—To choose between safety and the unknown.
The college entrance exam is approaching.
An untouched practice exam booklet lay open before him—pristine, unnecessary.
He already knew the answers.
He always did.
Top of the class. First in every mock test. By all accounts, he should have felt secure.
But the countdown mocked him.
The digits on Shawn's phone pulsed like a dying star—each flicker a heartbeat, each second a sharp tick in his mind like a cracked metronome.
2031.07.01 | 28D:016:11:27.
Twenty-eight days.
And still, no leads on the remaining Arcane Cores.
Bzzzzt.
The vibration sliced through the silence like a blade across paper. A message from Mr. King:
> "Any progress with Chairman Da? CP-Hub's archives might have records on the Arcane Core. But be careful—they don't help outsiders."
Shawn's fingers hovered over the screen, then slowly set the phone down with a muted clack.
Chairman Da wasn't just anyone—he was the axis around which power turned, the man who dictated the nation's rhythm with a nod or a silence.
Meeting him would take time.
And time was a luxury Shawn didn't have.
Then, there were the watchers.
He didn't need eyes to feel them.
A subtle buzz above—like mosquitoes but colder. Surveillance drones, masked as crows, their feathered wings humming with synthetic precision.
The same matte-black sedan parked across his apartment three nights in a row, windows dark as obsidian.
And the café barista—too attentive, too still—his gaze lingering like a shadow that wouldn't move.
Not O.S.S.—they were too clean.
Not National Guards—too loud.
Then who?
The same kind of people who'd dragged him into that van under the full moon's gaze?
---
The morning bell shrieked through the sleepy classroom, a metallic scream that scraped down spines and jerked heads upright.
Sunlight fractured through half-lowered blinds, striping golden beams across battered wooden desks.
Names and secrets etched deep into the surface—J+L, STAY FREE, SCREW MATH—confessions left by ghosts of students past.
Shawn traced a heart with his thumb, unfazed, as the last students shuffled in, bags dragging, yawns muffled.
BANG.
The classroom door slammed open like a thunderclap.
All heads snapped toward the noise.
Principal Vance stood framed in the doorway, breathless, tie askew, sweat beading at his temple. His hand gripped a cream-colored envelope sealed with crimson wax—the imperial phoenix of Capital University.
Silence.
"Shawn Carter," he called, voice tremoring with disbelief, "you've been selected as a special admit to Capital University's School of Philosophy."
The room inhaled sharply as one.
Vance cleared his throat, barely suppressing a tremor. "This is… unprecedented. The letter arrived this morning. Signed by Dean Lucian Voss himself. They've waived all exams. You are to report to the capital immediately."
Then came the whispers—fast, sharp, like shuriken slicing through the air:
"Capital University? That's impossible."
"No one from here's ever even—"
"What the hell did he do?"
"His parents must be loaded—"
"Wasn't his grandfather Black Faction during the Purge?"
Shawn didn't move. His face was stone.
But two seats away, Julie's manicured nails dug half-moons into her workbook. Dan clenched the desk edge so hard his knuckles turned bone-white, his varsity jacket straining at the seams.
Principal Vance looked at Shawn, eyes pleading for some response. Gratitude. Shock. Anything.
Shawn leaned back in his seat, arms crossed.
"I refuse."
The air turned electric.
Principal Vance blinked. "What?"
"I'm applying to Sunzen University's Philosophy Department," Shawn said, voice calm as water.
A second of stunned stillness—
Then:
"You're insane!" Dan burst out, his desk rattling as he stood.
The principal turned pale. "Shawn, this is a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity—"
"I appreciate the offer," Shawn said evenly, "but my decision is final."
Teachers exchanged frantic looks. Someone gasped. Vance all but yanked Shawn into the hallway, shutting the door behind them with a solid thud.
"Do you understand what you're turning down?" he hissed. "Capital University is the pinnacle—connections, resources—"
"I know," Shawn said simply.
"Then why—?"
Shawn met his gaze, unwavering.
"Because I don't trust sudden generosity."
---
That Night
The study was dim, lit only by a paper lantern that swayed faintly in the breeze.
Sandalwood smoke curled like ghosts, clinging to the shelves stacked with relics: jade talismans, cracked scrolls, weapons that had tasted history. The scent was thick, old, almost holy.
Sandy sat polishing a dagger of green jade, the blade glinting under the warm light. His hands were steady; his eyes were not.
"It's suspicious," he said at last, his voice gravelly. "Capital University doesn't typically recruit high school students. Not even prodigies.
Shawn leaned against the bookshelf, arms folded. "Which means someone pulled strings."
"Or someone wants you close."
Sandy placed the dagger down with a soft click. The city hummed faintly outside, a low drone that reminded them the world moved on while something older stirred beneath their feet.
After a long silence, Sandy spoke again, voice lower:
"Still… you should go."
Shawn blinked. "To accept?"
"No," Sandy said, eyes glinting. "To find out who's holding the pen behind that invitation."
Shawn exhaled, a long, slow breath.
Nothing in this world came without a price.
And this one?
This one might just cost more than he was willing to pay.