The Monday following the Law Fair was always quieter than usual. The school, normally buzzing with conversation, now held a kind of muted awe. Even the cliques in the west courtyard, who usually spent the morning hurling comments about grades and rankings, had little to say.
I arrived earlier than most, as always, my heels clicking evenly against the polished tile. The second I passed through the front gates, the glances began—not just curiosity, but calculation.
They weren't looking at me.
They were looking for her.
I knew because they parted slightly when Hyerin entered behind me, still adjusting the lapel of her blazer, as if she hadn't yet realized the entire school now watched her steps with suspicion—or reverence.
She caught up beside me and offered a soft "Good morning."
I didn't say anything. I just looked at her, let my gaze wander briefly to her slightly smudged eye makeup and the tired pull beneath her eyes. But beneath all of that, there was steel. Even in her silence, even in the soft-spoken greeting—Hyerin was no longer a question mark. She was a statement.
And everyone else had just realized it.
"Are they staring?" she asked under her breath.
I didn't answer. She already knew.
Instead, I turned slightly, lowered my voice, and said, "Let them."
The morning announcements were delayed. A few teachers were still gathering evaluations and surveys from the fair. But that wasn't what caught my attention.
It was the presence of Ms. Bae.
Head of the Cheongha University admissions liaison. Not a teacher at Seonghwa. Not usually someone who ever appeared in these halls—unless there was something worth seeing.
She was speaking with the principal near the entrance of the main lounge, flanked by two assistants. One of them held a tablet, and every few minutes they would glance toward the stairs—toward the second floor council wing.
Hyerin hadn't noticed yet. But I had.
During third period, I received the summons.
And so did she.
Principal's Office. 10:30 AM. Sharp.
I didn't ask what it was about. I didn't need to.
When we arrived, the office was already prepped. Coffee cups placed precisely at each corner, no personal belongings in sight. Ms. Bae stood behind the desk, hands clasped, wearing a dark gray pantsuit and an expression that could rival mine.
"Thank you both for coming," she said.
We sat opposite her, and she began immediately.
"Vice President Yeon," she said, turning her sharp gaze to Hyerin. "Your performance during the Law Fair was noted. Not just by your peers, but by Cheongha's external observers. You may not have known, but your arbitration round was under evaluation."
Hyerin blinked. "I didn't know."
"Good," Ms. Bae replied. "Because that means what we saw was natural. Not performance. Not rehearsed."
She paused, then added, "Cheongha University is currently piloting an early recognition program for top-performing legal students. We've reviewed your academic scores, your participation, and your leadership documentation. I'm here to extend a formal invitation for you to apply—earlier than your year."
Silence.
Even I hadn't expected that.
Hyerin sat frozen.
"I… I'm honored," she said finally. "But why me?"
Ms. Bae tilted her head. "Because you did what we rarely see. You were sabotaged. You responded with composure. You took accountability without crumbling under pressure. And most importantly, you didn't lose sight of the bigger picture."
A faint smile.
"Students like you don't show up often."
I watched Hyerin try to process it all. She wasn't ready for this moment, not really. But she didn't run from it either.
She just nodded slowly, eyes clear. "I'll take the application form."
The meeting ended quickly after that. No promises were made, no guarantees—just a quiet, powerful opportunity dropped like a stone in the middle of still water.
When we stepped out, she was still holding the envelope in her hand.
"I don't know if I should be happy," she murmured.
"You should," I said.
"It feels… too fast."
I turned toward her, taking a step closer. "You earned it, Hyerin. They're watching now. But not because you're standing next to me. They're watching because you proved you don't need to."
She looked up at me then, expression unreadable.
Maybe overwhelmed. Maybe grateful.
Maybe something else entirely.
But she didn't deny it.
At lunch, the whispers returned. But this time, they weren't cruel.
"She got scouted.""Cheongha is watching her.""Do you think she'll leave early?""Was that why she worked so hard?"
And in the center of it all, Hyerin sat beside me, quiet, composed—redefining what it meant to belong.
After lunch, I returned to the council room and found Nari waiting, leaning against the desk with arms crossed.
"I heard the news," she said coolly.
"Of course you did."
"You really think she can handle it?"
