"Aren't those Goldleaf school uniforms?" one of the women on the bus curiously asked.
Glancing at his red uniform, he let a deep sigh of regret and turned his eyes to the window, staring outside.
'How long am I supposed to put up with this' His brows furrowed.
Maybe he should've worn something else—but the rules hadn't given him that option. Now he had to put up with annoying things like that.
The woman scoffed. "Letting him go to such a place? What a joke! You made him do it, didn't you? I forced my own son once too. Worst mistake I ever made."
Forced? That word repeated in his mind. 'I would have been insane if I chose to go there'
"He is my son," the woman beside the boy softly but firmly corrected.
She looked too young to be his mother—and acted even less like one. Her neatly combed brown hair was pinned into a tidy bun, her fair skin and polished suit only added to the impression. But her eyes seemed distant, as if she were far away, no matter how close she stood.
She glanced at him like she understood what he felt, but he doubted that.
Noticing the curved lips through the reflection on the window, he frowned. 'What's so funny about this?'
He wasn't sure he hated the school itself. But he hated how his mother cheerfully talked about it, like that place was the best thing for him.
"No need to scare people," a middle-aged man interjected from the front.
"My son used to attend the same school. His behavior changed for the better. It's a good school if your son gives you a headache."
"Hah!" The woman scoffed again, folding her arms. "A parent fails to discipline their own child, and think a school can fix them? That place isn't even a real school. I don't understand why the government allows such a thing to exist!" she said, her hatred for the school obvious in her voice.
"Because they tried shutting it down," the man replied. "And do you know what happened? Parents refused. They wanted the school to stay exactly as it is."
The boy frown deepened as the two threw words at each other. He didn't think the woman was helping. If anything, she made it worse—twisting his stomach with whatever he imagined about such a place. As for the man's words.
'When I ever gave her a headache?'
The bus came to a stop. His mother turned to him. "We're here."
'Damnit!'
His heart rate quickened. After a three-hour journey, he had arrived at the hell they called a school. For a moment, he stayed frozen in his seat, eyes drifting to the tall, oppressive fence outside the window.
'I'm really going there' He took a deep breath, then pushed himself to his feet.
Before stepping off, he glanced at the woman who'd criticized the school. She looked at him with pity, shook her head, and turned away.
He turned to the man who praised the school. The man gave him an assuring smile and nodded. Unsure what to feel about it, he walked from the bus.
They stood frozen at the huge iron gate while the bus rumbled away behind them.
Bold letters on the gate read: Goldleaf Advanced Secondary School, beneath the motto: Education is to Learn.
He looked beyond that long brick fence, but all he saw were tall trees—almost a forest. No buildings in sight. Even the surroundings outside the school were rural, with only a few houses visible.
He turned to his mother. "Can I not go?"
She walked foward.
Beside the gate was a small house where sat a man with gray hair and blue uniforms. He was too old to be a guard—yet he was.
"Good morning," his mother greeted politely.
The guard looked up. "Morning."
The guard glanced at the boy—his eyes lingered a little too long. It gave him the creeps, so he looked away.
Then the guard turned back to his mother.
"This is my son. He is going to attend this school." She beamed as she said it—the only one smiling.
"Fill in his name here," said the guard, handing her a book. "Follow this road, and it will lead you to the office."
"Thank you."
They started walking along the brick road as directed, his mother pushing the suitcase.
Tall trees lined the side of the road as petals slowly fell. From afar, to his side, he could see the peak of a mountain with clouds roaming around it.
He hated to admit it, but the deeper they went, the more he noticed how beautiful the school was.
It was different from the images he had planted in his mind. One thing hadn't turned out as the rumors said. Instead, it added to his dread. All of this was to fool them—for what was to come.
He turned his eyes to the left, where the quarters looked plainer—smaller, and faded. On the right, the mansions stood with polished bricks and wide porches. There was no need for a signboard. The ranking was clear.
"Getting to the office?"
He was too focused on his surroundings to notice the man stopping in front of his mother.
The man looked around fifty —dark-skinned, wearing an apron and a hat. In his hands, he carried two large nylon sacks filled with small packets of salt, his muscles bulging under the weight.
He didn't want to assume he was a cook with everything he had, but it seemed he was.
Not far off, a car was unloading other nylon sacks. A man and a woman—both middle-aged and wearing the same uniforms—each carried one and headed to the building on the hill.
She smiled. "Ah, Yes. Your offices seems so far?"
"No, ma'am. It's just you used the back gate. If you'd used the front gate, you would've arrived long ago."
"Oh, my mistake then." She laughed dismissively. "Then we'll get going. You must be exhausted."
"Not at all—compared to you."
Saying that, his mother kept following the road. Before he followed her, he locked eyes with the cook.
The cook leaned in slightly. "When you hear the bell, don't waste a second. Hunger should be the least of your problems here."
Then he turned, whistling a tune too cheerful for a warning.
His heart skipped a bit. What kind of place needed a warning like that?
'Should I run?'
He wasn't even officially enrolled yet.
But he knew better. That choice was long behind him.