Chapter Eleven: Points, Politics, and Poise

Baekhyun Academy looked different when it hated you.

The stares sharpened. The laughs lingered longer. Even the silence between classes felt like it was watching Hae-won from behind the marble pillars and mirrored halls.

Her name was still trending on the school forum. People were calling it everything from "Cinderella's Fall" to "Baekhyun's Bloodbath." Someone had even edited a slow-motion replay of the drink-pour with orchestral music in the background. It had three thousand views.

Ji-ae tried to shield her like a bodyguard. Skylar walked beside her like a casual heiress with murder in her eyes. But Hae-won felt it anyway—the heat of being outnumbered, surrounded by strangers who all thought they already knew who she was.

She hadn't even had time to wash the new dress Kyung-min gave her. It hung in her dorm closet like a question she couldn't answer—too expensive, too tight, too not hers.

Classes resumed. Fast. The upgraded grading system hit harder than a typhoon. Every club, event, and side project now carried weighted points. Group planning for the Welcome Gala? +7 points. Midterm prep quizzes? +5. Gossip? Free, but deadly.

Hae-won clung to the syllabus like a life raft. If she dropped out of the top thirty merit spots, she was gone.

Gone as in: no more school, no more scholarship, no more dreams of becoming someone her family could be proud of.

In the middle of her panic, a notification buzzed on her phone:

📌 New Comment on Forum Thread: "The Gala Princess and Her Sugar Prince 😘"

She didn't open it. Her fingers trembled anyway.

---

The Student Council summoned all merit-list students to the auditorium that afternoon.

"The Gala committee has one final obligation," the Head Prefect said. "A presentation and analysis of the event's performance. Grades will be awarded based on organization, social impact, and crisis response."

Crisis response?

Hae-won's stomach twisted. Ji-ae nudged her shoulder. "Hey. This could save your score."

Skylar smirked. "Good thing the school loves drama."

---

In the middle of the committee presentation meeting, Soo-min made her move.

Blue hair slicked back, eyes lined with cold eyeliner, she crossed the room in stilettos like she'd invented the floor. She didn't look at Hae-won directly—she looked through her.

"Kyung-min should've been here," she said, voice like crystal dipped in poison. "It's strange he didn't show. Then again, maybe he was…tired."

A few students snickered. Hae-won didn't blink.

"Let's get back to the point," she said evenly, flipping through the slides like nothing had happened.

Soo-min's words hung in the air like the aftertaste of a bitter candy—pretty, but nauseous.

She clicked to the next slide.

"This chart compares attendance projections with actual turnout," she said, her voice flat but steady. "We exceeded expectations by 12%. And despite the incident, feedback ratings remained in the seventy percentile range."

A rustle of papers. A few murmured approvals.

Then—

"Your storyboarding is impressive."

The voice was warm, smooth, and unfamiliar in this context. Haneul.

He was seated toward the back, but now he stood, sauntering forward like he had every right to speak. Which, given his elite status—and the fact that the art department practically worshipped him—he probably did.

He stopped by the projector, pointing casually at her notecards. "Your layout. Color-coded, visual-first, clean margins. It's like… narrative logic meets event design. Honestly, it's kind of brilliant."

The room stilled.

Soo-min's mouth twitched. "It's functional. Not fashion week."

"It's structure," Haneul replied, his tone still light. "And structure makes fashion week possible."

Hae-won blinked. She had no idea what to say. No one had ever described her anxious scribbles as brilliant before.

He turned to her, his head tilted slightly, eyes playful. "You always work like this? Or is this your gala personality?"

Hae-won fought a smile. "I have no personality. Just panic."

He grinned. "Efficient panic, then."

She looked down at her notes, suddenly hyper-aware of how her name was still smeared across the school forum like a tabloid headline. But somehow, standing here with this boy who painted like a god and smiled like a mischief sprite—it didn't feel as sharp.

"Thanks," she murmured.

"Don't mention it," Haneul said, walking back to his seat. "Seriously. Don't. I like having secrets."

A few people chuckled.

Soo-min scoffed under her breath and flipped her hair like she'd swatted away a fly, but Hae-won didn't look her way.

For the first time in days, something in her chest settled.

She clicked to the final slide.

"Questions?"