The notice board went up at 9:07 a.m.
By 9:12, everyone knew.
By 9:20, the story had already mutated.
Krit didn't see it at first. He was halfway through annotating a case brief when the room shifted—chairs scraping, whispers sharpening, that subtle vacuum people create when something ugly is about to land.
Nawin froze beside him.
Slowly, deliberately, Nawin stood and walked toward the board.
Krit followed.
The heading was bold, institutional, harmless-looking:
ILP CANDIDATES — FINAL SHORTLIST
Phum's name sat exactly where everyone expected.
Tanin's too.
Then there was a gap.
Not an empty slot.
A cut.
Below it, in smaller text:
Students not listed are encouraged to seek feedback from faculty.
Encouraged.
Nawin laughed once—short, disbelieving. "They really did it."
Krit didn't respond. He was already scanning the bottom corner.
There it was.
A handwritten addition, penned in red marker, unmistakably unofficial:
Note: Professional conduct is considered alongside academic merit.
It wasn't signed.
It didn't need to be.
The whispering exploded.
"Is that about yesterday?"
"I heard someone was disrespectful in class."
"Apparently a freshman challenged faculty."
"That's wild."
Nawin turned slowly, eyes scanning faces—friends who wouldn't meet his gaze, acquaintances suddenly fascinated by their phones.
Then he saw Phum.
Phum stood still, expression unreadable.
Their eyes met.
For half a second, Phum looked like he might step forward.
Then someone clapped him on the shoulder.
"Congrats, man."
Phum didn't pull away.
That was all it took.
Something inside Nawin snapped—not loudly, not dramatically, just enough to change shape.
"Wow," Nawin said softly. "That's how it works."
Krit finally spoke. "This isn't over."
Nawin looked at him. "Yes, it is."
The fallout wasn't immediate.
It was surgical.
A professor cancelled Krit's discussion slot "due to time constraints." A group project quietly reassigned Nawin to a weaker team. A study invite vanished. A recommendation email went unanswered.
Nothing overt.
Nothing reportable.
Just enough pressure to remind them who decided futures.
That night, Nawin didn't go back to his dorm.
He went to Krit's.
They sat on opposite ends of the bed, shoes still on, lights off.
"I hate this," Nawin said finally. "I hate that they're right."
"They're not," Krit said.
"They are," Nawin replied. "Not about merit. About power."
Silence.
Then Nawin laughed—bitter this time. "Phum offered to fix this."
Krit stiffened. "How?"
"Association," Nawin said. "Visibility. Proximity."
Krit looked away.
"And Tanin?" Nawin asked quietly.
Krit exhaled. "Narrative control."
They both understood now.
Different methods.
Same outcome.
"You know what the worst part is?" Nawin said. "They didn't even need to threaten us."
Krit nodded. "They just let the system speak."
Nawin leaned back, staring at the ceiling. "If I say yes now… it looks like surrender."
"If you say no," Krit said, "it looks like pride."
Nawin turned his head. "And you?"
"I already said no," Krit replied. "I'm not sure I can afford to again."
That was the truth.
Raw. Unpretty.
Nawin sat up suddenly. "Don't."
"Don't what?"
"Don't disappear trying to prove something," Nawin said. "If you take their help—"
"I won't take it quietly," Krit said.
Nawin studied him. "You'd burn bridges."
Krit met his gaze. "I'd rather burn than bend."
Something unspoken settled between them—not romance, not yet—dependency. Dangerous and mutual.
Elsewhere, Phum stared at his acceptance letter like it had personally insulted him.
The red ink replayed in his mind.
Professional conduct.
He knew who that was aimed at.
He also knew who'd written it.
Tanin stood in the doorway of the faculty lounge, watching Phum with something like caution.
"You got what you wanted," Tanin said.
Phum didn't look up. "No. I got what was allowed."
Tanin crossed his arms. "Careful. You're still benefiting."
Phum finally met his eyes. "So are you."
That landed.
"Those two," Phum continued, "they won't forget this."
"They'll adapt," Tanin said.
Phum smiled humorlessly. "Or they'll explode."
"And which scares you more?" Tanin asked.
Phum didn't answer.
The next morning, Krit received a message.
Unknown number.
If you want the truth about the red ink—meet me. Tonight. No witnesses.
He stared at the screen.
Then another message came through.
From Nawin.
Promise me one thing. If this gets ugly—we choose each other first.
Krit typed back without hesitation.
Always.
Across campus, forces were shifting.
No one was neutral anymore.
And someone had made the mistake of thinking pressure only breaks people.
Sometimes—
It forges them.