With her ears covered with her little hands while the children are whispering among themselves, if Ophelia didn't know Ranran from the projector she watched the other day, Ophelia is certain she could've mistaken the 3-year-old as autistic.

This is unusually clever, she thought, a slight smirk tugging at her lips.

"I want orange juice!" Ranran acted in front of Mr Alex.

Now, Alexander Shadowmere Wilde is the headmaster of Edgewood, but the youngster always called him 'baldie', since he has no hair. Unlike the rest of the headmasters before him, he had patience with children. A point proven, when during the pre-schooler interview, if there was a child nervous to a point he or she burst into tears, the man will pass to them a box of orange juice from his table that was meant for the other adults.

Alexander Wilde, the patient and calm headmaster, didn't immediately respond with irritation. Instead, he sighed and placed a hand on his chin, his eyes scanning the young girl's behavior with a practiced gaze. He knew this tactic well.

"Orange juice, you say?" Mr. Wilde said, his tone soft but firm, "Alright, here you go."

Mr. Wilde calmly reached over to the small table beside him, where a carton of orange juice was already prepared for such moments. He pulled it out and opened it with the ease of someone who had dealt with similar situations many times before.

"Here," he said, pouring a small amount into a plastic cup. His movements were deliberate, but his eyes never strayed far from Ranran.

Ranran looked at the orange juice, her hands still over her ears, then slowly removed them and placed them at her sides. She looked up at the headmaster, then down at the cup, her small fingers hovering near the edge as though uncertain whether to take it. For a moment, Ophelia thought she might finally relent, but Ranran simply picked up the box and, with a defiant flick of her eyes, took a sip without any acknowledgment of the adult standing before her.

Her eyes briefly flickered over to the other children in the room, who were still whispering amongst themselves, watching the interaction like an unspoken spectacle. She was playing them, Ophelia thought. Every move, every glance, was part of a calculated performance.

"Mr Yoichi-or Kudo, since that is your surname," The headmaster called out to the little girl's father, "It's been almost an hour, and....I don't think your daughter is faking her autism."

"O-One hour!?"

Ophelia could hardly believe what she was hearing. An hour? The child had managed to carry out this elaborate ruse for an entire hour without giving up?

When she just started out in Edgewood and dropped by to see the K-Pop audition at the school's theatre house where her former bestie was at that time, she witness a child's play that was taking place not far from the K-Pop audition area.

To her surprise, she spotted a group of people, which she assumed are tv crews, as they are directing heavy bulky looking cameras onto the children on stage, while the adult on a supposedly 'director's chair' is busy yelling at the children on stage, who in Ophelia's mind is around 3-5 year old, "Children, get your act together!" the director had shouted, frustration evident in his voice as he motioned for the children to get back into their positions.

And during that period when they were being yelled upon, the children were utterly too terrified to act that they started to burst into tears while whining, "We acted for 20 minutes!"

Ophelia couldn't help but draw a mental comparison between the two situations. The children she had seen at the theater were overwhelmed by the pressure of performing for just 20 minutes, reduced to tears by the demanding director.

But Ranran? This three-year-old had endured an hour-long standoff, surrounded by adults scrutinizing her every move, and she hadn't even flinched. Instead, she was defiant, strategic, and entirely unshaken.

The funniest part out of all of this, was that her father is yelling at Ranran, "Ranran! What did I tell you about acting autistic!? Drop it!"

By this point, Ophelia had to bite the inside of her cheek to stop herself from laughing out loud at the absurdity of the scene. The contrast between the father's desperate attempts to prove the teachers and headmaster alike that she was faking it, adding in the borderline-panicked yelling and Ranran's calm, almost regal defiance was something straight out of a comedy skit.

Even the Boy in the Deer mask who is watching all of this from his bedroom through his PC is struggling to stifle his laughter. Ophelia could imagine him leaning back in his chair, his trademark smirk playing on his lips as he watched the chaos unfold. "This is better than the soap operas they air at dinner time," she could almost hear him say.

"Mr. Kudo, I understand your concerns, but we need to approach this from a professional standpoint. Your daughter's behavior aligns with traits commonly associated with autism spectrum disorder. She's not acting this way to defy you or anyone else; this is who she is."

