had before, twenty minutes early, coffee in hand, hands in his coat pockets, pacing once or twice like he had something heavy on his mind.
Bella stepped out into the early morning chill and stopped for a moment when she saw him there. He looked up and met her gaze instantly. No teasing grin. No smug smirk. Just something calm, steady and intense as if he had been waiting not just minutes, but his entire night for her to step outside and reappear again.
"You're here early," she said, adjusting her bag strap. Her tone held a mix of surprise and caution.
He handed her the coffee without a word, fingers brushing hers softly in the exchange. "I wanted to walk you in."
Bella glanced down at the cup, then back at him. "You didn't have to."
"I wanted to," he said quietly, with none of the usual playful insistence. This time it sounded like something closer to: I couldn't stay away.
They began walking slowly toward the school. He didn't rush. She noticed that. It was like he was matching her pace on purpose, one careful step at a time.
"You doing okay?" he asked, voice slightly lower, softer around the edges.
She hesitated before nodding. "I think so. I still don't… feel great. But I'm okay."
"Did you sleep?"
"A little."
Yunho kept his eyes on the sidewalk ahead, but his presence felt warmer somehow, gentler. He didn't reach for her hand right away, like he normally did. He just stayed near, close enough that she could feel how aware he was of her.
Bella took a sip of coffee and noticed the flavour: caramel, just the way she liked it. He remembered. She hadn't even known he was paying attention the few times she ordered it.
They crossed the quiet residential street. Yunho didn't speak, but he kept glancing at her, not searching for a reaction, more like he was checking that she was still there, still beside him. She wasn't sure why, but it made something unclench in her chest.
At the school gate, students were milling about. A few pairs of eyes turned toward them as they approached. Some still whispering about the previous day and when the girls speak, they glanced from Yunho and then settled their gaze on Bella with distain before checking in on Yunho again. Bella tensed for a moment, waiting for someone to start up again. Yunho walked a little faster in front of her, stepped just a bit closer, almost shielding her from the side, subtle but unmistakable. His shoulder brushed hers, silent solidarity. The gossip still existed but the look on his face suggested he would not tolerate another word of it spoken near her.
"You want to go in first?" he asked. "Or we can stay out here a minute."
Bella shifted the cup in her hand and glanced at him. His gaze was so calm, so steady that she felt herself take a full breath for the first time all morning. She shook her head. "I'm okay to walk in."
Yunho nodded once and only then did he reach for her hand, asking for permission with his eyes before he touched her. She let her fingers slide into his. He gave a small squeeze, barely anything but it said everything.
They entered through the side hall, "I'll meet you at lunch," he said. "If anything happens before then, text me."
Bella looked up at him. "You'll be in practice. You don't have to worry every second."
"I know," he said. "I just… want to be where you need me. I worry. I can't help it."
Her chest tightened again. She nodded and her voice came out softer than she expected. "Okay."
He smiled, finally, but something quieter than his usual grin. "See you in a bit."
It began like any ordinary day for Eileen Park.
Emails. Budget reports. Department meetings. The usual business of running a university that prided itself on legacy, prestige, and the quiet, steady churn of excellence.
By midmorning, Principal Eileen Park noticed a pattern and knew something was wrong. Two emails turned into four. Four became nine. All of them came from faculty members. All of them referenced a disturbing scene that had unfolded yesterday afternoon in the quad. A scholarship student had apparently been publicly humiliated by another student over the nature of her funding. Whispers had grown into rumours. Then those rumours circled back again under new disguises. And the name Isabella Reyes was now hanging in the air of the university like a word the institution itself wasn't sure how to swallow.
President Park did not entertain gossip. But she did take note of patterns. And this pattern smelled of something rotten at its core.
She called Bella in.
The girl arrived looking composed, but there was a stillness to her. Not calm, exactly. Just quiet. Hardened. Like someone who had decided to brace herself against whatever came next.
"I didn't ask to speak to you because I'm angry," President Park said gently. "I asked because I want to understand."
Bella didn't offer excuses or deflect. She didn't perform. She simply explained what Claire had said, the way the crowd had gathered, the way words could cut deep when spoken in the right tone with the right audience. She admitted she had walked away. Because sometimes that was the safest thing you were taught to do when people decided to tell your story for you.
And finally, she explained the scholarship.
President Park listened. And when Bella finished, the room was silent for a long moment.
"Thank you," she said finally. "For trusting me enough to tell me the truth."
Bella nodded once. Then stood to go.
She wasn't asking for anything. Not protection. Not sympathy. She wasn't even asking for justice.
But President Park believed in more than discipline or policy. She believed in teaching. In leading. It was the responsibility to set a tone. To defend a standard. To remind the community what kind of institution it claimed to be.
So she did the one thing no one expected. She wrote.
From the Office of the Principal
Subject: A Note on Integrity, Merit and the Power of Assumption
This past week, I became aware of an incident that occurred on our campus involving the public disparagement of one of our students, Isabella Reyes, regarding her scholarship status and socioeconomic background.
Let me begin by stating this clearly: Isabella Reyes is a full and valued member of our academic community. She is a top-performing student. She has contributed to campus life through volunteerism, creativity, and leadership. She has done so while carrying personal challenges with a level of poise and discipline rarely seen at her age.
What many of you did not know and what she chose not to publicise is that Ms. Reye's scholarship was arranged privately through a donation from her grandfather, one of the university's most longstanding and significant benefactors. This arrangement was made discreetly at her and her family's request, to allow her to experience her education with the dignity and privacy every student deserves.
Let me be perfectly clear: Financial background is not and never will be, a measure of merit or worth at this institution. We are not a university that tolerates the weaponizing of privilege or the shaming of students who have worked tirelessly to be here, regardless of the path that brought them. We are better than that. And when we fall short, we will say so and do better.
Ms. Reyes has not asked for this letter. She did not request to be defended or uplifted. In fact, she has carried herself with remarkable grace and restraint throughout this ordeal, traits that some of us should aspire to.
But silence from leadership becomes complicity. And I refuse to be complicit.
To Isabella Reyes: We are proud to have you here.
To the wider Hwayang community: I encourage you all to reflect on the assumptions you carry, the harm that carelessly spoken words can cause, and the importance of upholding a campus where every student is shown respect.
Let this serve as both a correction and a reminder. We rise by lifting others, not by tearing them down.
Sincerely,
Dr. Eileen Park
Principal, Hwayang University
The announcement went live across every platform by the end of the afternoon. Posted on every digital bulletin board, forwarded to every departmental mailing list, uploaded to the student portal for all to read.
By the next morning, everyone had seen it. And the whispers stopped.
Not because people suddenly changed, but because someone in authority had finally drawn the line and dared anyone to cross it again.
Bella read it quietly. She was sitting in the campus café when the notification arrived on her phone. She didn't move for a while. She just stared at the message, reading it twice, then a third time. Not because she needed to process the words, but because something inside her felt like it was being quietly rewritten. She wasn't being called out. She was being seen.
Yunho found her in the café minutes later, slid into the seat across from her, holding two muffins and a quiet look of anticipation.
"Well," he said, "someone out there's not afraid to say what the rest of us should've said days ago."
Bella gave a small smile, folding the lid of her drink back down.
"I didn't want a spotlight," she said.
"I know," he replied. "But sometimes it finds you anyway."
She was quiet for a moment, then said, "I think what meant the most… is that it didn't come from me. It came from someone who listened."
Yunho tilted his head in agreement. "Even better," he said. "It came from someone who believed you were worth listening to."
Bella didn't need revenge. She didn't need to fight to prove her place. She had already done that.