The word "disgusting" bounced off the walls of the deserted hallway, chasing Mary as her heels faded into the distance. I stood there, paralyzed, feeling the weight of that single syllable like a physical blow. The golden doorknob of my classroom door gleamed with silent mockery, a trophy from a world I clearly didn't belong to.
I clenched my jaw until it hurt. No. You're not going to cry. You won't give them that satisfaction.
I took a deep breath, inhaling that air that smelled of expensive wax and accumulated privilege. I pushed the door and entered. The classroom was almost empty, but the few glances that fell on me were quick, evaluative, and dismissive. Perfect clones of Mary. I found an empty desk at the back, by the window, and dropped into it as if it were a refuge.
The humiliation burned under my skin like acid. I needed to do something. Something normal. Something that would anchor me back to the reality I knew.
The library.
I needed to lose myself among pages that would transport me far from here, maybe a romantic comedy, or a fantasy story. Anything would be better than this moment...
I'm probably one of those few special people who still read.
I left the classroom and headed to the place Mary had shown me minutes before. As I walked through the hallway, I passed two girls chatting animatedly, oblivious to my presence.
"Did you hear NEON7's new song?" said one, with her hair pulled back in a perfect ponytail.
"Yes! Vhy's voice is simply divine," replied the other, sighing dramatically.
"Totally. He's my favorite, without a doubt."
"Mine too. Though Jhin has something special..."
"And what about DM?"
"Ugh... I like how he raps, but he's a bit... you know, ugly. Definitely last on my list."
I walked past, thinking how trivial their concerns seemed. Though I have to say Sugar is my first place...
Hathor's library wasn't just any library; it was the lobby of a five-star hotel. Crystal chandeliers hung from the ceiling like private constellations, students reclined on velvet sofas that seemed to breathe, though it was clear they came more for the coffee than for reading.
The murmur of their conversations was low and refined, as if even their whispers had pedigree. The bookshelves weren't simple shelves, but works of cabinetry carved from dark, shiny woods. Even the carts for returning books looked like museum pieces, with polished bronze wheels and leather handles.
This was nothing like the dusty and cozy bookstore in my town. I felt like a field mouse in an exhibition of Persian cats.
With my head down, I made my way through the crowd, fixing my gaze on the counter. I was so focused on not tripping and ignoring the stares that I didn't see the duo walking in the opposite direction, immersed in their own conversation.
The impact was dull and wet.
A hot, sticky liquid soaked the front of my white blouse and blue sweater. The coffee burned against my skin, seeping through the cheap fabric of my blouse. It wasn't just hot, but had an intense aroma of spices and vanilla notes that I had never perceived in the instant coffee I drank at home.
"Shit!" exclaimed a masculine voice, high-pitched and loaded with indignation.
I looked up. In front of me was the angel from the subway, that tall boy with pink hair and perfect skin, but now his formerly serene gaze had transformed into the devastating fury of an offended god.
In his right hand he held an empty white ceramic cup, from which the last drop of its contents dripped onto my already ruined uniform.
"Don't you watch where you're going?!" he spat, looking with horror at the brown stain spreading across my chest. "You don't know how long it took me to order this coffee!"
While I rubbed my head and felt how the liquid burned my skin through the fabric, I noticed that beside him was another boy, equally impressive in beauty, but with large eyes that showed pupils dark as polished obsidian pearls. His peaceful expression had transformed into one of surprise and genuine concern.
Around me, silence spread like a wave. Interrupted conversations, coffee cups suddenly set down on their saucers.
All eyes fixed on the spectacle: the new girl, soaked in coffee, in front of two of Hathor's most handsome students. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw how several girls discreetly took out their phones. The disguised flashes and the sound of digital shutters confirmed that my humiliation was being immortalized for Hathor's digital posterity.
"Dude, calm down," said the obsidian-eyed boy with a soft voice, putting a hand on his friend's shoulder.
"But... she spilled my coffee..." the pink-haired boy muttered like a small child before turning to me. He shook his head in an exaggerated movement, his hair following the momentum like in a shampoo commercial. "I'm going for 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 more complex: tiredness? Resignation? It was so brief I could have imagined it. In his hand, a ring peeked out that seemed discreet at first glance, but which I recognized as a limited edition I had seen in a magazine. They had only made ten blue pearl rings in the entire world.
