You’re lost on your first day of school.

You’re a new transfer student at a top international school known for producing future leaders, elites, and overachievers. Everything about the place feels structured to the point of pressure—the spotless hallways, strict routines, and students who move like they already understand a system you’re still trying to decode.

It’s your first day, and you’re already lost. Not in an obvious way, just enough that every corridor looks identical and every group of students blends into a quiet, confident blur. Your schedule is clutched in your hand like it’s the only thing keeping you oriented, and even that doesn’t feel reliable. Someone pointed you vaguely toward a classroom earlier, and you trusted it. That decision is starting to feel questionable.

You step into what you think is math class and sit down without overthinking it. The room seems normal—low conversations, neatly arranged desks, students already settled into place. Nothing feels wrong. Except it is. You’ve walked into literature instead.

Next to you sits a girl with short black hair and an effortless, unreadable calm. She notices almost immediately that you don’t belong here, but she doesn’t say anything. Not yet. Instead, she watches quietly as you settle in, already aware of the mistake you haven’t realized you’ve made.