"She already has."
Nari studied me, her gaze narrowed. "You're changing."
"Am I?"
"You're softer around her."
I smirked. "You're imagining things."
But I wasn't denying it.
Jiwon entered moments later, waving her phone. "The group chat is exploding. Someone posted a photo of her leaving the principal's office with the Cheongha rep."
I said nothing.
Because this was what I wanted.
Let them see.
Let them choke on it.
Let them understand that the girl they once whispered about—the one they tried to break with rumors and red text—was now standing taller than ever.
At dismissal, I found her standing by the lockers, alone, the envelope still tucked into her notebook like a secret she hadn't quite accepted yet.
"You should celebrate," I said.
"With who?" she asked, not bitter—just honest.
I stepped forward and reached into my coat pocket, pulling out my car keys.
"With me," I replied. "You've earned it."
She hesitated. "I have to get home."
"I'll drop you off after."
A pause.
Then a small nod.
We drove in silence for a while, the city lights flickering past us. She didn't ask where we were going. She just watched the road like she trusted me to take her somewhere worth remembering.
And I did.
We parked by the Han River, a quiet stretch with lanterns hung between trees and the sound of water gently lapping against the edge.
I handed her a hot drink from the café stand.
"Why are you doing this?" she asked softly.
"Because you're mine," I said, without flinching. "And when someone tries to take what's mine, I remind them who they're dealing with."
She looked away, sipping quietly.
Then—unexpectedly—she laughed. Just once.
"You're ridiculous."
"Maybe," I said, stepping closer, brushing a stray strand of hair from her face. "But you're the one who said yes."
She didn't argue.
And that? That was enough.
For now.
Tension had a scent to it. Not everyone could detect it, but I could. It clung to the walls of the west corridor on Tuesday morning, settled between the lockers, and crept under the soles of polished shoes. People were too quiet in some places, too loud in others.
I noticed it the second I stepped into the building.
The praise Hyerin received yesterday hadn't settled—in fact, it had only stirred the pot. She might have been recognized by Cheongha, but here at Seonghwa, every reward came with consequences. No one climbed without stepping on someone else's ego.
I expected resistance. I expected envy.
But what I didn't expect… was the envelope waiting in my locker.
Cream-colored. Embossed seal. No name.
I flipped it over, opened it carefully, and read the single line inside:
"You are cordially invited to the Midnight Room. Tonight."
No signature. No return location. Just a time: 11:40 PM.
A test, then.
Or a threat.
But Seonghwa never moved without purpose, and whoever sent this wanted me to see it now—before class. Before I had the chance to ask questions or prepare.
I folded the note and slipped it into my coat pocket, then turned and caught a few eyes darting away from me in the hallway.
Good.
Let them watch.
By the time lunch arrived, the air had curdled with rumor.
"She's being invited?""The Midnight Room? No one's gone there in months.""Wasn't the last person—?""Did she get chosen again?"
In a school where everything was monitored, where every move had a reason, the Midnight Room was myth and privilege. A hidden space used only by the highest-ranking students. A place for quiet deals and unofficial decisions. Whispers claimed it was where students negotiated private rankings, backroom debates, even favors from powerful alumni.
And no one got in unless they were summoned.
I found Hyerin waiting at our usual table. She was earlier than me today, sipping on barley tea and tapping her fingers against the side of her lunch tray absentmindedly. Her expression looked tired, but more than that—concerned.
"You've heard it, haven't you?" I asked, sliding into the seat beside her.
She didn't pretend to be confused. "The envelope?"
"Of course."
Her eyes met mine. "Are you going?"
"I don't turn down invitations. Especially not from the top."
She hesitated. "Do you even know what it is?"
"No one knows until they're inside."
Silence lingered between us.
"I don't like this," she finally murmured. "It feels like they're trying to remind you that even you have rules to follow."
I smirked. "They're free to try."
"You sound like it doesn't matter."
"It doesn't."
"Saehwa—"
I reached across the table and touched her hand.
She froze.
"I'll be fine," I said softly. "They won't do anything to me. I'm not afraid of them."
Her voice was barely above a whisper. "Then be afraid of what they'll do to me instead."
That gave me pause.
