Chapter Text
By eight-thirty in the morning, Yu Ha-ram had already decided she hated campaign season.
This was inconvenient because campaign season had not technically started yet.
Official registration opened at lunch. Posters could go up after approval. Speeches began next week. Voting was still nearly a month away.
None of that had stopped Stella from arriving at Haerim High with a tote bag full of markers, double-sided tape, two iced drinks, and the expression of someone who had appointed herself campaign manager without asking.
“You’re late,” Yuha said.
Stella checked the clock above the classroom door.
It was eight twenty-seven.
“By what standard?”
“Mine.”
“That explains a lot.”
Yuha ignored her and shifted the stack of papers on her desk.
The classroom was still filling around them. Chairs scraped against the floor. Someone near the windows was trying to finish homework before homeroom. Two girls at the back were arguing over a charger. Through the open windows came the distant whistle of morning football practice from the field below.
Haerim was rarely quiet once the gates opened.
Yuha preferred it that way. Noise made it easier to concentrate on whatever she had decided mattered more.
Today, that was the student body presidential election.
She had spent most of August pretending the decision to run had been simple.
It had not been.
Yuha liked responsibility when she understood what was expected of her. She liked schedules, lists, clearly divided work, and the particular satisfaction of watching something disorganized become manageable because she had put her hands on it.
Student government had all of those things.
It also had speeches in front of the entire school, strangers forming opinions about her based on thirty-second conversations, campaign photos she would have no control over once they were printed, and the possibility of losing publicly.
She had decided not to think about that part.
Stella placed one of the iced drinks beside her hand.
“Drink.”
“I have one.”
“You have water.”
“That is a drink.”
“That is survival.”
Yuha looked at the plastic cup. “What is it?”
“Peach tea.”
“I didn't ask you to buy me anything.”
“I know.”
Yuha took it anyway.
Stella pulled the chair from the desk in front of hers and sat backward on it.
“You're welcome.”
“I was going to say thank you.”
“You were taking too long.”
“I had the straw in my mouth.”
“Excuses.”
Yuha stabbed the straw through the lid harder than necessary.
Stella watched her for a second.
“You're nervous.”
“No.”
“You organized your papers by corner alignment.”
Yuha looked down.
Every page sat perfectly flush with the next.
“That means nothing.”
“You also texted me at six forty this morning.”
“You were awake.”
“I became awake because you texted me at six forty this morning.”
“I needed to know whether you finished the board.”
Stella slowly reached into her tote bag.
Yuha sat straighter.
“You brought it?”
“I said I would.”
The campaign board was wrapped in brown paper to keep the paint from smudging in transit. Stella set it carefully against the neighboring desk and peeled the top back just enough for Yuha to see.
The lettering had survived.
So had the photograph Carmen had taken the week before: Yuha sitting beneath one of the courtyard trees, uniform neat, expression composed without looking painfully staged.
The slogan beneath it had taken longer to settle.
A BETTER Haerim STARTS WITH US.
Yuha still thought it sounded like something printed on municipal recycling bins.
Stella loved it.
Their disagreement had ended when Carmen sided with Stella, which Yuha considered a misuse of democracy before her campaign had even begun.
“It's good,” Stella said.
Yuha studied the board.
There was no visible reason to dislike it.
That somehow made her more nervous.
“I know.”
Stella blinked. “Wow.”
“What?”
“You admitted it.”
“I can recognize when something is good.”
“You complained about the font for twenty minutes.”
“The first font was ugly.”
“It was Arial.”
“Exactly.”
Stella laughed.
Yuha took another sip of tea and looked toward the windows.
The football field occupied most of the view from their classroom. A dozen students in training clothes moved through passing drills while the morning sun stretched their shadows across the grass.
Yuha knew almost none of them.
She had never been particularly interested in school sports. She attended games when friends dragged her, clapped when everyone else did, and understood enough about football to know that putting the ball in the other team's net was generally desirable.
That was about the extent of it.
One player near midfield shouted something.
The others immediately shifted.
She was shorter than several of them but moved like that did not matter. Sharp gestures. Quick instructions. No hesitation.
