In the robotics lesson, the hum of machines and the click-clack of keyboards filled the air as we worked on our term project: building robots to complete a specific task. Today's job: writing the code to bring our machines to life.
Normally, this would have been my element—fingers flying across the keyboard, the thrill of creating something from scratch pushing me forward. I should've been excited, pouring my energy into the code, and pushing my mind to come up with something innovative.
But today, everything felt distant. The screen in front of me felt like an enemy. The words blurred as I stared at them without really seeing them. The instructions didn't make sense. The usual fire I had for this kind of work was nowhere to be found. It was like a part of me had checked out—my mind scattered, the usual spark just... gone.
What did she mean by that?
Ozaka's words echoed in my mind, a whisper that seemed to follow me through the mechanical buzz around me. You don't need to act. What was she talking about? The weight of those words pressed down on me, the confusion knotting in my chest, and I couldn't shake it. It was like something in me had shifted, but I couldn't put my finger on it, not yet.
I tried to focus on the code in front of me, but my fingers felt heavy on the keyboard, as if the keys had become strangers. The familiar excitement I usually felt in moments like this seemed to have evaporated, replaced by an unsettling quiet. The hum of the room grew louder in my ears, and I couldn't help but wonder if everyone else felt it too. Or was it just me?
Ozaka glanced at me , her gaze was unreadable.
Did she really believe I was just pretending? That I was putting on some kind of act? If she did, what made her think that? Her words echoed in my mind over and over. as if they were lodged there, refusing to leave. The way she said it—soft, but cutting—sent a chill straight through me, and even now, just thinking about it, I could feel a headache creeping in. As I replay our conversation in my mind, obsessing over every detail—was it something in my eyes, a fleeting expression that gave away too much? Was it the tremor in my voice, barely perceptible but impossible to ignore? Or was it the faint trembling in my voice that slipped through despite my efforts to sound calm and collected?
Her words echoed in my mind like an alarm bell I couldn't silence. How did she see through me, past the walls I'd so carefully built? Was it my unease that gave me away? Or was it something more—something deeper that she sensed in me, like a flicker of a truth I'd buried so well?
The thought that she noticed my unease—it rattled me. I couldn't shake the feeling that she had seen right through me, that somehow, she understood the layers I'd built up over time, the walls I thought were impenetrable. My stomach twisted at the idea that she might've sensed the chaos I constantly fought to bury, the secrets I guarded like fragile glass The idea of her unravelling the truth I've buried deep within terrifies me. The terror of being exposed, of having all that I'd hidden torn open, weighed heavy on my chest. Even though she is not in my sight, I can almost feel the weight of her gaze, heavy and penetrating, as if she might uncover everything I've worked so hard to keep secret. I couldn't even escape it in my thoughts. The fear of being laid bare, of having my innermost struggles and fears unveiled, suffocates me. What if I can't hide any longer? As my thoughts kept going on and on about that movement, I'd made a mistake—. For the first time in my life, I messed up my project, all because of those damn words.
" Kensi Ryker! Please try to stay focused during my class."
I heard the teacher's voice in the distance, but it barely registered. That's when I realized my code—my project—was a complete mess. Even at that moment, I struggled to organize my thoughts. I couldn't focus, couldn't think straight. My mind felt clouded, and foggy, as though there was a storm of emotions raging inside me, and none of them made sense. No matter how hard I tried, I couldn't seem to untangle the mess in my head. It was like everything was being swallowed up by an endless flood of fear, drowning any chance at clarity.
The project that usually felt like second nature to me became a jumbled mess of wires and code that refused to cooperate. It was like I couldn't even recognize the work in front of me anymore. My fingers trembled as I tried to correct the mistakes, but everything felt wrong. It was the first time I'd messed up like this, and it felt like the weight of my entire world was crashing down around me. Every failed attempt to fix the code only reminded me of that,
Or Did she mean that I'm uncomfortable around people? That I don't trust them? But... how could she have come to that conclusion? Maybe it's because of the whole "Cold letter" thing. But she wasn't here then—how would she know about it? Maybe someone told her. Yeah, that must be it. That's fine, I'll be fine. She doesn't know anything. Or… maybe she was just teasing me, right? Yeah, she's probably just messing with me.
"There's no point in thinking about it. I seriously need to pick myself up.
I muttered to myself, repeating the words as if saying them out loud could make them true. It felt so unnatural—so forced—but I couldn't stop. I had to convince myself. I had to. But the words rang hollow in my ears as if I was just saying them to fill the space, to make the anxiety go away. I needed to focus, forget about all of this and get my project together. Anyway, no matter who she is she can't probably know my real reason to react like that towards the letter thing ….
Forget that! Just Forget it!"
I shook my head, trying to clear the clouded thoughts and focus everything on the screen in front of me.
"Yikes... this really is a mess. It doesn't even have the basics right."
After seeing my own mess, I stared at the screen in disbelief,. The code—what was I even thinking? It was so tangled that I couldn't even figure out where to start fixing it. It was almost laughable. For a moment it made me burst into laughter at myself. How had I let it get this far? But then, instead of dwelling on the mess I'd made, something in me clicked. I rolled up my sleeves and leaned closer to the desk, my hands poised over the keyboard.
Let's rewrite the whole code from scratch.
With a deep breath, I dove in, the words flowing now with a clarity I hadn't felt all day. There was no room for hesitation, no space for those thoughts about her—about me. My mind, at last, quieted. The doubts receded, fading like mist. The project was no longer a tangle of code but something I could mold again, and shape with ease. I felt the weight lifting, my chest loosening as I regained control.
