(Y/N) remembers the first time her mom told her they were going to move countries as she stood on the moving bus.

She was sitting down on the bed, flipping through an adult-leveled color book, deciding which page to color and what materials to use. Though, what clouded her mind was how she's going execute her work, wether to apply acrylic based paints to create a detailed, vibrant piece or pencils for a much simpler, black and white look. It didn't matter anyways. Before she could reach the mediums, a loud and distressed steps entered her peripheral hearing. Determining the course of her art work was the least of her problems and she knows that...

Days prior to the shocking revelation of moving countries, she witnessed her mother and father fighting— verbally and almost physically.

"You said that you loved me!" Her mother screamed from the depths of her lungs, rage and disgust painting her face. "And I stupidly believed you. I believed you because I love you. I— I loved you..."

(Y/N) didn't understand it at first for she was only one-and-a-half-years-old, but seeing the gruesome sight of her two inseparable parents quarreling shifted something incomprehensible inside of her. She saw how cruel human beings could be— how one could manipulate and destroy one's heart with mere actions and words.

The young girl tilted her head; her eyes were blank and body motionless. She recalled her father saying that her mother was his soulmate and over the years, he became the core of her mother's personality. Then at that second, on that rainy day, he announce that he was in love with another woman.

Her mother said that it would've been kinder to kill her than to make her experience through that.

(Y/N)'s father nearly took those words seriously.

It was (Y/N) who stopped him before he could do damage to her helpless mother. Her little body, which just reached just below his knees, stood in front of him and her first word in this world was, "stop."

Her mother felt the dangerous aura that suffocated everyone in the room. She didn't even say any word, or even thought, or put on any shoes— she grabbed (Y/N), bolted out of the house and ran. Mrs. (L/N) endured the rough texture of the side walk and the pebbles that pierced the sole of her feet.

(Y/N) snapped out of her thoughts once the bus arrived to its destination.

"Good luck on your first day of school kids!" The old bus driver beams, his wrinkly hands waving goodbye to the students.

Some didn't return the gesture, but many did and (Y/N) was one them. "Thank you ahjussi!"

As she turns around, (Y/N) grips the straps of her backpack and followed the flock of students who had similar uniform as her.

Normally, her heart should start thumping erratically against her chest and her palms would begin to perspire, but she'd gone to countless of schools all around the world where the language and etiquette are different. She didn't have to shut herself off in her room for months or weeks, learning anything she could prior to the start of the school year, though, there was a required interview before getting accepted to this school.

"What do you consider yourself as, Miss (L/N)?" The principal questioned. He rests both of his elbows on top of his desk, body leaning forward, ecstatic to hear the female's answer.

Across from him, (Y/N) took a couple of seconds to gather her thoughts. She was apprehensive, not because she couldn't formulate a proper response, but because the previous questions had no correlations to this subject. She was asked about her academic records, the contributions she could bring to the school, and how she would utilize this school for her plans for the future. Yes, those were personal questions, but what the principal just inquired was too personal.

"May I know why this question is being asked?"

He chuckled, "our school strives to have a peaceful environment, where students can be who they are without judgment. Asking a student what they consider themselves allows us to evaluate if they fit our standards and if they won't pose any hostility towards another person."

"Mmm... I consider myself as a realist."

"Care to elaborate Miss (L/N)?"

"I'm not a pessimist nor an optimist. I wouldn't cloud my judgments with negative nor positive emotions. I state my opinions based on facts. If someone were to disagree and would like to input their own thoughts then I'll happily listen," (Y/N) responded calmly.

"We admit that some students might slip through our evaluations. They could lie about their personal statements with great ease. If you were to cross paths with one of these students, you could say, were to criticize you, how would you respond? We value strong minds around here Miss (L/N)."

She nearly scoffed at the question, despite not knowing the reason why. (Y/N) straightens her back and answered, "La sconfitta inizia de la ve paura."

"Pardon?"

"It's an Italian proverb which translates to 'defeat begins with one's fear'. My mentor in Italy told me to remember that... always."

"Your mentor must be a great man or woman."

