I stared at my reflection in the vanity mirror, a smile instinctively gracing my lips. It was a genuine one, the kind that started in your heart and warmed your entire being.
"My first friend," I whispered to the girl in the glass.
Isaac Mahoka. The name itself felt like a secret charm. He was kind, formal in a charming way, and he wanted to be friends with me. For so long, friendship had been a distant constellation I could admire but never touch. Back home, my earnestness, my openness, it was seen as naïve, a weakness to be exploited or, worse, mocked. People would smile back, but their eyes held a cold calculation, wondering what they could gain before they inevitably turned away, leaving me with a hollow feeling and another lesson in caution.
But Isaac... his smile had been different. There was a serenity to it, a depth that felt... real. When he'd looked at me at the school entrance, it was like he saw Aurélie, not just a rank or a potential asset. He'd listened. He'd been... normal. Wonderfully, beautifully normal.
I practiced introducing him in my head. "This is my friend, Isaac." The words were a balm on an old wound.
But then, the memory surfaced, unbidden and cold, like a shard of ice in the warm sea of my happiness.
The grip on my arm. Jinhyuk Kwon's sneering face, his words laced with a venom that made my skin crawl. The feeling of being small, exposed, and utterly powerless.
And then Isaac.
The way his entire being had shifted. The gentle calm was gone, replaced by a predatory sharpness that stole the air from my lungs. His smile didn't vanish; it twisted into something else, something knowing and cruel. He became Jinhyuk. Not an imitation, not a parody. He was him. The same condescending tone, the same invasive presence, the same absolute disregard for my comfort. He'd peered into that horrible moment and reconstructed it perfectly, atom by atom.
My hand subconsciously rubbed the spot on my left arm, though the physical mark had faded. The emotional one, however, throbbed with a fresh pulse of anxiety.
What if that was the real Isaac? What if the gentle boy at the gate was the performance, and this... this chilling ventriloquist of pain was the truth? Could someone who could do that so effortlessly ever truly be a friend? Or was I just another puzzle for him to solve, another heart to dissect for his amusement?
The doubt was a poison, tainting the excitement I'd felt just moments before. I needed... I needed to talk to someone. Someone who seemed to know him.
I grabbed my phone, my fingers trembling slightly as I found the contact Isidora had given me yesterday.
[Aurélie]: Good morning, Isidora! Would it be alright if we walked to class together today? I... had something I wanted to ask you.
The reply was almost instantaneous.
[Isidora]: Of course. I shall be a beacon in the fog of morning uncertainty. Meet me in the lobby in ten minutes.
Her way of speaking was unique, a mix of nun-like formality and something else... something theatrical, similar to that Lucico boy . It was comforting
I found Isidora Claire standing serenely in the grand dormitory lobby, her hands clasped in front of her, her nun's veil a dark contrast against the bright, modern architecture. She looked like a painting from another time.
"Good morning, Aurélie," she said, her voice a soft, steady melody. "You appear troubled. The light in your eyes is dimmed by a shadow of inquiry. Shall we walk?"
I fell into step beside her as we exited the dormitories and began the walk towards the main school building. The morning air was crisp, filled with the scent of dew and freshly cut grass from the immaculate school grounds.
"It's about Isaac," I began, my voice quieter than I intended. "I... I was so happy yesterday. He was my first friend here. It felt real."
"And now you fear it was not?" Isidora asked, not unkindly.
"You saw it, didn't you? What he did... with my arm." The words tumbled out. "He was so... convincing. It was like he reached into my memory and pulled him out. How can someone do that? It was... scary. It made me think that maybe the Isaac I met, the one who wanted to be friends, was just an act. That maybe he's just... pretending."
Isidora was silent for a long moment, her gaze fixed on the path ahead. The only sound was the crunch of our shoes on the gravel.