At that moment, as I worked, the tension in my body eased. I could feel it—the rare sensation of peace settling into me. For the first time that day, I was in the flow, and everything else... everything else just didn't matter anymore.
***
I somehow managed to finish that assignment before the lunch break. Even though I was cleaning up my own mess, I felt drained afterwards, like I'd emptied out every ounce of energy I had. but just when I thought I could catch my breath, I heard the familiar chatter of Monaka and the others. They were already tired of waiting, and before I could even process the thought of escape, they swooped in, pulling me toward the cafeteria. The noise of their voices collided with the buzzing in my head, the sound of footsteps too loud against the hum of the school. I barely had time to gather myself before I was dragged into the crowd of students, the door swinging open with a force that seemed to push everything else aside."
The school cafeteria was overflowing with rich aromas, filled with dishes so expertly prepared that they could rival those found in 5-star hotels. This wasn't surprising—after all, this was an elite school, and everything about it reflected that status.
Getting into this school wasn't easy. The entrance exam was notoriously difficult, and many students had to retake it multiple times before passing. Although students could apply at age 15, most were older by the time they got in,. To prevent significant age gaps in the classrooms, the school has limited the number of times a student can retake the exam to three attempts. I'm so glad that I managed to pass that on my first try. most outsiders give up and choose other elite schools instead"
since they were only allowed three attempts at the test. As a result, our first-year class had students aged 15 to 17, with most of them—like Monaka—being 17 years old. She acts far more mature than me, always giving off a protective, older-sister vibe. I kind of feel safe around her too. Maybe that's why she was able to befriend someone like me, despite my terrible social skills.
On top of the exam difficulty, the tuition fees were sky-high, meaning that most of the students were wealthy. Very few were here on scholarships— and that number is less than the number of fingers on one hand.I was one of them.
so because the majority of students are rich people and they are accustomed to luxurious lifestyles, the school didn't settle for an ordinary cafeteria. Instead, they hired a 5-star hotel to run it, ensuring the food was top-tier. And the best part? Lunch was completely free.Since not everyone lives in the dorms, having just lunch provided works out pretty well. Even though you can get breakfast and dinner there too, they can be a bit on the pricey side.
But dorm students always had the option to buy groceries from the school store and cook for themselves—which I always did. It wasn't a big deal for the rich students, but for a scholarship student like me, having gourmet meals for free felt like a small feast every day.
Aside from its wide selection of dishes, the cafeteria also had a special menu of the day, which was always a huge hit.
"You have to try STNME today," Monaka declared, practically bouncing in place.
"STNME?" I repeated.
"Silver Thread Noodles with Moonbeam Eggs!" she grinned.
Today was the first time this year that the legendary Silver Thread Noodles with Moonbeam Eggs was being served. It was a beloved noodle dish, famous among students. The moment the bell rang, first-years rushed to the cafeteria, eager to try it—even though they all knew there was more than enough for everyone. Monaka was no exception. She had been mumbling about it since this morning and had dragged the rest of us along in her excitement.
"My sister recommended it to the cafeteria chefs."
I narrowed my eyes. "Your famous chef sister?"
"Obviously."
I wasn't sure if that was true, but considering her sister was a renowned chef, it was definitely possible.
Monaka's sister was a culinary genius… but Monaka herself? That was a completely different story. Last time she tried to cook, our Home Ec teacher nearly banned her from using the stove. Her food was so disastrous that the teacher warned our group not to eat it.
I was just glad Home Ec didn't count for grades—because if it did, Monaka would have a perfect score of zero.
To be honest, I was actually excited to try it too. My stomach twisted—not just from hunger, but from anticipation. I wasn't the type to care about food trends, but if the entire cafeteria was buzzing about STNME, it had to be worth trying.
So, we headed to the cafeteria and joined the ever-growing line. Monaka and the others chatted excitedly, talking about all sorts of things while we waited. Once they finally got their lunch, they rushed ahead to grab a table, leaving me trailing behind.
As I waited for my turn, that feeling crept up on me—a chill, the unmistakable sensation of being watched.
My skin prickled. The hairs on the back of my neck stood on end.
I tried to shake it off, to stay calm, but the unease wouldn't let go. I glanced around, my eyes scanning the crowded cafeteria, but no one seemed to be paying attention to me.
It's just my imagination, I told myself.
but that thought didn't bring the comfort I needed. The feeling lingered, like a shadow that wouldn't leave.
I tried to ignore it, to focus on the mundane task of getting my lunch, but then something caught my eye. A figure, cutting through the sea of students, moving towards me. It was slow at first, but as it drew nearer, I saw her clearly.
Ozaka.
My guard dropped in an instant—of course it was her, nothing to worry about. But as she came closer, I couldn't shake the feeling that something wasn't right. No, Her gaze was sharp, too sharp, locking onto mine with an intensity that made the air feel colder. She kept staring—too much, too long—like she was dissecting me, reading every corner of my soul.The chill ran deeper, curling inside my chest.
I grabbed my lunch tray from the counter and started to make my way back to the table where Monaka and the others were waiting. The sensation of Ozaka's gaze never left me. It felt like she was right there, just behind me, breathing down my neck.
And then, just as I thought I could escape the tension, I heard it. A whisper, so close, so sudden,
"I know your past."
***