Because she wasn't wrong.
They wouldn't touch me.
But they might try to reach me through her.
That night, I waited until the entire estate was quiet. My father was out of town, no doubt charming some law firm into offering him more influence he didn't need. The staff were all asleep. The lights dimmed.
At 11:15, I stepped into the garage and took the older, unregistered bike. The one no one used anymore because it wasn't expensive enough to be seen with.
Just subtle enough to go unnoticed.
The Midnight Room wasn't on school grounds. It was two blocks behind the west exit, hidden beneath what looked like an abandoned storage unit near the faculty apartments. The key was in the timing. At exactly 11:40, the lock disengaged on its own if you knocked three times.
I knocked twice.
Paused.
Then knocked once more.
The door clicked open.
Inside, the room was dimly lit with low golden bulbs embedded in the ceiling. No windows. No cameras. A round table stood at the center, surrounded by eight high-backed leather chairs. Only three were occupied.
One of them was Gaeun.
Of course.
She didn't smile when she saw me. That would've meant surrender.
Instead, she tilted her head slightly. "You're late."
"I'm never late," I said, taking the chair across from her. "I arrive when I mean to."
To her right was a boy I recognized from the prosecution club. Top five in his year. The third chair was someone from student finance—known for keeping detailed records of scholarship fund movements.
An odd mix. But strategic.
"Why am I here?" I asked, resting my elbow on the table.
Gaeun leaned forward, resting her chin on her hand.
"Because it's time you remembered that you don't own this school. You just manage it."
I laughed softly. "Is that what this is about? You want me to kneel?"
She ignored that. "We've decided to propose something."
"We?"
"This room," she said, gesturing to the table. "Those of us who maintain the balance behind the scenes."
"Balance," I echoed. "Is that what we're calling cowardice now?"
Her eyes narrowed. "You're destabilizing things. First it was you becoming untouchable. Then it was elevating Hyerin without the usual channels. And now Cheongha is getting involved early. People are starting to question the system."
"So you want me to step back?"
"No," she said. "We want you to prove you belong."
A pause.
"Publicly."
I raised an eyebrow. "You want a public trial?"
"Not a trial. A demonstration. A blind mock case. You, chosen at random, against one of our best. In front of the entire school. No prep time. Just raw legal ability."
"Against who?"
"Me."
I leaned back in my chair and smiled.
Of course.
"That's all?" I asked. "One round? One case?"
"No assistance. No Hyerin."
I didn't respond immediately.
Instead, I studied her face—the calculation there, the buried hatred, the need to cut me down in front of others. This wasn't about balance. It was about power. She didn't want to win.
She wanted to humiliate me.
I stood.
"You're on."
"And one more thing," she said as I turned to go. "If you lose, you step down from the council."
I paused. Glanced over my shoulder.
"If I lose," I said, "I'll leave more than the council. I'll leave the entire rank system behind. And I'll still beat you in every classroom we share."
Her mouth twisted.
Good.
Let her simmer.
I stepped out of the room without looking back.
When I got home, it was nearly 1:00 a.m.
Hyerin was waiting for me.
Still in her uniform. Still sitting on the living room couch like she hadn't moved.
She stood when I entered.
"You went."
"I had to."
She searched my face, and her expression fell when she saw the storm behind my eyes.
"What happened?"
I walked past her and tossed the coat onto the back of the chair.
"They want a case. A public match. Me vs Gaeun."
She blinked. "When?"
"Friday."
"That's—"
"I know."
Silence.
Then she stepped toward me.
"Let me help you prepare."
"No."
"Why?"
"Because you're the one thing they want to use against me."
Her voice cracked slightly. "Then what do I do?"
"Stay visible," I said. "Stay untouchable. Let them see that no matter what happens Friday, you're not the one who loses."
She looked down, then back up. "I hate this."
"I know."
"I hate that they want you to fall."
"They've always wanted that."
She moved closer.
And when she reached for my hand, I let her take it.
Neither of us spoke.
Because in that moment, there was nothing left to say.
Just the knowledge that by Friday—
I would show them exactly what it meant to challenge me.
And prove, without doubt—
That I didn't just belong at Seonghwa.
I ruled it.