"I understand your fear, Aurélie," she finally said. "To witness such a thing is deeply unsettling. It feels like a violation, a theft of a painful moment. You question the authenticity of everything that came before it."
"Yes! Exactly!" I said, relief washing over me that she understood.
"Then let me offer you a different perspective," she continued, her tone becoming measured, like a scholar explaining a complex text. "What you witnessed was not malice. It was not a performance for cruelty's sake. What Isaac did was an expression of an empathy so profound, so intricately complex, that it borders on the terrifying."
I blinked. "Empathy? That was empathy?"
"In its purest, most raw form. Yes." She nodded slowly. "Most people empathize by listening and relating through their own experiences. They say 'I understand how you feel' because they have felt something similar. Isaac... he does not relate. He connects."
She paused, choosing her words with extreme care. "It is as if he has a key to the doors of the human soul. When he focuses on someone, he doesn't just see their actions or hear their words; he perceives the emotional architecture beneath. The fears, the desires, the hidden pains. He absorbs the context of a person, of a moment, and his mind... It recreates it. He doesn't just imitate a voice or a mannerism; he reconstructs the entire psychological framework that produced it. He feels what they felt in that moment, and in doing so, he can become them, completely and utterly."
I tried to process this. It sounded impossible. "But... that's like... magic. Or something supernatural."
"It is not supernatural," Isidora stated firmly, though her eyes held a whisper of awe. "It is a natural gift, honed by a life of observation and... significant pain. But it is a gift with a devastating cost. To step into another's pain so completely... it is to live it yourself, if only for a moment. He does not do it to mock or to harm. He did it to you because he saw your pain and sought to understand its source, to its core, so he could know the person who hurt you. It is his way of caring. It is how he protects those he values."
I thought of the intense focus in Isaac's eyes just before he changed. It wasn't the glee of an actor, but the fierce concentration of a surgeon operating on a wounded heart.
"He... he apologized after," I murmured, the memory now viewed through a new lens. "He said he cared for my well-being."
"And he meant it," Isidora said softly. "Every word. The Isaac you met at the gate is the real Isaac. The gentle smile, the formal politeness, the desire for friendship, that is him. The other... that is a tool he wields. A frightening one, yes. One that can shake you to your core if you are not prepared for it. But it is a part of him, just as a scalpel is a part of a surgeon. It does not make the surgeon a murderer; it makes them someone who can be cut to heal."
We stopped just outside the main building. The first bell hadn't rung yet.
"Lucico and I have known Isaac since we were children," Isidora said, her gaze distant for a moment. "We have seen this gift in action more times than I can count. It is why he is so calm, so... detached, sometimes. He feels everything, Aurélie. The joy, the sorrow, the rage of everyone around him. That mirror he holds up is relentless. To stay sane under that constant barrage, he has had to learn to observe without being completely swept away. The price of his understanding is a perpetual distance from his own heart, because to feel his own feelings fully on top of everyone else's would be too much for any one person to bear."
Tears I hadn't realized were forming welled in my eyes. My fear began to melt away, replaced by a staggering, aching sense of understanding. I had been so focused on my own fright that I hadn't considered the weight he carried. To feel the world so intensely... It sounded like a special kind of hell.
"He isn't pretending," I said, more to myself than to her. The truth of it settled in my soul. "He's just... more."
"Infinitely more," Isidora agreed. "And his friendship, once given, is fierce and loyal. You must never doubt that. To be understood by Isaac Mahoka is a rare thing. To be his friend is to be seen in your entirety, and accepted without condition. The boy who reenacted your pain was not the fake Isaac. He was the Isaac who would tear apart the world to understand a hurt done to his friend, so he could make sure it never happened again."
A single tear escaped and traced a warm path down my cheek. I quickly wiped it away, but the emotion remained, a profound gratitude that eclipsed the last remnants of my fear.
"Thank you, Isidora," I whispered, my voice thick. "I think... I understand now."
