The next morning arrived not with grandeur, but with sharp, biting stillness.A kind of silence only Seonghwa could conjure—where even the air felt like it was listening.
The school's bulletin boards had already been updated.
STUDENT COUNCIL RESULTS:
President — Yoon SaehwaVice President — Yeon Hyerin
Students passed the board like it was holy scripture, their glances flickering with a mix of awe, tension, and something darker. Jealousy never roared at Seonghwa—it whispered.
I entered the classroom first, alone this time. A deliberate choice. I wanted her entrance to be seen.
When Hyerin walked in just minutes later, the silence was palpable. Her uniform was perfect, as always—but now, the badge of Vice President was pinned neatly above her heart. New. Untouched. Radiating the scent of pressure.
She looked different. Or maybe they were just seeing her for the first time.
She walked toward her seat without flinching, chin raised, but I didn't miss the way her fingers trembled just slightly as she sat.Only I would notice that.
Nari watched from across the room with a tight-lipped expression, her gaze unreadable. Jiwon's eyes didn't leave Hyerin for a full thirty seconds.
And Gaeun?
She didn't show up.
I leaned back, arms crossed, observing the ripple that Hyerin caused by merely existing in a space that was never designed for her.
She wasn't ready. Not fully.
But she would be.
"Vice President Yeon," I murmured just loud enough for her to hear.
She turned her head slowly, trying to mask her nerves.
"Yes… President Yoon?"
I smirked. "We have a meeting after class. The real work begins today."
She nodded—quietly.
But in her eyes, I caught it:A flicker of fire.
Let's see how brightly you burn.
By the time the final bell rang, Hyerin's pen hadn't moved for several minutes. Her notes lay open on the desk in front of her, but she wasn't reading them anymore. I watched the way she stared straight ahead—calm on the surface, storm beneath. She didn't blink when the other students stood. She didn't move when the classroom began to clear.
It was only when I stood, walked over to her desk, and leaned down to murmur close to her ear that she finally stirred.
"Ready?" I asked, my tone low, smooth. Not gentle—never gentle—but not cold either.
Her eyes flicked toward me, then slowly down to her bag. She nodded once, wordlessly.
Good. She was learning when not to speak.
We walked side by side through the corridors. The air was different now. Students stepped back as we passed, voices lowering. It was subtle, but it was there. That shift. The awareness that something had changed. That she wasn't just the new transfer student anymore. She was standing next to me now. And that meant something.
"You'll need to take minutes during the meeting," I said as we climbed the staircase. "It's mostly formalities this week, but next month, the legal scholarship application cycle begins. And I don't need to tell you how messy that gets."
"I know how to take notes, Saehwa," she said quietly, but firmly.
I smiled, not at her response, but at the way she said it.
Confident. Controlled.
But underneath—still that little tremor.
We reached the council room. It was quiet, more polished than the rest of the school, like the world outside didn't apply here. The walls were lined with old class photos of student council members who'd gone on to become lawyers, politicians, CEOs. Each one dressed perfectly. Each one just like us.
"Take your seat," I said.
Hyerin glanced around the long table before choosing the one to my right. She sat down slowly, straightening her spine as if preparing for battle.
She wasn't wrong.
Nari entered next, her arms crossed tightly over her chest. She gave Hyerin a look that wasn't quite hostile—but it wasn't warm either. She took her seat opposite us without a word.
Jiwon followed. Casual, unreadable, her phone in her hand, barely glancing up. She looked at me once, then at Hyerin, and raised a perfectly plucked brow.
"So," Jiwon said, sliding into her chair. "This is the new dynamic, huh?"
"Any objections?" I asked mildly.
"Not from me." She shrugged. "I like chaos."
Nari said nothing. But the way she tapped her pen against the table, over and over, made her feelings obvious.
I turned to Hyerin. "The agenda's in the folder beside you."
She flipped it open and scanned the documents quickly. Her brows furrowed just slightly. "You want me to organize next week's school-wide law fair?"
"I want you to lead it," I corrected. "You're Vice President. You have to be seen doing more than standing next to me."
She hesitated for a second too long. Long enough for Nari to pounce.
"That's usually the President's job," she said smoothly, tapping her pen one last time before setting it down. "You're really delegating that to someone who's been here, what, a month?"
I didn't look at her. I looked at Hyerin.
And Hyerin—she met my gaze with something stubborn in her eyes.