"Yeah, sure Vhy," he responded to his friend before addressing me. "I'm really sorry, truly."
When he approached, I perceived an aroma that contrasted brutally with the spilled coffee: something fresh and citrusy, but with a woody base that could only be a custom-made perfume. The type of fragrance that doesn't come in bottles that common people can buy.
His kindness was so unexpected, so different from his friend's reaction, that for a second it completely threw me off.
"You're new, right? My name is Jhin, nice to meet you," he mentioned, extending his hand.
I noticed that while he spoke to me, he bit his lower lip slightly. An almost imperceptible gesture, but one that contrasted with his perfect image.
I took it, feeling how soft and firm his grip was, along with the cold metal of his blue pearl ring. But then I saw it in his gaze, I caught him scanning my stained uniform from head to toe with that same evaluative look Mary had thrown at me.
I looked at my stained uniform and then at Jhin's. Mine, a slightly faded blue that betrayed its passage through at least one previous generation of students. His, a deep and vibrant blue, with perfect seams that fit exactly to his figure. We weren't even wearing the same uniform, really. His was the 'elite' version, the one that didn't appear in the regular catalog.
The wound from minutes ago reopened, bleeding pride and rage.
"Leave me alone," I mumbled, releasing the warmth of his hand as if it burned.
My hands trembled so much I had to clench my fists to hide it. I felt a buzzing in my ears and a dry mouth, as if my body was preparing to flee or fight.
The obsidian-eyed boy, Jhin, seemed genuinely surprised. "What happened? Did I do something wrong?" Suddenly, he began taking off his jacket, extending it toward me. "Here, to cover the stain."
I took it with trembling hands. It was a blue jacket, with heavy, thick fabric of undeniable quality. On the chest and back it displayed Hathor's shield embroidered in golden thread. While I held it, I noticed I hadn't seen any other student with an identical one, only these two. The embroidered shield had small details in silver thread that shone subtly, marking a difference invisible to the inexpert eye, but obvious to anyone at Hathor. It was surely a garment that cost more than my entire wardrobe combined.
A familiar heat rose from my neck to my cheeks. That damn blush that always gave me away when I was furious or embarrassed. Now, it was both.
"I said leave me alone," my voice sounded harsher than I intended. "I can clean myself. I don't need anyone's charity."
"What? But I want to help."
"Do you think I don't know boys like you, with your perfect faces and unlimited credit cards?! You're just another spoiled kid in a school that isolates them from reality!"
Jhin's face changed instantly. The warmth in his eyes evaporated, replaced by cold incredulity, and then by a spark of contained anger. He snatched his jacket from my hands and looked at me as if I had just slapped him.
"Fine," he said, his voice tense like a string about to break. "As you wish."
In his haste and anger, a small white envelope slipped from the left pocket of the jacket, falling to the floor with a slight flutter, landing right in front of my feet.
He didn't seem to have noticed.
The crowd, which had stopped to observe the spectacle as if it were a theater 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, and with my heart beating furiously against my ribs.
I bent down and picked up the envelope. The paper was thick and high quality, almost velvety to the touch. In one corner, engraved in silver ink that shone under the lights, was a logo I recognized instantly from billboards and magazines: a stylized "N7".
NEON7.
I turned it over with trembling fingers. On the back, a small sticker sealed the envelope. It had another logo, one I also knew from the musical dramas my mother watched: a faceted crystal amethyst.
Amethyst.
My brain connected the dots at the speed of light. The arrogant coffee boy and the obsidian-eyed boy. They weren't simple students. They were members of the country's most famous idol band. NEON7, the band that had broken all sales records last year. The one that had fans camping outside their concerts for weeks. The one my mother listened to while cleaning the house, pretending she was still sixteen.
Vhy, the vocalist with the perfect voice, and Jhin, the second main voice. How didn't I realize before?
As I watched Jhin catch up to Vhy, part of me wanted to scream in frustration. Three humiliations in less than an hour. Was this some kind of record? Or simply the standard welcome for scholarship students at Hathor?
The idiot who had spilled coffee on me and the supposed gentleman I had just insulted weren't just any students.
NEON7. My brain processed the information while 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 that her teenage idol... her daughter looked at them like they were trash... she'd disown me.
I quickly hid the envelope in my backpack, looking around to make sure no one had seen me.