His Faults

"Aren't those Goldleaf school uniforms?" one of the women on the bus asked.

Glancing at his red uniform, he sighed.

"My son attended that school years ago. That's something I regret. Did your brother agree to that? I bet he didn't," the woman added, shaking her head in pity.

"He is my son," the woman beside the boy in uniform corrected.

She had a youthful appearance, so no one thought she could be his mother.

"Don't frighten her," a middle-aged man interjected. "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."

The boy frowned. 'When did I give my mother a headache?'

After the bus came to a stop, his mother turned to him. "We're here."

His heart rate quickened. After a three-hour journey, he had arrived at the hell they called school.

The bus departed behind them as they stood staring at the huge gate with the painted characters: Goldleaf Advanced Secondary School and the motto: Education is to Learn.

He looked at the long brick fence, but all he saw were long trees almost a forest —no buildings in sight. He turned his resentful gaze to his mother, who led the way.

Beside the gate was a small house where an old man sat. Looking at him, he wondered how such an old man could be a guard for a school.

'Is he a gatekeeper? I doubt if he has strength to open the gate'

"Good morning," his mother politely greeted.

"Good morning," the guard replied.

The guard stared at him for a few seconds before turning back to her.

"This is my son. He is going to attend this school," she said joyfully.

"Fill your name here as a guest," 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. The school was so huge that they walked for about fifteen minutes and still couldn't find the office.

He only saw mansions, but they didn't seem like offices—maybe teacher accommodations? Farms, gardens, sheds.

He hated to admit it, but the deeper they went, the more he noticed how beautiful the school was inside.

Soon, they came upon some old-fashioned buildings that he could tell were the offices. 'How old is this school?'

"So fragile," he heard someone mock from nearby as they walked down the corridor. "What's he even doing here?"

Another student chuckled. "I think he was deceived about how this school works."

"Let's bet on how long he'll survive here."

The more he listened, the faster his heart raced. He'd already heard how hellish this place was, but hearing it firsthand, he wished he could disappear.

He raised his eyes to his mother. It had been his parents' idea to drag him here, and they'd done everything they could to ensure it happened, no matter how hard he tried to resist.

"Got some looks, though. What a pity. If he's here, it means he's a devil. What could he have done? Thief?"

Ignoring their remarks, he made his way to the director's office. Inside was a middle-aged man with extra fat and a bald head, typing on a laptop with a frown.

"Your full name?" the director asked, not looking up.

"Christan… Christan Vance," his mother answered.

The director turned his gaze to her and then to him. "I'm asking you."

'But you heard her'

"Christan Vance."

"Unnecessary things like those headphones will need to go back with you. We wrote these instructions in the joining form," the director said, his eyes narrowing. "I don't think the school you came from allowed headphones in class."

"Yes, I read them. Don't worry, I'll take them back with me," his mother assured him. "Listen to your teachers and behave. I'll keep them safe for you at home."

'How will I survive without my headphones?' The other schools he was before weren't a boarding school so he thought he could bring them. Unsatisfied, he handed his headphones to his mother.

"His hair… We said short hair," the director said, eyeing Christan's long auburn ponytail.

'But you say this school was for delinquents. I wanted to match the atmosphere'

His mother glanced at him and sighed helplessly.

After completing the paperwork, the director handed him a card and allowed him to leave and finish the remaining admission steps in the next office.

"Christan's mother, you have to say goodbye here. The rest of the process requires only him."

"Ah, okay. Thank you."

They walked out of the office. It was time for her to say goodbye.

"This is the sixth school you've moved to," his mother said through gritted teeth. "I hope you won't ruin it before getting your certificate. No matter what, you have to graduate." She told him with determined and encouraging eyes

"You know it was never my fault," Christan camly told her.

"You're right. It was my fault for ignoring everything and realizing too late. Now, no school accepted you except this one. So…" She grabbed his hand and, almost begging, said, "Get your certificate, okay? That's all I ask. Make sure you don't get expelled."

He watched his mother with a pained expression. "You were supposed to be worried. Fine, I'll get it for you. As long you won't regret this."

He turned and, with his suitcase in hand, headed to complete the remaining admission steps.