She offered me a small, gentle smile, the first true one I'd seen from her. "Then your shadow of inquiry has lifted. Let the light back in."
my heart felt lighter than it had all morning. The image of Isaac's transformation no longer scared me. It humbled me. My first friend wasn't just a boy. He was a magician of the human heart, and his greatest trick wasn't an illusion, it was the devastating, beautiful truth he could reveal.
And he had chosen to be my friend.
As we entered our classroom, there were six of our classmates already sitting at our corresponding desks... and him standing in front of the class...
... Jinhyuk
As if on cue, he turned around as I already gulped from his intimidating build as his white ponytail whipped and he had his grin, but this grin wasn't a cold malicious one like it was yesterday... But a soft one?
"Ah, Aurélie! I was hoping to see you soon here." He spoke softly which was... so different from yesterday.
Before I could speak, Isidora stepped in front of me to guard me from Jinhyuk. "Sorry but she has no reason to speak to you after what you displayed yesterday." She spoke firmly.
"No, I really want to speak to her, I wanted to talk about yesterday..." Jinhyuk persisted with an expression that resembled... guilt?
I tapped on Isidora's shoulder indicating I wanted to hear him out... Since I wanted to know why he did it...
She hesitated a moment but then sighed and stepped to the side, and then Jinhyuk took a few steps forward as I prepared myself for whatever he had to say or do that could be negative.
To my utmost surprise...
He bowed his head.
"I'm terribly sorry for what I did yesterday." He apologized.
"E-eh?"
He went back to his posture. "It wasn't right of me to do that to you, but I had to do it to test a theory."
A theory...?
Before I could speak, Isidora spoke with a much firmer tone. "A theory? You decided to attack her emotions and inflict physical harm on her to test a—"
I stopped her. "Wait Isidora! We could hear him out..." I suggested.
Since the conversation we had on Isaac earlier about the re-enactment he did with me, I didn't want Isidora to repeat a double standard logic against someone, it would make her hypocritical, even if it's to someone like Jinhyuk.
"My theory was based on what does the administration do when one student were to harass or bully another student to see if they automatically take matters or wait till the victim reports it," Jinhyuk explained.
"He's right." We heard a Spanish accent behind us as we saw our homeroom teacher, Mr. Abarca came in as he wore his black formal suit and his black mask that covered all of his face except his left eye which showed his beautiful hazel eye.
I always wondered why he wore that mask.
Could it be that he was a former soldier? That would explain the depths of his beautiful eyes... Eyes that have seen the terrors of a battlefield...
His scars must be so devastating that he has no choice but to hide them...
I did want to ask him yesterday about his mask, but I realized I would have touched on a sensitive subject for him so I refrained from asking.
"What Jinhyuk said is true, the school itself doesn't support bullying, however we won't take action unless the victim themselves report it, and then we'll go through a trial and determine the punishment," Mr. Abarca looked at me. "We did indeed see the footage, however if you wish to report the incident you may do so." He said.
I did think about it... considering any normal person in my shoes would definitely report it... but I am someone who wants to give people second chances regardless of who they are!
"It's fine, but I don't believe I want to get him in trouble since he only wanted to test a theory out, even if his method of going on about it was cruel on some moral standards," I turned to look at Jinhyuk with my cheerful but forgiving smile. "I forgive you."
With that Jinhyuk smiled. "Thank you Aurélie," He then reached into his pocket pulling out an orange rose hairpin. "This is my apology gift for you, since I recalled from yesterday's introduction you wanted to be a botanist, so I thought why not get you this as a form of an apology as well?"
I felt flustered of surprise and unexpected warmth, not of romantic love, but a warmth of kindness, although it was fleeting considering his unsettling first impression from yesterday but kindness nevertheless.
"T-thank you!" I said nervously as I gracefully took it and put it in my hair.
Despite his kind gestures, I should still at least have my guard up, since I believe Isaac would want that for me...