"Sir, my daughter is literally not an autistic!" Again, the poor unfortunate father was having a hard time convincing to everyone that his daughter was obviously lying.

"Listen, as you can see here," Alexander introduced the other man sitting on the chair, Ophelia's father, with his laptop on his lap while he was observing the little girl quietly, "Mr Raphel Graves here is a qualified child psychologist. He has spent years studying and working with children, including those on the autism spectrum," Alexander continued, gesturing toward the man in question.

Ophelia watched her adopted father being calm and composed, his sharp gaze fixed on Ranran with an intensity that only a trained professional could muster.

I wonder if father notice her lies.

"I ain't too sure about that, Mr Alexander," Raphael adjusted his glasses and cleared his throat as he began in a measured tone, "Now, autism itself is difficult to definitively diagnose in a single setting, particularly with someone as young as Ranran. However," he paused, his gaze flickering to the girl, who was now playing with the straw of the orange juice box with a kind of absentminded focus, "her behavior presents certain nuances that could align with traits observed in autistic children. The covering of her ears amidst overwhelming stimuli, for example, is not uncommon."

"But she's lying!" Mr. Kudo interrupted, his frustration boiling over. "She only started acting like this after the school interview! Before that, she was fine! She's just doing this because she just want to sit in front of the TV watching cartoons!"

"Yeah, but it has been almost an hour," Raphael remained unfazed by the outburst, leaning back in his chair as though he had heard similar arguments a thousand times. "It's ok if you can't accept that your daughter is autistic, Mr Kudo, we have this conversation with many other parents before you."

Ranran, apparently uninterested in the discussion about her, was now folding the wrapper of the straw into tiny squares, her small hands moving with precise intent. To Ophelia, it was as if she were quietly sending a message: Talk all you want. I'm not bothered.

"Unless you have other ways to prove that your daughter is faking this entire charade, we can't enrol her here."

The Boy who is in his bedroom laughing at the sight suddenly suddenly froze. His laughter died in his throat as the weight of Alexander Wilde's words settled in the air.

Right, he can't be too distracted over this matter.

With his smartphone, he made one phone call.

Suddenly, in the monitor, the CCTV footage showed the sharp ringtone cut through the tense atmosphere in the room, startling everyone momentarily. Alexander Wilde calmly reached into his coat pocket and pulled out his phone. Glancing at the screen, his brow furrowed in confusion at the unknown number.

"Excuse me," he said politely, standing and moving a few steps away before answering. "This is Alexander Wilde speaking."

The room fell silent, with Mr. Kudo looking more agitated and Ophelia watching intently, her curiosity piqued. Ranran continued playing with the straw wrapper, seemingly oblivious to the situation unfolding around her.

On the other end of the line, the boy in the deer mask leaned back in his chair, his voice smooth and steady. "Mr Alex, it's me."

Recognizing the voice, his brows shot up at the voice of his God son, "Chr-"

"Don't say my real name out loud."

Alexander Wilde stopped mid-sentence, his lips pressing into a thin line. His sharp gaze flicked briefly to the others in the room before turning away, his hand shielding his phone as though to guard the conversation. "I did as you said about her, but she is autistic no matter how hard I look at it!" he said evenly.

"She's not autistic," the voice on the other end of the call replied, calm but firm. "But there is a way to expose her."

Alexander's frown deepened. He glanced at Ranran, who was now carefully balancing the folded straw wrapper on the edge of the table. "As long as this move doesn't involve wasting our precious time here, I will go for it."

"Oh no, time is nothing." The Boy reassured the headmaster, "But as for the price....it may get pricey."

"You'd better not be suggesting anything outrageous. This is a school, not some reality show."

"You may have to," The little boy insists, "Because only then, you will see her real-self."

Alexander pinched the bridge of his nose. "And what exactly do you suggest?"

"Simple," the boy replied smoothly. "You pull Ranran's father over, then tell him this quietly......"

