It was exactly 6:00 AM when the sound of the alarm filled the room. My eyes snapped open. I didn't hit the snooze button; I didn't toss and turn in bed. I simply got up.
I had no tolerance for inefficiency, not even from myself.
I splashed cold water on my face while staring at my reflection in the mirror. People, especially my colleagues, frequently labeled me as "introverted" or "shy."
particularly in environments with female teachers, they interpreted my silence and avoidance of eye contact as some form of primitive timidity or inexperience regarding the opposite sex. When a female teacher smiled at me and I simply nodded and walked past, they assumed I was tongue-tied from excitement.
There would be a slight tinge of pity in their voices, a tone that seemed to say, "Poor boy."
What they didn't know was this: That "timidity" was my strongest shield.
People already exploited me enough for my intellect, using me to handle their endless drudgery. I couldn't lift my head from the files dumped on me with the excuse, "You handle it, you understand this stuff."
I didn't want to be exhausted by their endless emotional crises, heartbreaks, and social problems on top of that. If I spoke to them, if I cracked that door open, they wouldn't just load their work onto my back—they would load their burdens, too.
The "Shy" label was a perfect "Do Not Disturb" sign to escape this unnecessary social load.
The reason for my silence wasn't fear. It was energy conservation.
Words spoken at the wrong time are nothing more than a waste of jaw movement against people who aren't listening anyway. Just as a sniper doesn't fire bullets randomly into the air, I hid my words. I spoke only when I was going to hit the target.
Every other moment was just noise.
I filled my thermos with coffee and left the house. When I arrived at school, the corridors were already filled with that familiar hum.
A cacophony fueled by adolescent hormones, anxiety, and artificial joy. To me, it was no different from "white noise."
Until I heard that scream.
A crowd had formed a circle in the hallway in front of the library. I didn't speed up my steps, but I changed my rhythm; more decisive, harder.
I stopped when I reached the outer edge of the crowd.
Two female students. Clara, the star of the school volleyball team; her face flush with rage, she had grabbed Sophie by the collar and was shoving her against the wall. Sophie was trying to cover her face with her hands, trembling.
"Are you still denying it?!" Clara roared. Her voice echoed down the corridor. "I didn't crush you just because you're on a scholarship; I carried you with me. But you couldn't stomach me passing you, getting a higher grade than you in last week's trials, could you? That's why you secretly took those photos on Sunday and shared them!"
Students had pulled out their phones, recording like spectators in a digital arena. Instead of walking into the center of the chaos, I tapped lightly on the shoulder of the student nearest to me.
The boy turned around, startled.
"The bell is about to ring," I said. My voice wasn't loud, but it cut through the noise like a knife. "It would be a pity to waste the potential you failed to show in your chemistry exam by trying to watch this chaos. Disperse."
As the crowd began to dissolve with murmurs, my eyes focused on a single point. At the very back of the crowd, Elena was watching the event, biting her nails not out of panic, but anticipation.
When our eyes met, she looked away and quickly blended into the crowd.
Noted.
"Clara, Sophie," I said, gesturing to my study room next to the laboratory. "Come with me. Now."
When we entered the room, I shut the door, cutting off the noise outside. Clara was still panting; Sophie was crying. I leaned against my desk.
"Sir, she did it!" Clara said, her voice trembling. "Those photos were taken on Sunday. We were at our house. There was no one else!"
"I know," I said calmly, cutting her off. "But Sophie didn't do it."
Clara laughed angrily. "How can you be so sure? It's obvious she's jealous of me!"
"Observation, Clara. Just a simple timeline," I said, turning to Sophie.
"Last Friday, in my final class, you were sitting in the back row, Sophie. Your phone was in your hand, but the screen was pitch black. You were trying to turn it on in a panic, pressing the button repeatedly, but it wouldn't react. Your expression at that moment wasn't that of someone preparing to reveal a secret, but of someone whose world was collapsing."
Sophie looked up in surprise. "The motherboard fried, Sir... I gave it to the service center after school on Friday."
Clara immediately jumped in, switching to defense. "That could be a tactic, Sir! What if she has a second phone? What if the 'it broke' story is just a lie she fabricated to mislead us? Sophie is smart; she can make insidious plans!"
I looked calmly into Clara's eyes. This was a desperate defense.
"Clara," I said, tuning my voice to the coldest frequency of logic. "Have you looked at the account that posted these photos? Newly opened, no followers, an amateur account. Not a professional setup."
Then I turned to Sophie, lowering my voice slightly.
"And Sophie, don't take offense, but let's be realistic... Clara, do you think it makes financial sense for a scholarship student, who borrows her books from the library, to keep a spare smartphone on the side just to conspire against you?"
The atmosphere in the room shifted instantly. Clara's "insidious plan" theory crashed against Sophie's socio-economic reality and shattered.
