The article spread faster than wildfire.
By morning, it wasn't just on campus forums—it was everywhere.
Social media, local news sites, even a few international blogs were echoing the same question:
Who really is Rin Hayashi?
It didn't matter that none of it was true.
Once a rumor takes root, truth barely matters.
Min-jun was pacing our dorm room, phone in hand. "They're tearing us apart online, Rin. You've gotta say something."
"Anything I say will just fuel it," I said quietly.
"So we do nothing?"
[He's not wrong, Rin,] Nova said. [You need to control the story before the story controls you.]
I closed my eyes, thinking. "Alright. We go public—but on our terms."
Min-jun blinked. "Wait, you mean like an interview?"
"Not exactly."
That night, I wrote a public post from my verified UniTrade account.
No big defense, no complicated explanation—just a few words:
"Rumors spread faster than facts. I'll let actions speak for themselves."
Then, I attached screenshots of scholarship confirmations, donation receipts, and transparent ledgers—all funded through UniTrade.
The post exploded.
Thousands of comments.
Some doubting me, some defending me, but all watching.
[Perfect,] Nova said. [Now the public sees where the money goes.]
I exhaled slowly. "Now we wait."
The next morning, Soo-ah found me on the campus lawn.
"You really did it," she said, handing me a coffee.
"Had to. I couldn't let them control the narrative."
She smiled. "I'm proud of you."
That word—proud—hit harder than I expected.
"Thanks," I said, managing a small smile. "I needed to hear that."
We sat in silence for a while, watching the sunlight filter through the trees. It felt like a moment from before everything got complicated.
[She's good for you,] Nova said gently.
"Yeah," I murmured, smiling faintly. "She really is."
But peace never lasted long.
That afternoon, an email arrived—anonymous again.
Only one line:
You can't buy everything. Some things are earned.
Attached was a photo.
A blurry shot of me and Soo-ah from earlier that day.
My stomach dropped. "Nova—trace this."
[Trying. They're masking through multiple private servers again. Whoever this is, they're close. Probably someone on campus.]
I clenched my fists. "They crossed a line."
[Then draw yours.]
That night, I made a decision.
No more hiding, no more waiting for the next strike.
If someone wanted to come after me, fine.
But I was done playing defense.
[Finally,] Nova said. [Time to use what we have properly.]
I nodded. "Then let's start building something they can't tear down."
Outside my window, Seoul pulsed with light—alive, restless, endless.
And I could feel it again—that spark from the beginning.
Not fear.
Not exhaustion.
Just pure purpose.