The next morning, the classroom buzzes like a hive.
Claut sits on his usual bench, shoulders slack, eyes tracing the same scratched wood as if it might answer him if he stares long enough. Laughter and gossip swirl around—boys speculating about the new transfer student.
"Hope it's a pretty one," someone near the window whispers, grinning.
"This year's my year—I'm getting a girlfriend," another boasts.
Claut doesn't react. He never does.
Rick barges in late—hair dyed a messy pink, crisp white shirt tucked into jeans, a Barça glass clutched like a trophy. He laughs too loud, swagger he's clearly practiced in the mirror.
"This is my year!" he shouts. "I'll be the most handsome guy at school!"
He slides a red rose into his pocket for effect. A few girls giggle. Someone calls him a clown.
Rick fires back, voice sharp. "Shut up, you ugly-ass! You don't know taste when it slaps you in the face."
Claut watches with practiced indifference. He's mastered the art of being a shadow in a room full of light.
The bell rings. Phones ping—a trending TikTok sound marking the start of another day.
"Good morning, sir!" the class echoes as the teacher walks in.
The teacher's eyes gleam with the quiet thrill adults get from disruptions disguised as opportunity.
"Class, today we have a transfer student. Excited?"
A chorus of "Yes!" fills the air—every voice except Claut's.
The door opens.
Lucy steps in.
Eighteen, pale hair like wound silk, an effortless kind of beauty that stills the room. She moves without trying, confident and calm—no pose, no pretense—yet every boy stares. Even Rick freezes for a beat, the rose slippery in his grip.
"Hi, everyone," she says softly. "My name is Lucy. I'll be in your class."
Whispers spark like electricity. Phones half-lifted. Rick's grin returns.
"She's my future wife," he whispers just loud enough for three boys to hear. They howl. Someone teases him, but Rick only smiles wider.
The teacher gestures to the empty seat beside Claut.
For the first time all year, someone is assigned to sit next to him.
Lucy walks down the aisle and sits. Claut glances up—just once.
She waves lightly. "Hi, mate."
He looks away. A small, uncertain sound escapes her—a soft exhale of confusion—but she lets it go, folding her hands on her lap.
"Does he… hate me?" she wonders. Then she smiles faintly, deciding not to care.
Later, during assembly, the principal thanks a notable donor.
Claut's teacher adds, "We'd also like to thank Claut's father for his generous support. His help has made a difference for many students."
Rick claps too hard, his grin exaggerated. "Claut's dad is awesome, right?" he shouts, elbowing Claut.
Claut nods once, stiffly. The gesture feels like a stone dropped inside him.
Then Lucy is asked for a comment. She glances across the hall—not directly at Claut, but her words land like a quiet blade.
"I think it's dangerous to assume you know what happens inside someone else's house," she says simply.
The room stills. Her tone isn't harsh—just true. Claut feels it like a shield offered in silence, one only he recognizes.
From his desk, beneath the hum of the lights, Claut studies her.
She isn't cold. She just sees. The small, invisible things others ignore.
Across town, morning plays differently.
In the Kim household, smiles are polished, precise—practiced for display.
Kim moves through his routine with careful charm: greeting staff, sliding papers, wearing his mask of grace.
Then, behind his office door, the mask cracks.
"Boring," he mutters to the empty room. The word tastes like a dare.
He presses his hand against his desk, as if feeling for a pulse beneath the wood.
"I want to feel something sharp," he whispers. "I want… to see someone hurt. To make something of them."
His laughter is thin, brittle. The air seems to tense around it.
Two women once vanished from his world—he remembers the quiet too well.
But the world forgives polite smiles. So he keeps his mask on. For now.
Back in class, Claut closes his eyes, counting his breaths.
Outside, life hums along—the corridor alive with chatter, a girl's laugh rising above it all.
Somewhere, Rick practices his grin in a reflection.
Lucy scribbles notes, unaware she's steadied and unsettled the same space for two very different people.
Claut wonders, not for the first time, what it would mean to let someone in.
To show what the house hides.
He doesn't know if he wants rescue—or simply someone who won't look away.
The bell rings again. Papers shuffle. The class empties into sunlight that feels thinner now, but somehow more honest.
And somewhere far away, in a quiet house, an old door closes—with more than a sigh.
End of Chapter 6.