"I can handle it," she said.
Nari's mouth twitched, like she was disappointed she hadn't broken her.
The meeting continued. Policy updates. Upcoming events. Department budgets. I let Hyerin handle more than she expected. Every time she hesitated, I said nothing. Every time she stumbled, I let the silence linger. I wasn't going to save her.
Because if she was going to stand beside me, she had to learn how to stand alone.
By the time we adjourned, she looked exhausted. Her fingers twitched slightly over her notepad, the faintest crease between her brows.
Everyone else filed out. Nari last. She lingered by the door, her eyes briefly flicking to Hyerin, then to me. Then she walked out.
And then it was just us.
Hyerin didn't look at me right away. She gathered her things with practiced calm, but I saw the tension in her shoulders.
"Say it," she said after a long moment. "Whatever you're thinking."
I stepped toward her, leaning a hand against the table beside her.
"I'm thinking…" I said slowly, "that for someone who keeps claiming she doesn't belong here, you handled yourself like someone who's already part of this world."
She looked up, surprised.
"You didn't need me to step in," I added. "Not once."
She stared at me for a beat, like she wasn't sure whether to be proud or suspicious.
"Are you testing me?"
I smiled faintly. "Always."
She sighed. "You could've helped."
"I could have. But I wanted to see what you'd do without me."
She stood then, slowly, the chair scraping against the polished floor.
"You're exhausting, you know that?"
I smirked. "And yet you're still here."
She rolled her eyes, moving to the door.
But just before she opened it, I said softly, "You're doing better than you think, Hyerin."
She stopped.
And for a moment, she didn't move.
Then—softly—"Thanks."
She didn't turn around. Just opened the door and stepped into the hallway.
But her shoulders weren't tense anymore.
And that?
That was enough for today.
The hallways were colder than usual.
Or maybe that was just the way people looked at her now.
By the time lunch rolled around, Hyerin had already heard three whispers about her promotion—none of them kind. Her presence beside me was enough to cast a target on her back, but now that she wore the badge, now that she had spoken in that council room like she belonged… the student body had turned its gaze.
She sat with her tray across from me, her eyes downcast as she stirred the rice she hadn't touched. I watched her without saying anything, waiting.
"I didn't think it would feel like this," she said finally, voice quiet.
"Like what?"
"Like I've stepped on something sacred."
I smiled faintly. "You did."
She looked up, eyebrows furrowed.
"Power," I said. "Especially power you didn't inherit, makes people uncomfortable."
"I didn't take anything from anyone."
"You didn't need to. Your existence was enough."
Across the cafeteria, I saw Gaeun seated at another table, surrounded by girls who used to speak to me with perfect smiles. She didn't look over once. She didn't need to. I knew the storm was already building.
"Nari and Jiwon were quieter today," Hyerin murmured. "Did something happen?"
"They're recalibrating," I said, sipping from my tea. "Trying to figure out whether you're a passing phase… or a permanent fixture."
"And what am I?"
I looked at her, gaze steady. "That depends on you."
She sighed, finally picking up her chopsticks. "No pressure, right?"
"You'll get used to it."
She shook her head but didn't push the conversation further. I didn't miss the way her fingers tightened when someone walked past and whispered her name under their breath.
Later that day, as we walked together through the east corridor, we passed a group of third-years lounging by the vending machines.
One of them—a girl I remembered from last year's mock trial failures—leaned in as we passed.
"Vice President Yeon," she said sweetly, "how does it feel to be Yoon Saehwa's favorite toy?"
Hyerin stopped walking.
The hallway grew still.
I kept walking for two more steps before pausing, then turning slowly.
The girl smiled like it was a joke. Like it was harmless.
Hyerin didn't say a word. She just stared.
I glanced at her, then back at the girl. "Repeat it."
The girl blinked. "It was a joke—"
"I didn't laugh."
Her friends tensed.
I stepped closer, just once. "Be careful with your jokes. Especially in hallways like this."
The girl faltered, her confidence draining.
I didn't look back as I walked away. But I knew they wouldn't say another word.
Hyerin walked beside me again, slower now.
"You didn't have to do that," she said eventually.
"I know."
"I could've said something myself."
"I know."
She looked at me, unsure whether to be frustrated or grateful.
But in the end, she didn't say anything else.
Because no matter how many sharp smiles came her way, or how many whispers tried to slice at her—
I was the blade they couldn't touch.