Alexander Wilde tightened his grip on the phone, his eyes narrowing as he listened to the boy's suggestion. His posture stiffened, though his expression remained neutral. He glanced at Mr. Kudo, who was pacing the room in frustration, and then at Ranran, still fully absorbed in her straw wrapper project.

"That's... unconventional," Alexander murmured into the phone, his tone low enough that no one else could hear. "Are you certain it will work?"

"As talented as a child is, toddlers in general are impulsive. And Ranran is no different," the boy in the deer mask replied confidently.

Alexander exhaled slowly, clearly weighing his options. After a moment, he gave a curt nod, as though the person on the other end of the line could see him. "Fine. But if this backfires, it is going to cost tons of money."

"Deal," the boy replied, his voice tinged with amusement. "Now, go ahead. I'll be watching."

With his professional demeanor firmly in place, he turned to Mr. Kudo, his face unreadable.

"Mr. Kudo," he said calmly, gesturing for the man to step aside. "A word, please."

The father hesitated but complied, his frustration still evident. They moved a few feet away, far enough that their conversation wouldn't be overheard by Ophelia or the others in the room.

Alexander leaned in slightly, lowering his voice. "This might sound odd, but.....do you happen to have a gaming laptop in your car?"

The other male blinked, utterly baffled by the question before answering, "I do, but I didn't tell anyone about it yet. Why?"

"I need you to do something for me....."

After instructing everything, the man blinked, his expression a mixture of confusion and disbelief. "That is expensive—"

"The school will pay for it if anything happen, just trust me on this," Alexander interrupted firmly.

The father's hesitation was evident as he glanced toward Ranran, who was now doodling on the back of a napkin with the straw wrapper resting neatly beside her. Her tiny frame exuded an eerie calmness, completely at odds with the tension thickening in the room.

"Alright," he finally said, exhaling deeply. "But if this doesn't work, you'll owe me a brand new laptop, cause I didn't have it cheap."

...............................................................................................................

A few minutes later, the man returned with a box with the laptop packaging in hand, indicating that it has yet to be opened.

Alexander gestured for him to place the laptop on the small table in the center of the classroom, while the children erupted in awe while whispering among themselves.

Since Edgewood Academy is a school for students of aristocrats, gaming laptops are also considered to be an extravagant yet somewhat acceptable accessory, a luxury item that blended into their world of privilege. The children whispered among themselves in hushed tones, their curiosity piqued by the sight of the unopened box.

For many of them, it wasn't just a device—it was a symbol of status and indulgence.

Alexander Wilde, however, was unmoved by their chatter. Neither was Raphael the school psychologist. Though Ophelia who is standing outside the classroom watching all of this wondering what is going to happen next.

Meanwhile, Ranran was still busy having her focus onto the orange juice box, poking the straw into the top repeatedly as if testing its structural integrity. She seemed completely detached from the growing commotion around her, an island of tranquility amidst the sea of whispers and stolen glances.

Alexander glanced at her briefly, his expression unreadable, before turning back to the father. "Now, Mr. Kudo," he said in a measured tone, "Do I told you to do."

Clearing his throat, he called out to his daughter, "Ranran, you want to see what I got for you?"

Ranran paused her meticulous straw-poking, her small hand freezing mid-motion. Her gaze flicked up briefly toward her father, then toward the box on the table.

Almost instantly, she was able to recognize the picture of the laptop on the packaging.

"This is supposed to be your congratulation gift if you had passed the Edgewood school interview. Even though you have failed, your mother and I agreed we should gift it to you since you put in your effort. However, should you continue to act autistic as you do now, Mr Alex, take the thing."

With a nod to Ranran's father, the headmaster left, and to the shock and horror of the Edgewood children in the classroom, he returned with a sledge hammer.

The aristocratic children, unaccustomed to such dramatic displays, exchanged wide-eyed glances, their earlier whispers of awe now replaced with an undercurrent of unease.

Ranran's gaze moved from her father to Alexander, her expression still unreadable, though her fingers clenched slightly around the juice box. The faintest flicker of something—curiosity, perhaps—crossed her face, but she remained silent, her small frame unmoving.

One little boy face grew paled. "Wait, what are you doing?!" he demanded, his voice rising. "That's an expensive laptop!"

