We reached the elite study lounge a few moments too late—the door had already closed behind Kenta and Aria. Minji caught my sleeve and pulled me back near the hallway vending machine beside the elite study lounge.
Rain streaked the windows around us, turning the overhead lights into smeared halos.
Voices carried through the narrow glass panel in the lounge door—low, measured, already deep into it.
Inside, Aria stood calm and straight, Kenta at her side, Mr. Goh behind his desk with Olympiad folders open. Hanni wasn't there yet, but the discussion had clearly been rolling for a minute or two.
Aria's voice drifted out, even and unhurried.
"…recognized the build. The shoes. That canvas tote she always carries."
A short pause—just long enough for the words to settle.
Kenta slid his phone across the desk without a word. Mr. Goh leaned forward, adjusted his glasses. The photo filled the screen: a grainy silhouette, braided pigtail unmistakable, footprints pressed neatly into the damp floor just inside the door.
"She came out a minute later. Looked startled when she saw us. We didn't say anything. Didn't want to make a scene."
Mr. Goh studied the image longer than necessary. His fingers drummed once against the wood.
"That's… concerning," he said quietly. "The questionnaires were in there."
Footsteps echoed down the corridor—quick, uneven.
Hanni rounded the corner, hair still damp from the rain outside. She stopped short when she saw us by the lounge door.
"Eiji? Minji?" Confusion edged her voice, sharpened by something else. "What are you—"
Minji stepped forward before she could finish, reaching for the handle and easing the door open. Her tone stayed low, controlled.
"This involves one of our club members," she said. "If there's an accusation, she deserves someone in the room to observe. Just to make sure everything's handled fairly."
Mr. Goh looked up fully now. His gaze lingered on Minji, recognition sharpening despite the fatigue.
"Kim Minji," he said slowly, a faint edge of recollection in his voice. "Last year's nationals. You carried half the round on your own."
He studied her a moment longer, rubbing the bridge of his nose with a quiet exhale.
"Still the same fire, I see," he muttered. "Fine, come in. Keep it quiet and close the door."
I stayed in the hallway.
The door clicked shut between us.
---
Minutes dragged under the humming lights. I drifted a few steps down the short corridor to the building's side entrance facing the courtyard, rain pouring in heavy sheets beyond the overhang.
I waited there, watching water streak the panes.
The lounge door opened behind me, muffled voices cutting off as it shut.
Footsteps approached.
Hanni emerged into the dim entryway, hair damp, face blank. She paused at the threshold, eyes fixed on the rain ahead, then stepped under the awning beside me without a word.
The downpour roared just beyond us, blurring the courtyard into gray.
"Hanni—" My voice came out lower than I meant. "What happened?"
"They accused me of sneaking into his office," she said, flat and precise. "Mr. Goh removed me from consideration. Effective immediately."
I searched for something useful to say. Nothing surfaced.
Rain filled the space between us.
"I'm tired, Eiji." She didn't look at me. "Not the kind sleep fixes."
Her fingers tightened once around her bag strap, then loosened.
"I keep things together. That's what I do." A pause. "And sometimes that's all there is."
I'd seen this pattern before.
The rain pulled up a memory from that same afternoon—after the storm, under the acacia tree. She'd leaned against the trunk, eyes heavy, insisting she was fine. Dozed off for minutes that felt longer, woke with a start, and brushed it aside like it never happened.
Same instinct now.
Whatever explanation she had, she kept it to herself. Not because she couldn't give one. Because giving it would cost too much.
She finally looked at me, and for a moment, something like expectation flickered there. Then it hardened.
"Forget it," she said. "We're not those kids anymore."
She stepped out from under the awning—no umbrella, no hesitation—letting the rain hit her full force. Shoulders straight, she walked into the downpour, hair darkening instantly as water streamed down, until the gray swallowed her.
I took half a step after her, hand half-raised like I could call her back or shield her from the rain.
Then I froze.
I just stood there, couldn't move.
The rain roared between us, cold and unyielding.
---
I stayed in the entryway a moment longer, rain drumming steady beyond the glass, until the cold settled too deep.
Then I turned back down the short corridor, the elite study lounge door stood closed ahead.
A chair scraped inside. Papers shifted.
Minji's voice cut through—calm, unmistakable, carrying just far enough.
"I may not prove Hanni's innocence," she said. "But I can prove they're lying."
Her words hung in the damp air.