Stella followed Yuha's gaze.
“That's Roh Yu-na.”
Yuha looked back at her. “Who?”
“The captain.”
“I didn't ask.”
“You were staring.”
“I was looking outside.”
“At her.”
“At the field.”
Stella glanced toward the window again.
The player shouted another instruction and sent the ball across the grass with enough force that someone near the touchline had to sprint to catch it.
“She’s good,” Stella said.
“Okay.”
“She’s also kind of scary.”
Yuha had already turned back to her paperwork.
“Then stop watching her.”
“I didn't say I disliked it.”
Yuha looked up.
Stella smiled into her drink.
“Never mind.”
Homeroom began before Yuha could ask.
By lunch, she had forgotten the conversation completely.
That would become irritating later.
For now, she had more immediate problems.
The student council had reserved part of the courtyard for candidate registration, which sounded straightforward until Yuha discovered that “reserved” apparently meant someone had put two folding tables outside and expected the candidates to solve everything else themselves.
The courtyard sat between Haerim's main academic building and the football field, separated from the grass by a waist-high metal fence. Students cut through it constantly on their way between buildings, which meant lunchtime turned the area into a stream of uniforms, backpacks, cafeteria trays, and people who somehow stopped walking directly in front of whatever needed to remain unobstructed.
Yuha arrived ten minutes early.
Stella arrived with her.
Carmen came three minutes later carrying a camera.
“You're not taking pictures of me while I'm setting up.”
Carmen raised the camera.
The shutter clicked.
Yuha stared at her.
“That wasn't a request.”
“I know.”
Choi Ji-woo appeared behind Carmen with another camera hanging from her neck and looked between them.
“What happened?”
“She committed a crime.”
“I documented history.”
Jiwoo glanced at Yuha's expression.
“Delete it.”
“Thank you.”
Carmen clutched the camera to her chest. “Nobody respects art.”
“We respect art,” Stella said, unfolding one of the chairs. “We don't respect you.”
“That's worse.”
Jiwoo took the campaign board from Stella before the argument could continue and leaned it carefully against the table.
“Where do you want this?”
“Here.”
Yuha shifted the table several centimeters.
Jiwoo waited.
“A little left.”
Jiwoo moved it.
“Too far.”
“Yuha.”
“Right there.”
Jiwoo let go.
“You understand no voter is going to measure this, right?”
“I'll know.”
“That is unfortunately believable.”
Yuha ignored her.
The registration packet had to be signed by the faculty election adviser before two. The campaign board needed approval before posters could be copied. Yuha still had to confirm two volunteer names, and one of the students who had promised to help during lunch had messaged three minutes ago saying she was stuck with a teacher.
None of it was disastrous.
Yuha disliked that she had to remind herself of this.
Stella noticed the way she checked the same folder twice.
“Hey.”
Yuha looked over.
“You're fine.”
“I know.”
“Good.”
Yuha exhaled once through her nose and closed the folder.
She was fine.
The courtyard was hot, but the shade from the main building reached halfway across the pavement. Someone had propped open the side doors, and cool air escaped every time students passed through. Beyond the fence, the football team had begun gathering near the field.
Yuha barely noticed.
Jiwoo did.
“Are they practicing during lunch?”
Carmen followed her gaze.
“Apparently.”
Stella glanced toward the field. “Do they ever stop?”
“Maybe they sleep there.”
“That would explain the smell.”
Yuha was writing a name on the volunteer sheet.
“Can we please focus?”
Three voices answered at once.
“Yes, candidate Yu.”
Yuha looked up.
Carmen smiled sweetly.
Jiwoo was already looking away.
Stella made no effort to hide it.
“I hate all of you.”
“Put that on the poster,” Carmen said.
The first prospective candidate arrived before Yuha could respond.
For the next fifteen minutes, Yuha forgot about everything except registration.
That was the part she liked.
Questions had answers.
Forms had boxes.
Students either had the required documents or they did not.
She helped one candidate find a missing signature, directed another toward the faculty office, and explained the campaigning restrictions twice without checking the handbook.
