The classroom smells like chalk dust and old paper when I walk in.
It's later than Zero Period now, late enough that the building feels almost normal. Almost. Students talk louder. Chairs scrape without tension. Someone complains about being tired like this is any other school.
I know better.
I take my seat near the back again. Same one as yesterday. Consistency is camouflage. People notice change faster than they notice stillness.
My bag goes between my feet. Hands on the desk. Shoulders loose.
Every movement matters.
I scan the room without turning my head too much. Peripheral vision is enough. I've already learned most of the layout—the blind spots, the desks that creak when you shift your weight, the window that reflects the hallway if you angle your eyes just right.
Students file in, filling the room in predictable patterns.
Strong ones spread out.
They don't cluster. They don't need to. Space bends around them naturally. Aggressive ones sit where they can see the door. Talkative ones face each other, leaning back, legs stretched out like they own the floor.
Weak ones, new ones, nervous ones—sit where they're told, or where they think they won't be seen.
I'm tall enough that I don't fit that last category neatly. My head sticks up just enough to make ignoring me a choice instead of an accident. That's dangerous. I keep my gaze neutral, unfocused enough to look harmless.
The boy two rows over—short hair, loud voice, permanent smirk—keeps glancing at me. Not curious. Testing. He leans back in his chair, elbow hooked over the desk behind him.
Predatory boredom.
I catalog him. Not strong. Not weak. Likes reactions. He finally speaks, loud enough for the people around him to hear.
"Hey. New kid."
I don't look at him immediately. Half a second pause. Enough to show I heard him. Not enough to look eager.
I turn my head.
"Yeah?"
One word. Flat. No edge. A few heads turn. Not many. This isn't a big moment yet. "You play basketball or something?" He asks, eyes flicking to my height. I shrug. "No."
No explanation. Explanations invite follow-ups. He squints, like that wasn't the answer he wanted. Someone behind him snorts.
"What, then? You just tall for nothing?"
There it is. The bait. If I snap back, I'm defensive. If I ignore him now, I look scared. If I smile, I look fake. I tilt my head slightly, like I'm considering the question seriously.
"Guess so."
A couple of laughs. Not at me, at him. He doesn't get the reaction he wanted. He frowns, then waves it off like he doesn't care.
"Whatever."
Conversation shifts. The moment passes. My pulse steadies. I didn't win anything. I didn't need to. I stayed uninteresting. That's survival.
The teacher arrives a minute later, heels clicking sharply against the floor. She's different from the Overseer—louder, more human—but the effect is similar. The room settles without being told.
She starts the lesson immediately.
Math. Advanced track, apparently. The numbers fill the board quickly, chalk tapping with precise impatience. I follow along slower than I'd like. My transfer records probably placed me here, but it's been a while since I've had to think this hard this early in the day.
Still, I don't panic.
Panic shows.
I work through the problem step by step in my head. Not fast. Careful. I don't need to be right quickly. I just need to not be obviously lost. Around me, reactions ripple.
The girl in the front row sits straighter, pen already moving. She wants to be seen. Two boys near the window whisper, comparing answers under their breath. One of them keeps glancing at the teacher's face, gauging approval.
The loud boy from before slouches lower, clearly bored. He taps his pen against the desk in a steady, annoying rhythm.
The teacher turns suddenly.
"You." She says, pointing, not at me.
The girl in the front straightens even more, relieved. She answers confidently. Too confidently. Her explanation is mostly right, but she rushes the last step. The teacher corrects her sharply.
Her shoulders stiffen. She nods quickly, embarrassed.
Support shifts immediately. The whispering boys stop whispering. Someone suppresses a smile. Hierarchy adjusts in real time. The teacher's gaze sweeps the room again.
"And you." She says.
This time, she's pointing at me.
A few heads turn. The loud boy grins, sensing entertainment. My mind tightens, not with fear, but focus.
I stand slowly. Standing makes me visible. Too visible. But hesitation would be worse. The problem on the board stares back at me. I already walked through it once in my head. I do it again, faster this time.
Don't rush. Don't overperform
I explain my reasoning simply. No flourish. No extra steps. My voice stays even.
Halfway through, I catch the teacher's expression shift—not impressed, exactly, but attentive. I finish. I stop talking. Silence stretches for a beat.
"That's correct. Sit." She says finally. No praise. No follow-up.
I sit.
The loud boy clicks his tongue quietly, disappointed. Someone behind me exhales. I feel heat in my face, but I keep my posture the same. Neutral. Calm. I didn't show brilliance. I showed competence.
That's the line.
The rest of the class passes without incident. I take notes. I answer when called on again, once, briefly. Enough to confirm the first answer wasn't a fluke.
By the end, I can feel eyes on me, not many, but enough.
Awareness, not interest.
When the bell rings, chairs scrape back. The room loosens. Conversations restart like someone flipped a switch. As I stand, the loud boy bumps my shoulder on purpose.
Not hard. Testing.
I look at him. He looks back, chin raised. I don't apologize. I don't glare. I step around him. He laughs under his breath, like he won something anyway. Let him think that.