"Don't do it, Mr Alex! Please stop!!!" Another boy look as though he is about to faint.

"Oh no! This is the worst horror movie ever!!!!!"

To those kids who are not gamers in Edgewood, they merely rolled their eyes.

But to those who are into gaming, the sight of a sledgehammer approaching a pristine, high-end laptop was nothing short of sacrilege. The gasps from the gaming-oriented children were audible, and a few of them even stepped back, their faces contorted in disbelief, as if witnessing a car crash in slow motion.

"Please don't!" one boy, a notorious gamer, shouted, his voice cracking with a mix of shock and desperation. "It's—it's a rare model, you can't just destroy it like that!"

"I can, it is through our family money," Ranran father replied calmly before noticing his daughter's face is about to contort in horror, since he knew she love video gaming, "Your mother and I have spoken, as well as the headmaster. If you don't admit that you are faking all of this, this laptop is going to go!"

"Hey, that man can't be serious, right!?" One turned to the other child.

"No, judging from the hammer, he is DEAD SERIOUS!!!"

"Hey, if you are acting autistic, just stop! Think for the laptop for God sakes!!" One little boy could be even heard yelling at Ranran.

Her gaze flickered from her father, who stood with a cold, determined expression, to the sledgehammer that loomed above the laptop like an executioner's tool. She remained silent, her face an unreadable mask, though her body language betrayed her unease. A slight tremor passed through her hands, but she didn't speak.

"Stop!" another voice rang out from the back of the room. It was a girl, her face pale with worry, clutching the edge of her seat as if preparing to run. "Isn't this considered destroying public property!?"

Her question hung in the air, and the tension thickened. The room fell into a tense, suffocating quiet. Even the children who had been nonchalantly observing the scene now seemed to feel the weight of the moment. It was as if they were all holding their breath, waiting for something—anything—to happen.

"No it's not, and I will tell you why," Alexander Wilde, standing firm, didn't flinch. "One, her father and I mutually agreed about this, two, this laptop belongs to the family, not Edgewood." he said calmly, his voice cutting through the murmur of voices. "Unless she fesses up, this laptop is not going to have an owner!"

The room went utterly still at Alexander's words, and the children exchanged nervous glances, their eyes flicking back and forth between Ranran, her father, and the sledgehammer. The fear in the air was palpable, as if they were watching a twisted reality show unfold before their eyes. The whispering stopped, replaced by an intense silence, broken only by the faint tapping of Ranran's fingers against the juice box in her hand.

Ranran's father, standing tall with his arms crossed, gave the room a hard stare, his expression unwavering. "You heard him," he said, his voice low and stern. "This isn't a game."

A few more children exchanged glances, their faces pale. The boy who had spoken up earlier, trying to convince Ranran to stop faking, now seemed to regret his outburst, his wide eyes glued to the sledgehammer that hovered just inches away from the laptop.

"I... I can't watch this," one of the girls whispered, her voice shaky as she clutched the back of her chair.

"When I count to 3," Her father gave a nod to Mr Alex as he raised the hammer, "1."

The room was frozen in time, the tension thick enough to cut through. Every eye was on the hammer, raised and ready to bring down the force of destruction. The children, some pale, some trembling, all seemed to brace for what would come next.

"2," Ranran's father continued, his voice stern and unwavering.

The faintest movement from Ranran, barely perceptible, made everyone hold their breath. Her fingers, still tightly gripping the juice box, twitched slightly. Her gaze remained fixed ahead, her expression a mask of calm indifference that unsettled more than it reassured.

"3," her father declared, his voice carrying the weight of finality.

The hammer swung.

For a split second, the world seemed to slow. The sound of the sledgehammer cutting through the air was deafening, louder than the collective heartbeat of the room.

Then, just as it was about to collide with the laptop, Ranran hurried jumped out of her seat and in a split second, rolled passed the hammer narrowly before making a grab of the laptop protectively.

The room erupted into shocked gasps as Ranran's small form darted across the classroom with a speed that belied her size. She moved with startling agility, her body slipping through the air like a blur, avoiding the hammer's descent by mere inches.