Since that incident with Isaac yesterday and the clarity of Isidora's explanation of Isaac... I think he just wants me to grow on my own accord rather than trying to rely on him like a parasite would do once they attach themselves to their hosts...
...and I couldn't help but agree, a friend should occasionally rest on someone's shoulder but not rely or use them to solve our problems.
If it was intentional or not with the message Isaac was trying to send to me through that re-enactment, I thank you, Isaac, at the bottom of my heart, I truly do...
——
The moment Aurélie Louise, Rank 26 and apparently Isaac's first friend here, flashed that reassuring smile, a part of my brain, the part not currently dedicated to the fascinating sociological experiment that was Isaac Mahoka, filed it away. Genuine relief. Post-catharsis clarity. Slight residual nervousness around the left arm, likely from a recent negative interaction she's compartmentalized. Interesting.
But the larger, more dominant part of my mind was still reeling from the intellectual euphoria Isaac had just induced. His theory was... beautiful. It wasn't just a plan; it was a fundamental application of my curse, my gift. He hadn't asked for help; he'd presented a thrilling hypothesis to the one person in this entire academy he believed could verify it. The respect in that gesture was more intoxicating than any cheap praise.
"I would love to..." Aurélie said, her voice pulling me back to the physical world, to the large ornate doors of the cafeteria.
"Excellent," I said, my grin returning, though now it was fueled by a different kind of arousal, the kind that came from a perfect, elegant problem. "The more data points, the better. Shall we?"
Isaac, ever the serene anchor, nodded and pushed the door open.
The sight that greeted us was... monumental. The cafeteria was less a room and more a culinary colosseum. A vast, circular space under a vaulted glass ceiling that let in the morning sun, casting everything in a warm, almost divine light. Fourteen distinct food halls, each with its own theme and aroma, were arranged around the perimeter like offerings to the gods of gluttony. A mezzanine level wrapped around the entire circumference, accessible by sweeping staircases, adding another layer of bustling student life. The air hummed with a symphony of chatter, clattering trays, and the sizzle of grills.
And the people. So many people. A shifting, vibrant tapestry of sixty-odd students, a living, breathing organism.
My eyes didn't just see it; they ingested it. The information hit my senses like a tsunami.
But the true work began with the faces. Isaac's challenge wasn't to find a "spy." It was to find an anomaly. A face that didn't belong in this specific social context.
My mind became a library, and I was the frantic librarian cross-referencing every volume at once.
I studied the systems and the rank leaderboard last night. Not out of social ambition, but for the same reason a cartographer studies a map: to understand the terrain. I'd scrolled through the faces of Classes E and F. It wasn't a conscious effort to memorize them; my brain simply doesn't have a delete function. Every face, every name, every rank was just... there. Filed away.
Now, I began the "simple but impossible comparison."
My gaze swept the room, not as a person looking for friends, but as a scanner. Each face my eyes landed on was processed against the mental database.
Group of four near the smoothie bar: Class B, all of them. Rank 44, 41, 38, 39. A known clique I presume. Context: appropriate.
Lone student reading a tablet by the window: Class C, Rank 78. Prefers solitude. I saw him in the library yesterday. Context: appropriate.
Three girls laughing too loudly by the American Grill: Class G, Ranks 155, 162, 158. Socializing within their class bracket. Context: appropriate.
It was like watching a film I'd already seen, checking for continuity errors. Most people were where they should be, with who they should be with.
"It's... huge," Aurélie breathed beside me, her eyes wide with innocent wonder. It was adorable. She was seeing a cafeteria. I was seeing a dynamic, living spreadsheet.
"It is rather spacious," Isaac agreed calmly. "I was told the Class A section is in the center there." He pointed towards a sunken, elegant seating area in the very middle of the cavernous room, roped off subtly. Nine students sat there, their postures a mix of relaxation and inherent superiority. The VIPs.