—
Between classes, the hallway is a river. Bodies moving in both directions, voices overlapping, lockers slamming shut. It's loud enough that you could disappear if you wanted to. I don't. Disappearing too well invites curiosity. I walk with the flow, close to the wall, eyes up.
I note who walks alone and who doesn't.
Who cuts through groups without resistance.
Who adjusts their pace when certain people approach.
I spot Ri-Ah near the stairs, talking to another girl. She laughs quietly at something, hand brushing her hair back. Relaxed. Unbothered.
Someone almost collides with her and jerks back instantly, muttering an apology without prompting. She barely reacts. Our eyes meet briefly. She tilts her head, just a fraction. Not a greeting. Not a challenge.
Recognition. I look away first. It costs me nothing.
—
By lunchtime, my body feels heavier. Not injured, just tense. Like I've been holding a breath all day without realizing it.
The cafeteria is bright, too bright. Sunlight pours in through tall windows, reflecting off metal tables and polished floors. It should feel open. It doesn't.
I grab a tray and move down the line, noting who stands where. Groups already formed, claims staked out by backpacks and jackets draped over benches.
I chose an empty table near the edge. Not isolated enough to look pathetic. Not central enough to be contested. I eat slowly. Chew carefully. Scan between bites. Across the room, the loud boy sits with his friends, legs stretched out, laughing.
He glances over at me once, then turns back to his group. I'm not a priority. Good. Halfway through my meal, someone sits down across from me without asking. I freeze internally, then relax when I see who it is.
Yoon Seok-Jin.
I haven't interacted with him personally yet, but I recognize his posture, loose, casual, eyes too sharp for how relaxed he pretends to be. He grins like we're already friends.
"You eat like you're counting." He says, nodding at my tray. I swallow before answering. "Habit." He hums, like that's interesting. "You did okay in math. Didn't try to show off." He adds.
Observation.
I shrug. "Just answered."
"Mm. That's smart here." He pokes at his food. He doesn't explain. He doesn't have to. We eat in silence for a bit. Not awkward. Measured. "People are watching you. Not a lot. Enough." He says, finally, eyes still on his tray. I nod once. "I know."
That earns me another look. More careful this time.
"Name's Seok-Jin. You're Tae-Jin, right?" He asks. I hesitate for half a second, then nod. "Yeah." He smiles. "Figures." Before I can ask what that means, he stands, tray in hand. "See you around." He says casually, already turning away.
I watch him go, then return to my food.
Ally? Maybe. Or someone curious enough to be dangerous later.
I'll decide when I need to.
—
Zero Period doesn't touch me again that day.
That doesn't mean it's gone.
The gym class afterward is worse in its own way. Physical exertion without violence feels wrong now, like stretching a wound without reopening it. My muscles ache from tension, not effort.
In the locker room, I change quickly, eyes on the floor. The air is thick with sweat and cheap soap. Conversations bounce off the walls, crude and loud.
Someone shoves another guy playfully. He stumbles, laughs it off. I flinch before I can stop myself. No one notices.
By the time I get home, my head throbs faintly. I do my homework carefully, double-checking answers. Precision calms me. That night, I rehearsed scenarios in my head.
If someone confronts me again. If the loud boy escalates. If I get cornered near the stairs. If Ri-Ah decides I'm interesting enough to test. I plan responses that don't rely on strength.
Angles. Timing. Words not said.
When I finally sleep, it's shallow.
—
The next morning, I arrive early again.
Routine is armor.
The campus is quiet, dew still clinging to the grass. A janitor pushes a cart across the courtyard, eyes down. He doesn't look at me. Inside, the Zero Period classroom fills slowly. Same patterns. Same seats.
I sit. I wait.
When the bell rings, I feel it like a pressure change. I don't leave the room. The loud boy does. So does Seok-Jin. Ri-Ah is already gone.
A few minutes pass. My heartbeat stays steady. Someone sits down at the desk beside me.
I glance over.
It's the loud boy. Up close, I can see the faint dark circles under his eyes. The tension in his jaw. He smells faintly of cigarettes masked with mint gum.
"Why don't you ever go out during Zero Period?" He asks, voice low.
There's no audience now. This is different.
I keep my gaze forward. "Why do you care?" He snorts softly. "Just curious." Curiosity kills here. I turn to look at him fully. Not aggressive. Direct. "I'm new. I don't rush things." I say. He studies my face, searching for cracks. After a moment, he leans back.
"Suit yourself. Just don't get in the way." He mutters, standing.
He leaves.
I exhale slowly. I didn't make a friend. I didn't make an enemy. I delayed a decision. When the bell ends Zero Period, the room fills again as if nothing happened. The Overseer returns, impassive.
Class begins.
I answer when called on. I don't volunteer. I don't hide. By the end of the day, a few more people look at me differently. Not impressed. Curious. Measuring.
That's fine.
As I pack my bag, I catch my reflection in the darkened window. Same tall frame. Same lean build. But my eyes are different. Sharper. Quieter. I shoulder my bag and head for the door. Let them underestimate me.
I'm not here to win early.
I'm here to last.