The iron gates of Celestial Academy loomed before Mirae like the entrance to another world. She stood there for a moment, her dark eyes scanning the sprawling campus that stretched beyond—manicured lawns, modern glass buildings, and students in designer clothes casually scattered across the grounds like they owned the place. Which, she supposed, many of them did.
So this is where the elite send their children, she thought, adjusting the strap of her simple black backpack.
The school looked perfect from the outside. Pristine. Orderly. But Mirae had learned long ago that beautiful exteriors often hid the ugliest truths. She'd done her research. Celestial Academy had a reputation—not just for academic excellence and its selective admission process, but for something else entirely. The students here didn't follow the rules. There was barely a dress code enforced. The hierarchy was brutal. And at the top of that hierarchy sat seven boys who ran the school like their personal kingdom.
Mirae exhaled slowly, centering herself the way Dr. Kim had taught her during their sessions. Control your emotions. Don't let the past define your present. She'd come too far to let anyone—not spoiled rich kids, not manipulative boys, not painful memories—derail her again.
She walked through the gates.
The moment she stepped onto campus, she felt eyes on her. Whispers rippled through clusters of students like a stone dropped in still water. Of course they were staring. New students at Celestial were rare, especially mid-semester. The academy only accepted the best of the best—children of conglomerates, political dynasties, or in rare cases, scholarship students with exceptional talents or intelligence.
Mirae was neither.
Her parents were wealthy, yes—her father had built his architecture firm from the ground up, and her mother was a successful lawyer—but they'd taught her the value of money, of hard work, of staying grounded. She wasn't here because of connections or donations. She was here because her previous school had left her no choice.
The memory flashed unbidden: the pen in her hand, the shock in his eyes, the blood. She pushed it away. That girl—the one who'd lost control, who'd let betrayal and heartbreak turn her into someone unrecognizable—she was gone. Mirae had spent months in therapy, rebuilding herself piece by piece. She was stronger now. Calmer. In control.
She pulled out her phone to check the map she'd saved. Main building, third floor, classroom 3-A. She'd just started walking when a commotion erupted near the entrance.
"Oh my god, they're here!"
"Do I look okay? Is my hair alright?"
"Move, move! I need to see them!"
Mirae glanced over her shoulder to see a wave of students—mostly girls—converging toward the parking lot. She frowned. What is this, a celebrity appearance?
Curiosity won over her desire to stay invisible. She moved to the side, positioning herself where she could observe without being caught in the crowd.
Seven figures emerged from a sleek black van and two luxury cars.
The first thing Mirae noticed was how the crowd seemed to hold its collective breath. The seven boys moved with the kind of confidence that came from never having been told "no" in their lives. They were handsome, she'd give them that—each in their own distinct way—but it was more than looks. It was presence. Power. The air itself seemed to shift around them.
The one in the lead had an authoritative bearing, his posture perfect, his expression serious. Student council president, she guessed. Jungwon. Behind him, two taller boys walked side by side, their basketball team jackets identifying them—Sunoo and Jay, judging by the numbers. Another boy, athletic build and easy smile, must be Jake, the football representative. There was one who looked like he'd rather be anywhere else, scrolling through his phone with disinterest—Heeseung, probably, the top student. The youngest-looking one had an air of arrogance that came from knowing his father owned the entire school—Niki, without a doubt.
And then there was the last one.
He walked slightly apart from the others, hands in his pockets, his expression cold and unreadable. His features were sharp, almost ethereal—high cheekbones, pale skin, dark eyes that seemed to look through people rather than at them. He moved with a grace that suggested athleticism of a different kind. The figure skater. Sunghoon.
While his friends acknowledged the crowd with smirks or casual waves, Sunghoon didn't even glance at the fawning students. It was as if they simply didn't exist in his world.
"They're so perfect," a girl near Mirae sighed, clutching her phone to her chest.
"Did you see Sunghoon? He looked right past me," another whispered, somehow interpreting his complete disregard as something romantic.
Mirae felt her lip curl slightly. This was exactly the kind of toxic worship she despised. These boys clearly played with people's feelings, used their status and looks to manipulate, and everyone just... let them. Enabled them. Threw themselves at their feet hoping for scraps of attention.
Pathetic, she thought, then immediately checked herself. She wasn't here to judge. She was here to keep her head down, finish her education, and move forward with her life. These seven boys and their fan club had nothing to do with her.
She turned away and headed toward the main building.
Classroom 3-A was on the third floor, just as she'd expected. Mirae found it easily enough and paused outside the door. Through the window, she could see students already seated, talking in groups. She took a breath, knocked twice, and entered.
The teacher, a middle-aged woman with kind eyes and graying hair, looked up from her desk. "Ah, you must be Lee Mirae. Come in, come in."
The classroom fell silent as all eyes turned to her. Mirae kept her expression neutral, her posture relaxed but confident. She'd done this before at her last school, and the one before that. New student. Fresh start. She knew the routine.
"Everyone, we have a new student joining us today," the teacher announced, gesturing for Mirae to stand at the front of the room. "Please introduce yourself."