"Who told you that?" I asked, my scanning never ceasing. Two students from Class F, Rank 144 and 147, getting Indian food. They share a class, a rank bracket... context: appropriate.
"Ah, yes," Isaac said, as if just remembering. "I ran into James Mosley this morning. He invited me to join them for lunch."
My head snapped toward him so fast I felt a vertebra crack. Aurélie gasped.
"James Mosley?" I hissed, my analytical trance broken for a split second by sheer, unadulterated shock. "The James Mosley? Rank 15? Son of the British PM? He invited you? How in the name of rational thought did that happen?"
It made no sense. Their social orbits shouldn't have even intersected that quickly, let alone resulted in a lunch invitation. This was an outlier. A significant one.
Isaac's serene smile didn't flicker. "We had a conversation. He seems like a genuinely kind person. A bit idealistic for this place, but kind."
A conversation. He said it like he'd commented on the weather. Not, 'I somehow bewitched a top-ranking political scion in under twenty minutes.' The sheer, absurd power of this boy's social calibration was terrifying. And thrilling.
I was about to demand a full debrief when a scent ambushed my olfactory senses with the precision of a sniper's round.
Garlic. San Marzano tomatoes. Basil. Freshly baked, charred crust.
My head whipped back toward the pizza station. A student was just walking away with a slice, the cheese stretching in a perfect, beautiful, glutenous string.
My brain short-circuited.
The library of faces, the map of sounds, the analysis of social contexts, it all vanished, overwritten by a single, primal imperative.
Pizza.
I didn't decide to move. My body simply executed a command from a deeper, more ancient part of my consciousness.
"PIZZA!" I exclaimed, the word tearing from my throat not as a word but as a battle cry.
And then I was moving.
Isaac would later tell me that the air cracked. Aurélie would swear she felt a gust of wind that ruffled her hair. All I knew was the target. The forty meters between me and the counter vanished in a blur of peripheral vision. I weaved through the crowd not with agility, but with a pre-cognitive awareness of every person's trajectory, my body flowing through gaps that hadn't even fully formed yet. It was less running and more teleporting with several inconveniently solid steps in between.
I skidded to a halt at the counter, my shoes squeaking on the polished floor. The chef, a large man with a magnificent mustache, looked up, startled.
"One. Margherita. Extra basil. Now, please," I said, my voice a little too loud, a little too breathless.
He blinked, then chuckled, sliding a freshly made slice onto a plate. "For you, signorina, with speed like that, it is in the house."
I took the plate, my hands trembling slightly not from exertion, but from anticipation. The first bite was a religious experience. The perfect blend of tangy tomato, creamy mozzarella, and the earthy freshness of basil. The crust was crisp yet chewy. I let out a soft, involuntary moan of pleasure, my eyes fluttering closed for a second. This... this was a truth I could believe in.
I was halfway through the slice, a smear of tomato sauce probably on my cheek, when I felt a presence beside me.
"I see you found the primary objective."
I opened my eyes to see Isaac and a slightly breathless-looking Aurélie standing there. Isaac's expression was one of pure, unadulterated amusement. Aurélie looked like she'd just witnessed a natural disaster she couldn't quite explain.
"The perimeter security is lax, but the core asset is high-value," I said through a mouthful of glorious cheese, my brain slowly rebooting its higher functions. The library of faces flickered back online. The mission resumed.
Isaac chuckled. "Your speed was... impressive. And slightly terrifying. I don't think I've ever seen a human move that fast outside of a sanctioned sporting event, or in any sporting event for that matter."
I swallowed, wiping my mouth with a napkin, my dignity attempting a feeble comeback. "I was at the top of my track club. At the schools I rarely attended." It was the truth. When you're bored of everything else, running fast is a simple, pure thrill. A way to feel the physics of the world without the messy interference of people.
"It was like a flash!" Aurélie added, finally finding her voice. "I blinked and you were gone!"
