Back To School?

Yihan was just about finished with his breakfast when his father spoke.

"It's about time you resumed school."

The words were delivered with that same cold, matter-of-fact tone the man always used, as if he were announcing a stock market shift rather than something that directly affected Yihan's life.

Yihan paused, chewing the last bit of toast, before swallowing it down.

School.

Right.

He had completely forgotten about that little detail.

Before he could say anything, though, his mother's voice cut through the air, sharp but laced with concern.

"No."

The sheer finality in her tone made everyone still.

Yihan glanced at her, raising an eyebrow.

His mother rarely spoke during meals, always poised and graceful, the picture of a perfect high-class wife. But now? There was an edge to her voice, something steely beneath the usual softness.

"He's still recovering."

"I'm fine," Yihan said, returning his attention back to his food.

But his mother wasn't speaking to him. She was focused entirely on her husband, eyes sharp with quiet resistance.

"He just lost his memory," she continued, as if Yihan hadn't spoken. "Throwing him back into school so soon—into that environment—is reckless."

That last word lingered in the air like a challenge.

His father merely set his coffee cup down with an air of practiced indifference. "The sooner he returns, the sooner he regains his normal routine. He's already been absent long enough."

His mother let out a breath, slow and measured. "Wouldn't it be better to transfer him? A fresh start somewhere new?"

That made Yihan pause.

Transfer?

His fork hovered over his plate, a piece of bacon speared at the tip.

That was…interesting.

But his father barely even considered it. He shook his head, gaze firm. "Unnecessary."

His mother's fingers curled subtly against the edge of the table.

"Unnecessary?" she repeated, a note of incredulity slipping into her voice.

Oh.

Yihan wasn't an expert on their family dynamics, but even he could tell an argument was about to break out.

He had no idea what kind of school the original Yihan had attended, but judging by his mother's reaction, it wasn't exactly pleasant.

Which raised the question—

How bad could it be?

The father straightened in his chair, his entire posture radiating authority. "He is already enrolled in one of the top institutions in the country. There is no reason to remove him."

"His well-being is reason enough."

"He will adapt."

The tension in the air grew sharper, heavier.

Yihan sighed internally.

He really wasn't in the mood to listen to rich-people drama first thing in the morning.

So before they could keep going back and forth, he cut in.

"I'll go."

The room stilled.

His mother turned to him, her expression shifting from frustration to something…softer. Almost pitying.

That was not a good sign.

She studied him for a long moment, and Yihan swore there was something else in her gaze—something deeper than just concern.

It almost felt like guilt.

As if sending him back to that school was the worst possible thing that could happen.

Well, that's comforting.

But whatever emotional war she was having inside her head, she kept it to herself.

Instead, she exhaled slowly, her lips pressing into a thin line. "Alright."

His father nodded, satisfied. "You'll start next week. If you understand, then that settles it," he said briskly, standing up. He straightened his cufflinks, dismissing the conversation as if it had been nothing more than a passing comment. "You'll return to school on Monday."

And with that, he walked out.

Yihan leaned back in his chair, expression unreadable.

His mother lingered for a moment, hesitant, before finally rising as well. She gave him one last look—soft, worried, full of something unspoken—before following his father.

The door closed behind her.

Yihan exhaled slowly, dragging a hand down his face.

Well.

That was… interesting.

Clearly, something was up with this school.

But what?

From the way his mother reacted, you would think it was some kind of prison disguised as an educational institution.

Was it just strict? Elite? Full of assholes?

Maybe all three.

He glanced at the plate in front of him, no longer interested in the last bits of food.

A part of him was tempted to ask the staff, but judging by the way they all refused to meet his gaze, he doubted they would spill anything.

But how bad could this school possibly be thou?

He had survived two years of unemployment, countless rejection letters, and a life filled with disappointment. Whatever this school was, it couldn't be worse than that, right?

Right?