Mirae faced the class. Thirty or so students, all wearing expensive clothes despite the supposed uniform policy, all watching her with varying degrees of interest and suspicion.
"I'm Lee Mirae," she said simply, her voice steady and clear. "I transferred from Seoul International. I hope we can get along."
She bowed slightly—enough to be polite but not subservient—and straightened, meeting their gazes without flinching.
"Mirae, you can take the empty seat in the back, next to the window," the teacher said, pointing to an empty desk.
Perfect. Mirae preferred the back. Less attention, better view of everyone else, easy exit if needed. She walked down the aisle, ignoring the whispers that started the moment she passed.
"Did you hear she got expelled from her last school?"
"I heard she stabbed someone."
"No way, look at her. She seems so normal."
"That's what they said about—"
Mirae sat down and pulled out her notebook, effectively cutting off the gossip with her indifference. Let them talk. Rumors always spread faster than truth, and she'd learned that trying to control the narrative was pointless. People would believe what they wanted to believe.
The teacher began the morning announcements, and Mirae let her gaze drift to the window. The campus really was beautiful. Cherry blossom trees lined the pathways, their petals drifting in the morning breeze. Students walked between buildings, laughing and chatting. From up here, it almost looked peaceful.
"Oh, and one more thing," the teacher said, glancing at her watch. "I know some of our... distinguished students tend to arrive late, but please try to be on time for homeroom. It sets a bad example for—"
The door slid open.
The temperature in the room seemed to drop several degrees. Girls immediately straightened in their seats, fixing their hair, adjusting their clothes. Even some of the boys sat up straighter.
Mirae didn't need to turn around to know who had just walked in. The shift in atmosphere told her everything.
"Ah, Heeseung, you're here," the teacher said, her tone slightly exasperated but ultimately resigned. "Please take your seat."
Footsteps moved down the aisle. Mirae kept her eyes on her notebook, doodling small geometric patterns in the margin. She felt him before she saw him—felt the weight of someone's attention as they passed her desk.
The footsteps stopped.
Against her better judgment, Mirae looked up.
Lee Heeseung stood beside her desk, his sharp eyes studying her face with an intensity that would have made most people uncomfortable. He was taller up close, his uniform somehow both perfectly worn and deliberately casual—top button undone, tie loose, blazer slung over one shoulder.
Recognition flickered across his features.
"Lee Mirae," he said slowly, and there was something in his voice—surprise, amusement, and something else she couldn't quite identify. "It's been a long time."
The classroom erupted in shocked whispers.
Mirae held his gaze steadily. "Heeseung," she acknowledged with a slight nod. No warmth, no familiarity. Just recognition.
His lips curved into a smile that didn't reach his eyes. "Elementary school. You used to beat me in math tests every single time. I never forgot that."
"I'm sure you've recovered from the trauma," Mirae replied evenly.
A few students gasped at her tone—apparently, no one spoke to the seven boys like this—but Heeseung's smile only widened. There was a competitive glint in his eyes now, something predatory and pleased.
"I'm sure I have," he said. "Welcome to Celestial Academy, Mirae. I think you'll find it very... interesting here."
He moved to his seat—naturally, right in front of hers, because of course the universe had a sense of humor—and the teacher, eager to move past the tension, continued with the announcements.
But Mirae could feel multiple pairs of eyes on her now. She'd made an impression, and not necessarily the low-profile one she'd been aiming for. Heeseung knowing her, acknowledging their past rivalry—that would spread through the school faster than she could blink.
So much for staying invisible, she thought wryly.
As the teacher droned on about upcoming events and exam schedules, Mirae allowed herself a moment of reflection. She'd been here less than an hour and had already encountered one of the seven boys who apparently ruled this school. She'd seen their effect on the student body—the worship, the fear, the desperate desire for their attention.
And she'd felt absolutely nothing.
No intimidation. No interest. No desire to join the ranks of girls throwing themselves at boys who clearly enjoyed the power trip.
She'd been through too much, had her heart broken too thoroughly, had rebuilt herself too carefully to fall for that kind of superficial charm. These boys might run Celestial Academy, but they had no power over her.
Or so she thought.
What Mirae didn't know—couldn't know—was that at that very moment, in a private lounge on the opposite side of campus, six boys were lounging in expensive leather chairs, discussing the new transfer student who'd already caught their attention.
And one of them, the quiet one with cold eyes and a reputation for obsession, was looking at a photo someone had already posted to the school's social media—a picture of a girl with calm eyes and an unimpressed expression, standing at the gates of Celestial Academy.
Park Sunghoon stared at the image for a long moment, something flickering in his dark eyes.
"Who is she?" he asked quietly.
"New transfer," Jungwon replied, not looking up from his tablet. "Lee Mirae. Came from Seoul International."
"She's in our class," Heeseung added, walking in late as usual. "And she's... different."
Sunghoon's fingers tightened slightly on his phone. "Different how?"
Heeseung smiled, and it was the smile of someone who'd just found a new game to play. "You'll see."