The days after the Gala passed in slow, syrupy tension. Everyone walked a little quieter, whispered a little softer. As if the walls were listening.
Because maybe they were.
The rumor moved like breath through the halls: someone had tampered with the surveillance system.
Not shut it down completely—just enough to blur a few hours near the East Garden. Enough to spark a full assembly, an anonymous disciplinary notice, and a dozen anxious glances.
And then, nothing.
No expulsions. No public punishment. Only silence.
Which, at Baekhyun, was more damning than any detention.
But Hae-won heard it for herself—two third-years talking near the vending machines.
"It was just a bunch of spoiled kids trying to drink by the koi pond," one whispered.
"My brother said they wanted to throw a 'freedom rave,'" the other snorted. "Idiots blurred the cameras too well. Made it look like a security breach."
By the next week, the tension had shifted. Students started sleeping easier. Teachers stopped snapping. The mystery became a footnote—just another Baekhyun secret tucked neatly away.
The merit dorm softened too.
---
"I added cardamom this time," Na-ri announced, sliding a golden sponge cake onto the counter like it was treasure.
"You're showing off again," Ji-ae said, poking at it suspiciously.
"No," Tae-yul muttered from the couch, "she's hiding the fact that she can't do taxes."
Bo-ram flipped the knife in her hand. "We all have our coping mechanisms."
It was late afternoon, the kind of soft golden hour that made the kitchen feel warmer than usual. A slow jazz playlist played low from Na-ri's phone. The windows were fogged from oven heat and laughter.
This wasn't an assignment.
This was indulgence.
They had each peeled off their school blazers and sat cross-legged on the floor around the coffee table, cake slices balanced on mismatched plates.
"Skylar sent a new meme," Hae-won said, scrolling her phone. "It's… oddly specific. Something about throwing a whole school down a spiral staircase."
"That one's about us," Ji-ae said, licking frosting from her fork. "She called us the Spiral Six last night."
"Please tell me I'm the head of PR," Bo-ram added. "I have threats saved in my Notes app."
Tae-yul leaned over to Hae-won, voice quieter. "You okay?"
She nodded. "I think I'm getting used to this."
To the dorm.
To the rhythm of this strange, private island inside Baekhyun.
To people who didn't expect her to prove she belonged.
She thought of her parents—the way they answered her calls with too much brightness in their voices, how they told everyone at their restaurant that she was doing well, very well.
They would do anything for me.
And she would make it worth it.
---
Later that night, Hae-won stayed behind to clean. Ji-ae wandered back into the kitchen after disappearing into her room, her cardigan slung loose over one shoulder and a cup of tea in hand.
They didn't talk at first—just the hum of the fridge and the soft scrape of Hae-won rinsing dishes.
"You know," Ji-ae said finally, leaning her hip against the counter, "we're not that different."
Hae-won glanced at her. "You and me?"
"I mean… we both know what it's like to walk into a room and feel like the ceiling might cave in if you say the wrong thing."
Hae-won arched a brow. "That's dramatic."
"It's Baekhyun," Ji-ae said. "Dramatic is survival."
They both laughed softly, but Ji-ae's smile faltered just a bit. She swirled her tea and stared into it like it might tell her something.
"I just think you're brave," she said after a pause. "Like, the kind of brave that doesn't look for credit. You're… quiet about it. But it's there."
Hae-won didn't know what to say to that. She felt a flicker of something—gratitude? Guilt?
Ji-ae went on, lighter now. "I mean, you're not flawless. You snore like a chainsaw."
Hae-won rolled her eyes. "I do not."
"You absolutely do. It's endearing. You're a menace."
"Thanks?"
"But seriously…" Ji-ae turned, eyes softer. "If things ever get weird—or too much—you can talk to me. Always."
Hae-won looked at her. "I will."
A beat.
"Unless it's about calculus," Ji-ae added. "I'll let you die."
Hae-won laughed, loud and unexpected. It echoed a little in the kitchen.
And just like that, the moment passed.
But it left behind a kind of comfort that felt real. Real enough to believe in.
Even if it wouldn't last forever.