The sledgehammer's swing faltered, the heavy metal head crashing into the table with a resounding thud instead of the laptop's pristine surface. The children watched in a mixture of disbelief and awe, their wide eyes locked on Ranran as she cradled the laptop against her chest protectively.

Her breathing was steady, her fingers curled around the edges of the device like a lifeline. The cold steel of the hammer hung above her, the shock of her quick reaction reverberating in the room.

For a moment, there was complete silence, as if the entire world had stopped to process what had just happened.

Ranran's father stood frozen, the expression on his face unreadable. He had been prepared for the worst, expecting to see his daughter break down or be forced into submission, but what he witnessed instead was a defiant display of autonomy. He blinked, clearly taken aback by her sudden movement.

Alexander, too, stood still, his expression unreadable. There was no sign of anger or frustration—just a quiet, almost impressed acknowledgment of Ranran's decisiveness. His eyes flicked from her to her father, as if weighing the situation in the seconds that followed. "So what your father said is true, you are not autistic, you did intentionally fail the school interview!"

The children were shocked. They couldn't believe what they were seeing.

For one whole hour, when they witness how Ranran was behaving, they had all assumed she was a waste of space in Edgewood. The way she was behaving, it was clear cut obvious that she was a 'stupid child'.

Yet, in this singular moment, Ranran had proven otherwise.

An idiot would not understand, let alone, even bother to save the laptop.

The classroom seemed to shrink around them as the children processed the truth that had just been revealed. The murmurs started as tentative whispers and then grew louder, as if everyone was trying to piece together the sudden shift in perception.

The headmaster who was still frozen in place, lowered the sledgehammer slowly. His gaze never left Ranran, his eyes filled with shocked.

"You see? I told you she was faking the entire thing!" Her father now turned to the headmaster with a huff.

"I-I-think I can see that now." The bald headed headmaster faltered, his words stumbling as he tried to comprehend the scene in front of him. The sledgehammer, now resting heavily at his side, seemed out of place in the otherwise sterile, polished atmosphere of the school. The tension in the room still simmered, but it was a different kind of tension now—one that was fueled not by fear, but by the weight of the truth just revealed.

The children in the classroom looked between Ranran and her father, their eyes wide with astonishment. The dynamic had shifted from a moment of potential destruction to one of revelation, and none of them seemed entirely sure how to process it.

"Why?" A child, a little girl, still unsure of what she had witnessed, spoke up again, her voice barely a whisper. "Why would you do that? Why would you... pretend to fail?"

Ranran's gaze flickered toward the girl, but her lips remained sealed. She didn't offer an explanation, didn't try to justify her actions. Instead, she simply stood there, still holding the laptop tightly to her chest, her expression as unreadable as ever.

Her father, clearly frustrated by the lack of an immediate response, opened his mouth to speak again, but Alexander raised a hand, halting him.

"Ok, you have proven your point. Your daughter is clearly not autistic as she....acted herself to be." The headmaster voice laced with frustration, though not as forceful as it had been before. "What the school will do in a couple of days given how....things had panned out is.....we will arrange another school interview. And this time....the conditions will be different," the headmaster continued, his voice tinged with both irritation and reluctant respect. He paused for a moment, gathering his thoughts before speaking again, "We will give her the chance to prove herself—on her own terms this time."

"But....what if she purposefully fail it again? It's pointless." One little girl huffed.

"Oh, I wouldn't worry about that," Raphael interjected, as the school psychologist announce the upcoming plans, "There are many other ways to ensure even if she tried to lie, this time....there is no way out for her anymore."

A murmur spread through the class, some still unsure whether Ranran could succeed or if she would once again choose to "fail" on her own terms.

"Ranran, do you have anything else to say?" Her father sternly pointed the child straight to the headmaster and school psychologist.

For a moment, she said nothing. After a while, she replied, "I am sorry for wasting your time?"

"Not that!" Her father snarled.

Rolling her eyes, she goes, "I am sorry for the additional time I am about to waste onto these two?"

"Ranran!"

"Fine!" Ranran once more sighed before announcing, "I am sorry for acting."

"No, it's 'I am sorry for lying'." The man scolded her.

"How am I lying?!"

