At Aurelian Academy, nothing was written down—but everyone knew the rules.
They weren't posted on walls or printed in handbooks. You learned them in the way people looked at you, in where you were allowed to sit, in who said your name and who didn't.
There was a ladder. And everyone was on it.
At the very top stood the Ten.
The girls were called the Beauties, though never to their faces—because they didn't need the title spoken. It followed them anyway. They moved like they owned the air itself, like the halls parted for them without permission. Each one was flawless in a different way: one had a laugh that made people turn, another a stare sharp enough to silence a room, another a softness that made people want to protect her even though she needed no protection at all.
They were admired, envied, copied, whispered about.
And beside them, always near them, were the Ten boys.
The Populars.
They weren't just liked—they were known. Their names traveled faster than rumors. They were athletes, charmers, leaders, troublemakers who never got in trouble. They filled space with noise and confidence, with easy laughter and careless cruelty.
Together, the Beauties and the Populars formed something untouchable. A circle no one entered unless invited—and invitations were rare.
Below them, the rest of the academy arranged itself carefully.
Not equal. Never equal.
Just… lesser.
And at the very bottom—
There was him.
No one said his name much anymore. It existed, technically. On attendance sheets. On forgotten assignments. But in the halls, he was something else.
Invisible.
Not literally. People saw him—of course they did. They saw him just enough to avoid him, to bump into him without apologizing, to laugh when he dropped something and pretend it wasn't deliberate.
He had mastered the art of shrinking.
Shoulders slightly hunched. Eyes lowered. Steps quiet. He moved like someone apologizing for existing.
It didn't help.
Because invisibility didn't protect you at Aurelian Academy.
It made you a target.
—
"Watch it."
The voice came sharp and amused.
He hadn't been watching. That was the problem.
A shoulder slammed into his, harder than necessary, sending his books scattering across the polished floor. Papers slid in every direction like they were trying to escape him too.
Laughter followed.
Of course it did.
He crouched immediately, hands moving fast, gathering pages before they could be stepped on—or worse, picked up.
A shoe landed on one.
Not by accident.
He froze for half a second before looking up.
One of the Ten boys stood there, smiling down at him—not angry, not even particularly interested. Just… entertained. Like this was a small break in an otherwise boring day.
"Careful," the boy said lightly. "You'll trip someone important."
More laughter. Softer this time, but sharper.
A few of the Beauties stood nearby, watching. One of them tilted her head slightly, her expression unreadable. Another covered a smile with her hand, like it was something delicate.
No one told the boy to move his foot.
No one told him to stop.
The invisible boy swallowed.
"Sorry," he murmured.
He always said sorry.
Even now.
The boy lifted his foot at last, not out of kindness but because the moment had already passed. The amusement had peaked.
"Pathetic," someone muttered—not loudly, but not quietly either.
He didn't look to see who said it.
He already knew.
—
By lunch, the story had spread.
Not because it mattered.
But because everything about him was a joke worth repeating.
He sat where he always sat—far corner, edge of the cafeteria, a place where fewer eyes drifted. It didn't make him safe. Just… less visible between moments.
Trays clattered. Voices rose and fell. The Ten occupied their usual table in the center, sunlight spilling over them like they'd arranged it that way.
They looked perfect in a way that didn't seem real.
Untouchable.
He tried not to look.
He failed.
Because part of him—some stubborn, foolish part—still wondered what it would feel like to be up there. To be seen differently. To exist without shrinking.
A laugh rang out from the center table.
One of the girls leaned toward one of the boys, whispering something that made him grin.
It looked effortless.
Everything about them did.
And everything about him didn't.
—
"Hey."
The word landed like a stone beside him.
He stiffened.
Slowly, he looked up.
Two of the Popular boys stood there now, trays in hand, blocking what little light reached his corner.
"You're in our spot," one said casually.
It wasn't true.
This had never been their spot.
But truth wasn't part of the rules either.
"I— I can move," he said quickly, already gathering his things.
"Yeah," the other boy said, smirking. "You can."
As he stood, his tray tilted. A drink spilled—just a little—but enough.
Enough for another laugh.
Enough for someone nearby to say, "Of course he did."
His hands shook as he tried to steady everything.
"Relax," one of the boys said, mock sympathy in his voice. "You're making it worse."
More laughter.
Always laughter.
He nodded, even though he didn't know what he was agreeing to, and hurried away, leaving behind the small, shrinking space he'd briefly occupied.
—
At Aurelian Academy, the ladder wasn't climbed with effort alone.
It was maintained.
Protected.
Enforced.
And sometimes—
It fed on people like him to keep the rest standing tall.
As he disappeared into the hallway, unnoticed again in the spaces between attention, the Ten continued laughing, sunlight still catching perfectly on their table.
Untouched.
Unchallenged.
At the top.
And far, far below—
He kept walking.
Because stopping would only make them look longer.