"Indeed he is. He also told me to always believe in myself and I believe that there is a fine line between hate and constructive criticism. Many people cross both boundaries. If you dislike or even use a strong word such as 'hate' then why continue paying attention to me? Why leave a comment that could potentially cause physiological damage to a person's mind? Is my pain a source of entertainment to them? If it is... I'm not ashamed of them— I'm simply disappoint that someone like them is classified as the same species as me."

Needless to say, (Y/N) made a wonderful impression. Not only to the principal or the rest of the staff, but also a future peer of her's who managed to overhear the conversation on the other side of the door.

"Welcome (Y/N) (L/N)," a girl, the same age as (Y/N), greeted her with formality.

Her hair was short, not shoulder length short, but boy-short with bangs that covered her forehead and parts of her eyes. Though her appearance was feminine, you could see it in her sharp, intuitive eyes and intimidating aura that there was a hint of masculinity within her. Instead of wearing a traditional skirt, she took a different route and chose what was comfortable for herself, a pair of straight-legged trousers, similar to what the boys were wearing.

"My name is Lee Joo Young, a member of the student council. Every year when new students come, it's the student council's obligation to show them around," she stated in a robotic voice. "Follow me, I'll show you your class and introduce you to the members of the student council."

"Is that part of the student council's obligation?" (Y/N) spoke up, questioning the last part of Jooyoung's explanation.

"No. The principal thought it was necessary too after he reviewed your academic records and interview."

"I see."

"He admires you."

"That concerning."

Jooyoung almost laughed at her remark. "Not in the romantic sense. It's difficult to earn admiration from the principal of one of the best and respected high schools in South Korea. Honor is what you can call it. Having his recommendation letter is the ticket for you to get into Seoul National University. Kim Nam Joon has secured that letter and if you work hard enough, impress him enough, you might earn it too."

"I see..." she trails. 'Kim Nam Joon, that name sounds too familiar.'

(Y/N) had the urge to ask Jooyoung who Namjoon is, but she didn't want her first impression to be nosey. It seemed too out of bound, considering that (Y/N) wanted to create the perfect reputation at this new school.

After a couple of seconds of debating, she came into a conclusion that it was alright to ask.

She is the new girl after all.

Though it sounds a bit odd... (Y/N) believes that it's necessary for her to know each student's personalities and habits— almost each and every aspect of them. She has a system in her head, one she calls "The Human Library", where she holds information regarding everyone and how she could use it for her advantage. It's all a matter of convenience.

"Who is Kim Nam Joon?" (Y/N) finally had the courage to ask.

"President of the student council, debate club, neuroscience club, mathletes club, robotic club, and political affiliations club— he might as well be the president of the country."

"That's... impressive..." (Y/N) trails, mouth unable to muster anymore words.

A churning sensation coursed inside of her, a feeling that reflected her personal insecurities. She thought that her achievements these past couple of years was enough to satisfy herself— (Y/N) had the idea of "be the best of the best" imprinted in her brain ever since childhood. Country after country, there was always someone better than her in every single aspect— (Y/N) grew tired of being inferior so she decided to change. No more of people mocking her for not understanding a single lesson because of a language barrier, and no more of people using her as a stepping stone.

She needs to be the best.

Or else... the incessant voices inside of her head will tear her down for being incompetent... these voices will drive her to madness.

As Jooyoung looks ahead, she stops her tracks. (Y/N) follows her escort's gaze, seeing a notable figure marching with confidence. His height reached a maximum of five feet eleven inches, and his face was alluring— almost ethereal looking; it was the kind that freezes a person on their tracks as they walk. She thought he must be used to the attention, the sudden pause in a person's natural expression when they glance his way. His dirty-silver hair parted on the middle, each side filled with volume and covering parts of his brows.

There was something in his conniving smile that made (Y/N) ball up her fist as he greets Jooyoung wholeheartedly.

He lowers his gaze once their eyes met.

"Kim Nam Joon," (Y/N) grins as she held her hand out for him to shake. "Nice to see you again."

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Author's Note

It's been so long I've made a proper author's note. I have written ever since the start of the year! That's crazy, time went by a breeze!

I wanted to create a posting schedule, but I know for a fact that I won't be able to keep up with it because of my studies. I'll try my best to post on Mondays every week.

See you guys then!

—France