Chapter Text
The dumb kid tries his best, but it looks like it's always inadequate, until he decides to aim for good enough instead. His academic achievements stay average, neither a genius nor a dunce: for example, he passes the entrance exam for one of the top high schools of the country, but ends in the same room than the worst students. His admission to high school is enough to make his mum almost proud of him, even if she hopes that he ends in the Gifted class.
Pang has not a lot for himself his first days at Ritdha Wittayakom: a pair of good running legs, a bit of cunning, a speck of bravery, some luck and who he thinks is a very good friend. Soon enough, he loses the later, traded against his will for a pretty shiny badge. He isn't sure what strings are attached to it - no one seems to know the answer except Khun Pom, and what he accepts to tell is cryptic at best.
Pang isn't sure of the response to Kun Pom's assignment, but he has a hunch. There is something about the gifted program that he guesses, but it looks so huge that there is no way that him, the little dumb kid from room 8, is a part of it. Wave or Namtarn, maybe, with their brilliant minds, or Punn or Claire, but him? Pfff, no way. And yes, it pains him to say that Wave, this arrogant asshole, will always be more a Gifted than Pang, but he has to face the fact: Wave is a Gifted and Pang, no matter what Khun Pom can say, is not.
He told it since the start: he is a dumb kid, and dumb kids don't have potentials. And if he feels Nac's heartbeats his fingers, if for a split second his own words are heavier that they should, he is too heartbroken to care.
The edges of the Gifted badge bite the fleshy part of his palm when he clenches it in his fist, but he does not open his hand despite the pain until his knuckles go totally white. His hand will probably breaks before the badge, but does it really matters? Both of them are part of him now, and he is ready to break.