I raised my hand, my pulse thundering in my ears as I acknowledged the woman who could suck the life out of a room just by standing in it.
"I believe I am the one you are looking for, Ms. Head Counselor," I said. My voice was steady, though I had to project it from the back of the room.
"A word. My office. Now," she commanded.
I stood immediately, careful not to add any fuel to the fire visible in her eyes. As I walked down the aisle, the air grew thick with the expectant stares of my classmates, already drafting the gossip they'd spread by lunch.
Suddenly, a foot shot out into the aisle. I stumbled, my heart leaping into my throat, but I managed to catch myself on the edge of a desk. Stifled snorts and low laughter rippled through the rows—another "gift" from one of my regular bullies.
Ignorance is the best tool against arrogance, I reminded myself, forcing my face into a mask of indifference. Debating a caveman only makes the scientist look like a fool.
I followed Ms. Pillarion through the empty halls. Despite her small steps, she moved with a brisk, predatory speed. I, being 5'8", took long, heavy strides just to keep pace.
The Covenant
Inside the office, four pairs of eyes fixed on me. If glares were lethal, I would have been a crime scene before the door even clicked shut. These were the girls from the rooftop.
"Take a seat," Ms. Pillarion barked.
I sat beside the girl who seemed the most intent on burning a hole through my skull. The Counselor wasted no time. She detailed a list of "artistic" vandalism committed against Section Dream-2—dirt, dead flowers, vulgar graffiti, and beer-filled balloons.
"I suspect you four," she said, her voice dropping an octave. "And then there's you, Miss Paramnesia."
"Uhm, miss?" I asked politely. "Why am I here? I'm from Section Dream-5. I have nothing to do with this."
"I am aware," she said, silencing a scoff from one of the other girls with a single look. "I am also aware that you have a perfect record. No detention. No guidance reports. Because of that, I am placing you in charge of them. You are now responsible for their 'deviant' behavior. This is not a request. It is a command."
The room went cold.
"This is bullshit!" one of the girls—Verbione—shouted, leaping up. "You think this wimpy girl can control us? She's useless trash. She shouldn't even be breathing. Her parents probably left because they realized she was a mistake."
"ENOUGH!"
The Counselor's voice cracked like a whip. My eyes welled up instantly; the mention of my parents was a jagged blade to my heart.
"You are not the daughter of the President, Ms. Verbione! You are a nuisance! One more mark on your record and you are expelled," Pillarion hissed. Then she turned to me, her gaze softening only slightly. "And you, Miss Paramnesia—if you fail to curb their behavior, your scholarship will be revoked."
My heart sank. My scholarship was my only lifeline. With a heavy heart, I looked at the contract on the desk.
"I agree to the covenant," I whispered.
One by one, the bullies signed, their scoffs punctuating the silence. The tallest girl groaned, "What, are we moving her in? We don't need a babysitter."
"Actually," Pillarion replied with a ghost of a smirk, "she is being transferred to Section Dream-4. You'll be in the same class from now on."
The Origin of the Lesson
After the others were dismissed, Ms. Pillarion's demeanor changed.
"Call me Miss Pillarion," she said. "I know your situation, Epione. My daughter, Eunoia, tells me everything. I know why you go to the clinic. I know who hides behind their parents' money to hurt you."
She patted my shoulder. "This contract... it's the only way to protect you. They have dreams, even if they act like monsters. They have trauma at home—neglect, pressure, abuse. I'm hoping you can show them a different way. And in return, they will be forced to be your shield."
As I walked back to class, her words echoed in my mind. She spoke of understanding, but all I could think of was the first time I learned that "lesson."
Flashback: Age 4
Little Epione was drawing a picture of high school, full of friends and sunshine. When she went downstairs to show her uncle, he was being berated by a businessman. When the man punched her uncle, little Epione jumped between them, arms spread wide.
"Don't hurt him!" she cried.
"Epione! Get to your room!" her uncle roared.
Later that night, the door creaked open. Her uncle didn't look for her drawing. He took off his belt.
"Turn around," he commanded.
He shoved a towel into her mouth to stifle the screams. As the leather bit into her small back, she learned her first truth: You have to be bruised to learn. Every scar is a reminder of a mistake.
The Breaking Point
Back in the present, I entered my classroom. The atmosphere was a supermarket of noise until they saw me.
"Hey, stupid! Did you finally get kicked out?" Kiro laughed.
I ignored him, but then the "rain" started. Crumpled papers, wet tissues, and stones wrapped in yellow pad hit me as I limped to the back.
"Look, the baby is going to cry!" a girl mocked. She grabbed a pack of baby wipes and aggressively smeared them across my face, the chemical scent stinging my nose.
"S-stop it," I whispered.
"What? Speak up, trash!" She poked my forehead, her finger jabbing like a needle.
"I said stop it!" I yelled.
The slap was so hard my vision swam. She grabbed my collar, choking me.
"Say it again!" she screamed. Slap. "No one cares about you!" Slap. "You're a waste of space!" Slap.
The class was chanting now. "Dump her in the toilet!" "Scrub her face on the wall!"
I closed my eyes, bracing for the next impact. I waited for the sting, for the heat, for the humiliation.
But the blow never came.
I opened my eyes to see a hand frozen in mid-air. Another hand—strong, slender, and steady—was gripping the bully's wrist with bone-crushing force.
I looked up. My breath caught.
"Chaeryoung?"