"You are not autistic, Ranran!"

Ranran's eyes flickered briefly, her expression flickering between frustration and resignation as her father's words cut through the tension in the room. The children watched, some with growing discomfort, others with a mix of pity and curiosity, but all of them captivated by the unfolding exchange.

"But I didn't want to be here," Ranran retorted, her voice quiet, but sharp enough to carry across the room. "You and mama forced me."

"You don't get to play the victim here, Ranran. Whether you like it or not, even if we sent you to school 2 years during the requirement mandatory period, it probably would've remained the same for you anyway. So you might as well face the reality of it now," her father shot back, his voice hard with the weight of authority. "You will stop playing these games and stop using your so-called 'autism' as an excuse. It's time you took responsibility for your actions."

The silence that followed his words felt suffocating, as if the entire room held its breath in anticipation of Ranran's next response. She stood there, her expression unreadable, her grip still tight on the laptop, but there was a flicker in her eyes—an unspoken defiance and an inner conflict that wasn't entirely visible on the surface.

"You don't have to do homework everyday, so that is easy for you two to say anyway," Ranran finally muttered, the words slipping from her lips as if she had been holding them in for a long time.

Her father's face tightened, his expression sharpening into one of impatience. "There is more to life than cartoons and video gaming, Ranran," he said, his voice low but commanding. "You can't keep hiding yourself into it just because of homework!"

Ranran's eyes flickered toward the headmaster and Raphael, but there was no real interest in their presence. Her mind was elsewhere, still processing the argument with her father. The children in the room had fallen into a tense silence, unsure of what to make of this sudden shift in the conversation. Some of them, perhaps, had begun to see the cracks in the persona Ranran had created, but others remained confused, still grappling with the image of her as the quiet, seemingly "difficult" child.

"Then what is the point it anyway? Going to school? Just to get a job you hate and work to death? Or so one can bore oneself to death!? You can't even leave the classroom except during bathroom breaks! And no video gaming in the classroom!" Ranran muttered under her breath, though it was clear her words weren't entirely directed at her father. "And learn new things all for what? Grandfather work hard his whole life, but all he ever ended up is being sick in bed since, and never got to do whatever he wants!"

"Don't speak about your grandfather that way," her father snapped, his tone colder now, as if he were struggling to suppress something deeper. "He didn't live a life that miserable. Also, if he were awake, he would've wanted you to study here. It's for your own good."

"He'll never say that!" Ranran's gaze hardened as she clutched the laptop tighter against her chest. She wasn't interested in hearing the same lecture again, not when it felt like everything she did was met with the same dismissive, "it's for your own good" mentality. She had heard it all before.

It is always the no.1 biggest lie in a child's life.

She heard it when they tricked her to learn Japanese language by hiring a tuition teacher, which she later scared her away thanks to her schemes after seeing that the teacher kept giving her homework to do and got scolded when she decided not to do so, the second time was mannerisms , when they insisted she follow a rigid set of behaviors at the dinner table, pushing her to conform to a "perfect" image of politeness and discipline.

Well, that too was thrown out of the window when she took the knife during a food etiquette session and threw directly at the teacher. She didn't see the point of learning that, given that when they were living in the slums, even her grandfather said it ain't necessary to learn, as he told of her parents that she is 'still a child'.

Then again, this was before her rich estranged maternal great-grandmother appeared.

The third time, and perhaps the last time they tried to correct her, was maths.

Now, Ranran wasn't completely terrible when it came to maths. No, when she was around 2 at was able to walk properly, her grandmother made her do those kind of 'simple' jobs. At least this will keep the kid preoccupied while she is out serving customers in the restaurant.

A calculator worked wonders for Ranran's maths. But take that away, numbers felt like an alien language—complicated, incomprehensible, as if they were ready to set a trap on her to be scolded again.

Life didn't need to be about following rules and pretending to fit into a mold that didn't suit you.

Growing up in the slums, those rigid standards of behavior or education had never seemed necessary. Survival was what mattered back then—staying afloat amidst the chaos of their circumstances. Yet, after her estranged maternal great-grandmother had appeared, everything had changed.