By the third explanation, she had stopped feeling nervous.
Stella had been right about that too, which Yuha had no intention of mentioning.
Then someone shouted from the field.
“Watch it!”
Yuha looked up.
She saw the ball only after it cleared the fence.
It hit the pavement once.
Hard.
Then struck the center of her campaign board.
The cardboard folded backward.
For half a second, nobody moved.
The photograph split across Yuha's shoulder.
One corner tore away from the backing.
The wooden support Stella had taped behind it snapped loose and hit the ground.
Carmen lowered her camera.
Stella stared.
Jiwoo said, very quietly, “Oh.”
Yuha looked at the board.
Then at the football rolling beneath the registration table.
All the nerves she had managed to put somewhere useful returned at once.
A figure climbed through the opening in the fence and jogged toward them.
Yuha recognized her after several steps.
The captain from that morning.
Roh Yu-na.
Up close, she looked younger than Yuha had expected. Her hair was tied back, her training shirt darkened slightly at the collar from sweat. Grass clung to one knee.
She slowed when she saw the board.
Her expression changed.
“Ah.”
Yuha waited.
A-na picked up the football.
“Sorry.”
That was it.
No panic.
No embarrassment.
Just sorry, delivered with the same tone someone might use after nudging a chair.
Yuha looked at the board again.
Stella had stayed awake finishing that board.
Carmen had taken the photograph.
Yuha had spent two weeks organizing everything around today.
She knew the ball had not been kicked at her deliberately.
She knew that.
Knowing did not improve A-na's tone.
“Could you tell your team not to kick balls toward people?”
A-na's eyes returned to hers.
Something small shifted in her face.
“We weren't kicking them toward people.”
“It came through our board.”
“I can see that.”
Yuha stared.
Behind A-na, one of the football players had approached the fence but seemed to reconsider coming closer.
Yuha gestured at the damage.
“Then maybe be more careful.”
A-na tucked the football beneath one arm.
“We are being careful.”
Yuha almost laughed.
There was a football-sized crease through her campaign photograph.
“Clearly.”
A-na's mouth tightened.
Jiwoo stepped closer to Yuha.
Not enough to interrupt.
Enough that Yuha noticed.
A-na noticed too.
“It was an accident,” A-na said.
“I know it was an accident.”
“Then what's the problem?”
Yuha looked at her.
“The problem is that you broke it.”
“I said sorry.”
“You didn't sound sorry.”
For the first time, A-na looked genuinely offended.
“What am I supposed to sound like?”
“Like you mean it.”
There it was.
The moment the conversation stopped being about the board.
Yuha felt it happen and could not seem to stop it.
A-na shifted her weight.
“Fine.”
Her voice changed.
“Sorry your sign was in the way.”
Stella closed her eyes.
Carmen looked toward the sky.
Jiwoo muttered, “Oh, no.”
Yuha's irritation sharpened.
“In the way?”
A-na gestured toward the fence.
“You set everything up beside an active field.”
“This area was reserved.”
“The courtyard was reserved. Not the field.”
“We aren't on the field.”
“And the ball wasn't supposed to leave it.”
“But it did.”
“Yes. That's why I apologized.”
“No, you blamed the board.”
“I said it was in the way.”
“That is blaming the board.”
A-na stared at her for a second.
“You know cardboard can't feel blamed, right?”
Stella made a choking sound.
Yuha turned toward her.
Stella covered her mouth with her fist.
“Sorry.”
Yuha faced A-na again.
A-na's expression had gone irritatingly calm.
That made everything worse.
“You're rude.”
A-na blinked.
“Excuse me?”
“You broke something that wasn't yours and instead of just apologizing properly, you're arguing.”
“You started arguing with me.”
“I asked you to be careful.”
“No. You told me to tell my team not to kick balls at people.”
“Because one nearly hit us.”
“It hit cardboard.”
“That's not the point.”
“Then what is the point?”
Yuha opened her mouth.
Nothing useful came out quickly enough.
A-na gave a short laugh.
That did it.
“Being captain doesn't mean you own the courtyard.”
A-na's expression hardened.
“And running for president doesn't mean you do either.”