Clara paused. Her eyes drifted to Sophie's old-model bag and worn-out shoes. Her anger slowly faded, replaced by a shame-filled bewilderment.
Sophie, with trembling hands, pulled a crumpled technical service receipt from her bag. The delivery date was marked as yesterday evening.
"Then..." Clara whispered. "Who did it?"
Instead of answering, I turned to Sophie. "You two," I said. "Go back to class now. Clara, make up for this misunderstanding. Sophie, speak to no one. I will deal with the real culprit personally."
After the girls left, I waited for the recess bell to ring.
When it rang, I went down to the canteen. As I predicted, Elena was there. Sitting alone at the corner table, stirring her fruit juice with a straw.
She startled when I approached. She moved to grab her bag and get up.
"Sit, Elena. Sit," I said. My voice was far removed from the "shy and harmless" teacher they thought I was. It had a relaxed, even slightly appreciative tone.
I sat opposite her.
"Sir, I..."
I raised my hand, silencing her. "I wanted to congratulate you," I whispered.
Elena froze. "What? I don't understand?"
I leaned forward slightly. "Warning Clara, I mean... That was brave. Let me be open; it disturbs us as the school administration when a scholarship student like Sophie oversteps her bounds like this. Protecting your best friend is admirable."
Elena's tense shoulders dropped. The fear in her eyes was replaced by a proud glimmer. She had taken the bait.
"Yes, Sir," she said immediately, her voice filling with confidence. "Clara is my best friend. I couldn't let her be played for a fool. Sophie was always sneaky anyway."
"Absolutely," I said, nodding. "But Sophie will deny it. We need a strong hand to refer her to the disciplinary committee. To get Sophie expelled from school..." I looked into her eyes. "Do you have anything else that could help me regarding the source of those photos?"
Elena's eyes shone. An opportunity to completely destroy her rival. "Well... Actually, there are screenshots of other messages sent from that fake account. They're on my phone."
I smiled. The prey had stepped right onto the trap.
"Excellent," I said, standing up. "Let's talk in my room. I'll offer you some green tea; it will help you relax."
When we entered the room, Elena sprawled comfortably into the armchair. She was about to take out her phone when I placed her tea in front of her and walked behind my desk. I steeped my fingers together.
It was time to drop the mask.
"Elena," I said. The warmth in my voice vanished instantly, replaced by a cold reality. "Last weekend, I had coffee with a friend from the cybercrimes unit."
Elena paused. Her phone remained suspended in her hand. "Sir?"
"Digital footprints," I continued, without taking my eyes off her. "Isn't it strange how everything you think is deleted is actually stored somewhere?"
The color drained from Elena's face. "But... Sophie?"
"Sophie is innocent. And you just confessed that the source of those fake messages and photos is on your own phone."
"You... You tricked me!" she shouted, her voice becoming shrill.
"I just conducted an experiment," I said emotionlessly. "And you provided the expected result."
I stood up and leaned slightly over the desk.
"I could call your family, Elena. I could hand you over to the disciplinary committee. But that isn't what you should really be afraid of."
Elena began to tremble. "What are you talking about?"
"Trust," I whispered. "It is like glass. Once broken, no matter how much you piece it together, the cracks remain. If this incident gets out, will Clara ever look at your face again? Your other friends at school? Everyone will know you as a slanderer who stabbed her best friend in the back. No one will dare turn their back on you again. You will be alone, Elena."
Tears began to stream from Elena's eyes. This was a fear greater than punishment. Social death.
"Sir, please..." she sobbed. "I swear I just wanted her to be scared. Clara was always neglecting me; I hated her hanging out with Sophie."
I handed her a tissue.
"We will handle this within the school," I said. "But I have conditions. You will go and apologize to both of them. And from now on, you will use that intellect for your lessons, not to pit people against each other. Is that understood?"
Elena nodded, wiping her tears, and practically fled the room.
I took a deep breath and leaned back. I took a sip of my green tea. It had gone cold.
The door opened again. It was the Principal. He wore that familiar, self-satisfied expression of someone preparing to dump work on others.
"Congratulations, 'Detective'," the Principal said, dropping files onto my desk. "You ended the chaos in the hallway with a single word."
He pointed to the files. "These are last month's discipline reports. With that 'analytical' mind of yours, you'll handle them in half an hour."
As the Principal left the room, I lifted the cover of the files. A bitter laugh passed through me.
Vice Principal.
This title wasn't a reward. It was just the corporate name for dumping the dirty work no one else wanted to do onto me by saying, "You're smart, you handle it."
I was good at manipulating people, but I allowed the system to manipulate me.
Because refusing, explaining, objecting... It all meant more noise.
"Efficiency," I muttered to myself, opening the first file. "Sometimes, it is the greatest curse."
I picked up the pen. Until the moment I became ElAitch, I would continue to play silently according to the rules of this world.