Within the first week, the name Seo Raon spread like wildfire across the school.
He wasn't just smart—he was impossible.
During math class, he solved high school-level equations faster than the teacher could write them. In music, he played piano with flawless precision after hearing a song once. When asked to write an essay on family values, he delivered a heartfelt, tear-jerking piece that made two teachers cry.
And he did it all with a warm smile.
Principal Nam watched the boy from behind his office window, eyes narrowed. "He's… only a child," he muttered. "And yet…"
On the surface, Raon remained humble.
"Thank you," he'd say politely. "I just try my best."
Underneath, he was observing everything. Everyone.
The teacher favors flattery. The principal fears incompetence. Classmates compete for praise—they can be divided.
At home, he reviewed security footage of the school—hacked from a nearby traffic cam network. Not because he was paranoid.
But because he never left things to chance.
He was designing a persona the world couldn't help but love: the perfect student, perfect child, perfect human.
And it was working.
He began receiving invitations to national competitions. Education researchers contacted the school. A viral clip of him solving a university-level logic problem hit over a million views in three days.
"Meet Korea's Youngest Genius: Seo Raon."
He printed the headline and pinned it to his bedroom wall—not out of pride, but as data. Proof that the mask was holding. The plan was working.
Still, he felt it. The pressure. The minor imperfections. The invisible cracks in the illusion.
Sometimes, a classmate stared too long.
Sometimes, his smile didn't feel quite right.
He ran simulations in his mind—what if someone looked deeper? What if someone remembered the truth?
But no one did.
Not yet.
That night, Seo Raon stood in front of the mirror. The same face. The same flawless reflection. And for just a second, he let the smile drop.
His real expression—cold, empty, calculating—stared back.
"I am the lie you all chose to believe," he whispered. "And when the truth comes out…"
He traced a finger down the mirror's surface.
"…you'll wish you never met me."
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