Silence.
Not complete silence.
The courtyard was still full of people.
Someone dragged a chair across concrete nearby. A group passing through the side doors had slowed noticeably. The football players by the fence had stopped pretending not to watch.
But inside the small circle around the registration table, silence landed cleanly.
Yuha felt heat rise into her face.
“You don't even know me.”
A-na's eyebrows lifted.
“You just called me rude.”
“Because you're being rude.”
“And you're being dramatic.”
Stella stepped between them before Yuha could answer.
“Okay.”
Neither looked at her.
Stella spread her arms.
“Okay.”
A-na glanced down at her.
Stella pointed toward the field.
“You. Football.”
Then she pointed toward Yuha.
“You. Election.”
Yuha frowned. “Why am I being sent away from my own table?”
“Because I can't send you to a field.”
Carmen turned abruptly, shoulders shaking.
Yuha heard it.
“Are you laughing?”
“No.”
“You are.”
“I have allergies.”
“You don't have allergies.”
A whistle sounded from the field.
“Captain!”
A-na looked over her shoulder.
One of her teammates was waving.
A-na turned back.
For one second, Yuha thought she might say something else.
Instead she looked at the damaged board.
Then at Yuha.
“I said I was sorry.”
The anger had gone out of her voice.
Not completely.
Enough.
Yuha could have accepted it.
Later, she would know that.
At the time, she heard only the stubbornness underneath.
“You also said it was my fault.”
“I didn't say that.”
“You implied it.”
A-na exhaled.
“Whatever.”
She turned toward the field.
Yuha stared after her.
“Whatever?”
A-na kept walking.
“Seriously?”
Jiwoo caught Yuha by the wrist.
“Let her go.”
“She—”
“I know.”
“You heard her.”
“I heard both of you.”
That stopped Yuha.
Jiwoo released her.
Carmen suddenly became very interested in adjusting her camera settings.
Stella crouched beside the broken board.
Yuha looked between them.
“What?”
Nobody answered.
“What?”
Stella picked up the loose support.
“She was rude.”
“Thank you.”
“You were also kind of—”
“Don't.”
Stella pressed her lips together.
Yuha looked toward Jiwoo.
Jiwoo gave her an apologetic smile.
“Don't you start.”
“I didn't say anything.”
“You were about to.”
“I was going to say we can fix the board.”
Yuha looked down.
The damage seemed worse now that the argument was over.
The center was badly creased, but most of the lettering had survived. The photograph had taken the worst of it. Carmen crouched beside Stella and pressed two fingers against the bend.
“We can reprint this.”
“Today?”
“I have the file.”
“The deadline for approval is two.”
Jiwoo checked her phone.
“Twelve forty-six.”
Stella stood.
“Carmen and I can go print it.”
“You'll miss lunch.”
“So?”
Yuha looked at them.
Some of the anger drained out of her.
“I can do it.”
“You have registration,” Stella said.
“Jiwoo can watch the table.”
Jiwoo nodded.
Yuha shook her head. “No, I should—”
“Yuha.”
Stella waited until she looked at her.
“We've got it.”
Yuha hated needing help almost as much as she hated being told she needed it.
She also knew when refusing became inefficient.
“Fine.”
Stella smiled.
“See? Growth.”
“Go before I change my mind.”
Carmen took the damaged board.
As she turned, the camera at her side swung forward.
Yuha caught it.
“Did you photograph that?”
Carmen froze.
Stella looked away.
Jiwoo covered her mouth.
Yuha's eyes narrowed.
“Carmen.”
“It was instinct.”
“Delete it.”
“But—”
“Delete it.”
“What if you win and we need campaign documentary material?”
“You took pictures of me fighting with the football captain.”
“History is complicated.”
Yuha reached for the camera.
Carmen fled.
Stella followed, laughing hard enough that she nearly walked into the table.
Yuha watched them disappear through the doors.
Then she sat down.
Jiwoo took the chair beside her.
For several seconds, neither spoke.
Students continued moving through the courtyard.
The football team had resumed practice.
Yuha refused to look.