Suddenly, without warning, she is constantly being told to do this or that. 

Being molded into something she wasn't.....she hates it.

Her father's expression darkened further, but before he could respond, Alexander spoke up again, his voice cutting through the tension. "Enough, both of you," he said, his tone firm but not unkind. "We're not here to engage in another argument. Ranran, your parents are trying to do what they think is best for you. Right now, you might not see it that way, but they're doing what they believe is necessary to give you a better future."

The little girl didn't respond immediately. She lowered her gaze, her fingers still clutching the edges of the laptop as though it were a shield. The weight of his words pressed against her, but it wasn't enough to dislodge the anger bubbling just beneath the surface.

"I know, when my parents first sent here, I too hate this place to death."

Alexander's words hung in the air, surprising everyone in the room, especially Ranran. The headmaster had always carried himself with an air of authority, yet there was a softness in his tone now—a vulnerability that caught her off guard.

"I hated this place," he continued, his gaze distant as if he were looking back through time. "But I didn't have a choice. I was a kid like you. I didn't understand why my parents insisted on sending me here when all I wanted was to be anywhere else, doing anything else."

The children sat silently, their eyes wide as they listened. Even Ranran, who usually tuned out authority figures, found herself unable to look away.

"But over time, this place is something," Alexander's lips curved into a faint, bittersweet smile. "You will see it one day, you'll see."

...............................................................................................................

"Honestly, it was like something out of a movie! Ranran, clutching that laptop like her life depended on it, throwing sass at everyone—and then Mr. Alex swoops in with his heartfelt confession about hating Edgewood too! Who even knew he had a soul?" she giggled, clearly reveling in the day's unexpected drama.

The teenage girl's voice carried through the corridor as she left the pre-schooler block, the excitement in her tone evident as she recounted the events to The Boy on the other end of the call.

"Mr Alex younger teenage years at that time was a delinquent."

"Eh!?" Ophelia on the other end of the call nearly choked on her laughter. "A delinquent? No way! Mr. Alex? Now wait, come to think of it, he does skateboard around the campus."

"He still does that, huh?" 

"Does?"

"He isn't supposed to, especially after that injury."

"What injury?"

"You didn't know? Ah right, you didn't live here long, so you are probably not aware of Mr Alex's past in Edgewood as a student," The Boy muses this over the phone.

"Wait, wait, wait—what injury? You can't just drop that and not explain! Spill the tea!" Ophelia's curiosity was piqued, her voice rising with intrigue.

The Boy chuckled lightly on the other end, clearly enjoying her reaction. "Alright, alright. So, back when Mr. Alex was a student at Edgewood, and this is what my father told me way back then, he was a bit of a legend—not just because of his rebellious streak, but because he was insanely good at skateboarding. He'd do all these crazy stunts—on stair railings, on rooftops, even inside the gymnasium when no one was looking."

Ophelia gasped. "Inside the gym? Isn't that, like, the most guarded spot on campus? How did he even get away with it?"

"It wasn't that guarded back then before the incident, after all, he was a aspiring professional skateboarder-"

"WAIT, WHAT!?"

"It's true," The Boy continued, clearly enjoying the dramatic pause on Ophelia's end. "He used to compete in local tournaments and won a bunch of them, hell, even had sponsors lining up to sign him the moment he graduated."

"Woah, if he is that good and he has an injury, how is it that Mr Alex became a headmaster and can still go about skateboarding across the campus?" Ophelia can't help but ask.

"About that," The Boy said, his tone shifting to something more somber. "He was on the brink of making it big—like, really big. Then came the accident. It happened during one of his final tournaments. My dad told me he was attempting some insane trick during the qualifiers, something no one else had dared to try—a 720 flip off a staircase with a steep drop. It was supposed to seal his victory, but..."

The Boy paused, letting the weight of the story settle. "He miscalculated the landing. Fell wrong and shattered his ankle—badly. The kind of injury that ends careers. Even with surgery, they said he'd never fully regain the strength or flexibility needed for competitive skateboarding. Just like that, his dreams were over."

