The bells didn't ring at Baekhyun International Academy.
They shimmered.
Or at least, that's how Song Hae-won would remember it later—as if the sound didn't strike so much as dissolve into the marble, into the polished glass, into the air itself. The school didn't so much begin the day as it unveiled it, like a curtain pulling back on a stage.
She stood stiffly in the grand hallway outside the dormitory elevator, which she never knew existed, her blazer too stiff and her shoes too clean. Ji-ae, her neighbor, was fiddling with her tie, mumbling something about whether they were actually supposed to button the top collar or if that was just an old drama rule.
"It looks too tight," Hae-won offered.
"That's what I thought," Ji-ae sighed, undoing the button immediately. "Can't believe this thing has gold thread. My aunt would faint if she saw me wearing this."
The Baekhyun uniform was absurd. Black and navy with custom embroidery, gold crest on the pocket, tailored like something off a runway. Hae-won felt like she was wearing someone else's body. Someone rich, cool, and terrifying.
The dormitory hall was alive with footsteps and foreign voices. A tall girl with silver braids passed them, yawning. A boy in a purple coat ( purple coat! In the school!) was singing something in French. There were accents from everywhere—English, Japanese, Thai, Russian.
Then came a voice, smooth and amused.
"You two look like you're about to attend a funeral."
They turned.
Skylar.
They hadn't met properly yet, just exchanged a few sleepy nods at the welcome orientation. But now she stood there in full Baekhyun uniform, except somehow it looked casual on her. Effortless. Her tie hung loose, and she carried her blazer over her shoulder like she was in a commercial.
"You're Hae-won and Ji-ae, right? From the merit list?"
"How do you know that?" Ji-ae blinked.
Skylar smirked. "Everyone knows. You guys went viral."
Hae-won's stomach turned.
Skylar didn't seem cruel, though. More curious than anything.
"Come on," she said, gesturing down the hall. "Homeroom's in the East Wing. Literature majors, right?"
They nodded.
"Follow me. This place is huge. You don't want to end up in the architecture labs. The students there bite."
---
The walk to homeroom was a blur of architecture and anxiety. Gleaming courtyards, koi ponds, vending machines that spoke in three languages. A hallway of touchscreen lockers. A spiral staircase made of translucent glass. Hae-won felt like she'd stepped into a sci-fi K-drama.
And the students.
They were beautiful. Polished. Cold.
Groups glided by in designer blazers and pristine shoes, murmuring in clusters.
"Which one is the ramen girl?"
"They say Baekhyun went viral because of her."
"They should be grateful. We're the ones giving them something to look at."
Hae-won kept her face neutral. Inside, she wanted to vanish.
---
Classrooms at Baekhyun had automated desks. Each one recognized your ID when you sat. Their literature teacher had silver hair and round glasses, and began the lesson by quoting Kierkegaard.
"The greatest hazard of all—losing one's self."
By the third class, Ji-ae was scribbling like her life depended on it. Hae-won was too busy trying to breathe like she belonged.
---
Lunchtime.
The dining area looked like a scene from Paris. Marble counters, gold trim, floor-to-ceiling windows. A café counter served sparkling water in glass bottles. There were velvet booths. Velvet. For high school students.
Hae-won held her tray of rice and seaweed soup and stepped outside instead.
She found a tree.
Ji-ae joined her. So did Skylar, sipping iced coffee like it was her blood type.
"You'll get used to it," Skylar said.
"Used to what?"
"Everything. The stares. The whispers. The weird silent wars. It's just Baekhyun being Baekhyun."
---
Later that evening, the sky turning lilac, Ji-ae poked Hae-won in the side.
"Let's find the art room. I want to see something that doesn't shine so much I go blind."
The halls were mostly empty. Clubs were in session. Drivers were waiting outside with black cars and tinted windows.
The girls wandered past a row of silent rooms. They passed a dim stairwell. Then, they heard it.
A sound.
Not loud. But sharp and beautiful. A violin. Slow, aching, exquisite.
They followed.
The music led them down a corridor not even marked. Past a half-lit studio and a mural of paper cranes. There, under a pool of overhead light, was a boy.
He stood alone, violin tucked under his chin, eyes closed. The bow moved like it was drawing breath from the silence. Every note melted and stretched, like something sacred and slow and almost unbearable.
Hae-won stopped breathing.
His hair caught the light. Ash brown or steel blue—she couldn't tell. His eyes opened for just a second, and they were like glass storms.
Ji-ae whispered, "He looks like a broken angel."
Hae-won whispered back, "I can taste the notes on my tongue."
Ji-ae turned. "Girl. I didn't know you were like this."
"What? I'm honest."
They stared.
Then, as the music reached its soft, haunted end—he slowed. The final note hung in the air like smoke.
He turned suddenly—just his head—and for a moment, it felt like he looked right at them. And maybe he did.
And that was when she appeared.
A blue-haired girl stepped forward, from somewhere deeper inside the room. They hadn't seen her before. She hadn't made a sound. She emerged from the shadows as if she'd been waiting for her cue.
Without a word, she walked over to the boy, took the violin from his hands.
Her hands found his collar and she kissed him.
He let her.
They kissed. Deeply. Like they were alone. Like they'd done this before. Like they didn't care who saw.
Not gentle. Not new.
His hands pulled her in. Her mouth curved. Their silhouettes tangled like choreography.
Hae-won and Ji-ae froze.
Then crept back. Step by step.
Until—
A voice.
"What were you girls looking at?"
A teacher. Sharp suit. Dark eyes.
"Nothing," Ji-ae said quickly. "Just looking around. The school's really… nice."
He looked past them. Toward the door.
He started walking.
Ji-ae grabbed Hae-won's wrist. "They're totally busted."
"At my old school, they'd be expelled for it," Hae-won whispered.
"Really? Hope we won't get in trouble for just being here?" Ji-ae whispered, gripping Hae-won's arm.
They didn't know whether to run or stay.
The teacher reached the door.
Paused.
Looked inside.
And walked away.
No reaction.
No comment.
No punishment.
Just silence.
"What the hell?" Ji-ae muttered.
Hae-won watched the man disappear.
"This school…" she whispered.
"Is not normal."