Jiwoo lasted about twenty seconds.
“So.”
“No.”
“I haven't asked anything.”
“Don't.”
“You don't know what I was going to say.”
“I know you.”
Jiwoo leaned back.
“Fair.”
Yuha reorganized the registration forms.
They were already organized.
She did it anyway.
“She was rude.”
Jiwoo nodded.
“She was.”
Yuha looked at her.
Jiwoo added, “You were also stressed.”
“That doesn't mean I was wrong.”
“I didn't say it did.”
“She acted like I put the board there just to inconvenience her.”
“She probably didn't mean it like that.”
“You're defending her now?”
“No.”
“It sounds like you are.”
“I don't even know her.”
“Good.”
Jiwoo looked at her strangely.
Yuha stopped.
“Why did I say that?”
“I was wondering.”
Yuha pressed her lips together.
On the field, someone shouted.
The same voice as before.
A-na's.
Yuha kept her eyes on the forms.
She had decided she disliked Roh Yu-na.
The decision felt reasonable.
Necessary, even.
Some people simply made bad first impressions and then worked very hard to keep them.
A-na missed an easy pass ten minutes later.
Ian stopped the ball with the inside of her foot and stared.
A-na stared back.
“What?”
“You missed.”
“I know.”
“You don't miss those.”
“I just did.”
Ian nudged the ball toward her.
A-na trapped it beneath her shoe.
From midfield, the coach shouted for them to reset.
A-na lifted one hand in acknowledgment.
Ian did not move.
“What?” A-na asked again.
Ian glanced toward the courtyard.
A-na knew immediately.
“Don't.”
Ian's mouth twitched.
“I didn't say anything.”
“You were going to.”
“I was going to ask if the future president hurt your feelings.”
A-na kicked the ball at her.
Ian jumped aside.
“Violence!”
“You're on a football field.”
“That was personal.”
A-na retrieved the ball.
“It wasn't.”
“You aimed at my legs.”
“You need faster feet.”
Ian jogged beside her as they moved back into position.
“So what happened?”
“Nothing.”
“You were gone for five minutes.”
“A ball hit her sign.”
Ian looked over.
“And?”
“And apparently that means I'm a terrible person.”
“Did you apologize?”
“Yes.”
“Properly?”
A-na turned.
Ian's face was innocent.
A-na pointed at her.
“You're annoying.”
Ian grinned.
“That means no.”
“I said sorry.”
“How?”
“Why does everyone keep asking that?”
Ian laughed.
A-na started walking away.
“Wait, wait.”
A-na kept going.
“Captain.”
Nothing.
“Captain Roh.”
That got her.
A-na turned.
Ian's grin widened.
“Don't call me that.”
“Why? Sounds respectful.”
“Not when you say it.”
“Maybe I don't mean it.”
A-na stared at her.
Ian's expression broke first.
She laughed so hard she had to bend forward.
A-na considered kicking the ball at her again.
Instead she looked toward the courtyard.
The campaign table was still there.
The broken board was gone.
Yuha sat behind the table beside Jiwoo, head lowered over a stack of papers. Whatever anger had been on her face earlier was gone. She looked focused now.
Calm.
Like the entire argument had been filed away somewhere.
A-na knew almost nothing about Yu Ha-ram.
She knew Yuha was older.
She knew she was running for student body president.
She knew she had apparently put an unreasonable amount of emotional investment into cardboard.
And she knew she had the deeply irritating habit of speaking like she had already decided what kind of person A-na was.
That last part bothered her more than it should have.
“Captain!”
A-na looked back toward the field.
The coach pointed toward the formation.
“Coming.”
She jogged into position.
Ian fell in beside her.
“You're still looking.”
“No, I'm not.”
“You literally were.”
“Focus.”
“Yes, captain.”
A-na sent her a look.
Ian smiled.
Practice resumed.
By the end of lunch, A-na had decided she disliked Yu Ha-ram too.
Unlike Yuha, she would later insist this decision had nothing to do with cardboard.
It had everything to do with the way Yuha had looked at her as if one bad apology had told her everything worth knowing.
That, A-na thought, was worse.