 "That's... wow," Ophelia let out a low whistle, the excitement in her voice replaced with quiet awe, " I can't even imagine how devastating that must've been for him. To come so close to everything you've ever worked for, only for it to be taken away like that."

"Oh no, he lost a lot more things after that incident," The Boy pondered about it, "He also married young at that time, had a daughter. The marriage fell apart."

"Daughter!? I thought he had a son! Also, ain't he still married?" Ophelia gasped.

"Ah no, the one I was referring to is his first ex-wife. Knew each other when they shared the same class together in high school. Eloped around 17, not sure when he had his daughter, but I think after the divorce, all I know is she didn't end up with him."

Ophelia let out a soft sigh. "That's rough. Do you think he still sees her? His daughter, I mean?"

The Boy hesitated. "I don't know what happened after that. But I heard rumours that his ex-wife moved far away, remarried, and started a new family. From what my dad said, Mr. Alex stayed out of it for his daughter's sake—didn't want to cause more disruptions in her life."

"Wait a minute, then how did the headmaster thing came about?"

"Well, he couldn't be a professional skateboarder anymore in such condition, so it was back to Edgewood. But given his rebellious background at that time, his studies were the worst. I was pretty sure that at some point in his life, he was close to getting kicked out if it wasn't for his current wife."

"And let me guessed, she inspired him to work hard etc?"

"Ah no, she come from a family of school headmasters and headmistresses of Edgewood, which how he got the job here in the first place."

"Hah!? Then in other words....they just simply grant him the position despite his poor results!? Isn't this illegal!?"

"Technically the projector mentioned one of the following reasons why Edgewood Academy shut down in the future is due to 'poor financial mismanagement'," He then shared a couple of details Ophelia had no idea about, "Mr Alex's wife was a illegitimate, and although that doesn't apply on Edgewood, her upbringing isn't under Edgewood, meaning she couldn't take over as headmistress of the school in general. The legitimate one: or rather, the previous headmaster whom I am pretty sure you had 'bad memories' after getting framed last year by your so-called bestie, was utterly behind ruining the financial state of the institution. As well as covering up so many of the shady incidents among the students for money. So in order to clear your name at that time, I had to scheme a lot of crap to trigger an investigation onto him, just so Mr Alex can take over the seat."

"But even if that is the case....didn't people make any noise when he became headmaster?"

"Of course, he was the school's delinquent after all," The Boy replied, his tone amused. "But then I dug something interesting. Here is the tidbit: You see...Mr Alex's marriage to the current wife is arranged by his family, as usual political, but not that straightforward. Around that same time, his wife just needed someone with a status of a Edgewood student just to maneuverer her half brother, because she love Edgewood and can't bear the thought of the school to shut down given his lavish excessive spending. During the marriage candidate choice her family given her, she picked Mr Alex for many reasons."

The Boy then listed out the reasons, "1, she knows he is respectful towards women, which was a point proven when he willingly signed the prenup with his first wife at that time, not to mention, give her full custody for their daughter, therefore, he will not consummate the marriage with her. No.2, she offered him 'other ways' to graduate Edgewood without having to necessarily to study, and 3rd, he is a bit of a risk taker, which she need in him."

"Wait, how does being a risk taker works for her favour?"

"As I mentioned before, his wife wasn't qualified to take over Edgewood as headmistress and headmaster due to her upbringing, but Mr Alex can. Once the marriage take place, since she knew her half-brother was a lazy bum who often chase after women, he is definitely going to need someone within the family to do his job for him in 'regent'. Her family doesn't have many heirs except her brother and herself, so by default, Mr Alex became regent principal while he went out golfing."

Ophelia frowned. "But that's... manipulative, isn't it? She picked him knowing she wouldn't actually have to deal with him as a 'husband,' and she basically used him as a pawn to save her family and the school."

"Not really, this marriage benefitted him in unimaginable ways. He didn't need to go proper screening to become headmaster, gets paid lavishly, and in the process, he didn't even need to sleep with anyone like a prostitute to have a roof above his head," The Boy sighed. "He gained a lot of experiences by the way after he graduated Edgewood as regent, and it turns out....he is unusually popular with youngsters. Since that is the case, that qualifies him as headmaster material, no?"