"Priorities, Aurélie," I said sagely, taking another bite. "One must always identify and secure the primary objective first. Everything else is secondary intelligence."
As I ate, my eyes continued their work. The pizza had been a necessary, delicious diversion, but Isaac's hypothesis was too tantalizing to leave idle. I let my gaze drift across the mezzanine level.
Student leaning against the railing, looking down. Male. Dark complexion. Dreadlocks. Glasses. Icy blue gaze. Nathaniel Bennet. Rank 102. Class E.
My mental filing cabinet whirred. Bennet. One of the suspected architects of the 'King of Trash' campaign. His presence here, alone, observing... it was a data point. But was it an anomaly? A Class E student on the mezzanine wasn't inherently illogical. He could just be getting a better view. Or meeting someone.
But the way he was looking... not scanning for friends. Not admiring the architecture. His focus was analytical. Surveying. His posture was too still, too intentional.
Potential anomaly. Flag for further observation.
I continued, munching my pizza. A group of five students near the stairs to the mezzanine caught my eye. They were trying a little too hard to look casual. Their laughter was a fraction too loud, their gestures just a bit too broad to be natural. They were performing 'having a good time.'
I cross-referenced their faces.
Lena Petrova, Class F, Rank 139. Marco Silva, Class E, Rank 105. Chloe Dubois, Class F, Rank 142. Ben Carter, Class E, Rank 108. Anya Sharma, Class F, Rank 136.
All from the suspect classes. And none of them were interacting with anyone outside their little cluster. They were an island of forced merriment in a sea of genuine social interaction. A perfect, self-contained observation post. They were the ones. They had to be. The statistical improbability of that specific group, with that specific body language, in that specific location... It was too perfect.
I didn't need to see their student IDs. I just knew.
I turned to Isaac, a triumphant smirk spreading across my sauce-stained face. "Well, Isaac Mahoka. Your thought experiment has a result."
He followed my subtle glance toward the mezzanine, his grey eyes taking in the group, then flicking up to Nathaniel Bennet. His calm smile didn't change, but I saw the understanding in it. The confirmation.
"And?" he asked softly.
"The second floor. The group of five by the western staircase. They're trying to blend in by being conspicuously inconspicuous. It's pathetically transparent. And him," I said, a slight nod upwards toward Bennet. "The overseer. He's not even trying to hide it. Arrogant."
It was then that a voice cut through the cafeteria's din, warm and familiar to only one of us.
"Isaac! Over here!"
We all looked toward the central, sunken area. James Mosley was standing by the rope, waving enthusiastically. The other Class A student at his table glanced over with mild, curious interest.
Isaac gave a small, polite wave back. "It seems my invitation is still valid." He looked at Aurélie and me. "Would you two care to join me? I'm sure James wouldn't mind."
Aurélie looked nervously at the collection of elite students but nodded. I just snorted, finishing the last of my pizza crust.
"And leave my perfectly good observational vantage point? And the proximity to the pizza supply line? Don't be absurd, Isaac. I will definitely come after all, us mere commoners must stick together."
Isaac's smile was genuine. "As you wish. We should get going then."
As we walked toward the center of the room, seamlessly transitioning into a world of power and privilege as easily as he'd switched personas during Aurélie's arrival.
The boy was an enigma. A social chameleon of impossible depth. In the short time I'd known him, he'd seen through the school's social manipulation, deduced the perfect use for my abilities, and befriended a top-rank heiress and a political prince, all without seeming to break a sweat. He was somehow... stimulating my cognitive ecosystem. It was as if his mind had briefly integrated with mine, not with force, but with an effortless, serene compatibility. He didn't just present data; he presented a new, more interesting way to process it.
"He's something else, isn't he?" Aurélie said softly, following my gaze as we walked behind Isaac.
"That," I said, licking my fingers clean, "is the understatement of the century." I grabbed her arm gently. "Now come on, you sweet summer angel."