The MSJ Girl Group, a trio of striking young women—Magnolia, Sophie, and Jem—was one of the most talked-about acts in the entertainment industry. Their flawless looks paired with sharp talent in both dance and song made them a force no one could ignore.
Magnolia, the group's leader, was infamous for being difficult to please and demanding in every sense. Yet there was one person who'd managed to hold her attention—Kingston, a man whose privileged background mirrored her own. Rumors of a secret engagement had spread like wildfire, though nothing had been confirmed. Still, their shared contempt for anyone from the lower class made many believe they were an inevitable match.
As the trio made their way down the hallway after a shoot, heads turned instantly. Magnolia's pale skin, rosy cheeks, and auburn hair caught the light like fire. Her deep brown eyes shimmered as if she were born to draw attention. She looked angelic until she opened her mouth—then the devilish confidence took over.
"Sophie, Jem?" Magnolia called, her smooth, sultry voice echoing slightly in the hall. "Do you think I look beautiful enough today? I have a feeling I might run into Kingston."
She tossed her hair with an innocent smirk.
"He's already head over heels for you," Sophie and Jem replied flatly, their rehearsed tone making it clear they'd said this far too many times before.
Before Magnolia could respond, a young girl with curly blonde hair ran up, clutching a pen and paper. "Magnolia! Could you sign this, please? I'm your biggest fan!"
Magnolia smiled graciously and took the paper, but her tone turned sweetly manipulative. "Of course I will. But first, you can help me with something."
The girl nodded eagerly. "I'll do anything for you!"
"Do you happen to know where Kingston is?" Magnolia asked, pretending it was a casual question.
The girl answered immediately, "He's gone to the Student Council office."
Magnolia's smile widened. She signed the autograph with an elegant flourish, handed the paper back, and swept off down the hallway.
Kingston had just returned to the academy after a long, exhausting week. His appearance sent a ripple through the crowd of girls who had clearly been waiting for him. Their cheeks turned pink as they held out decorated boxes and neatly wrapped gifts, each hoping to win a smile—or maybe something more—from the academy's untouchable "king."
Among them was Sarah, a well-bred girl with polished manners and expensive perfume.
"Kingston?" she called softly, her melodic voice making him turn.
"You called me by name?" he teased, a smirk tugging at his lips.
Sarah stepped closer, holding a small box. "Hi, I'm Sarah. I got you something—a limited-edition watch. Only two were ever made." She extended the box, her eyes shining with nervous hope.
Kingston leaned closer, the playful glint in his gaze making her breath hitch. The girls watching nearby fell silent.
"Meet me by the…" His next words were whispered low, meant only for her.
Sarah's eyes widened, her heart hammering as his voice brushed her ear. Was he serious? Did that mean yes? Her face turned crimson, and she stammered something before running off, clutching her bag to her chest.
Kingston straightened, the easy smile fading as he stared down at the gift in his hand. His amusement quickly shifted into disdain.
"Only two? Is she mocking me?" he muttered, tossing the box toward the trees in irritation.
A faint thud followed by a small groan reached his ears. Someone had clearly been hit—but Kingston didn't bother to check. He simply shoved the door to the Student Council Office open and walked inside without a word.
Upon entering the room, King was struck by its grandeur. The wide space was framed by tall windows on one side and floor-to-ceiling bookshelves on the other. The weak sunlight that filtered through cast a dull gray hue across the room, making it feel calm yet heavy. In each corner stood a desk with its own nameplate, while the largest one in the center bore the name Asfand.
King chuckled to himself and sauntered over, dropping into the chair behind it. "Hah. You left your seat empty again," he muttered, spinning lazily in the chair. "Don't blame me if someone messes with your work."
His gaze fell on a stack of open files scattered across the table. A sly grin crept over his face as he pulled out his phone and began snapping pictures.
The door opened with a low creak. Asfand stepped inside, closing it behind him and flipping on the lights. With a stack of folders tucked against his chest, his expression instantly darkened.
"I made sure this place was rodent-free," he said sharply. "And yet, there's one right here."
King stood, his smirk widening as he lifted the nameplate from the desk. "You know what I do to people who disrespect me," he said, before letting it drop. The plate shattered on the floor.
Asfand didn't flinch. "As expected from a spoiled child who cries to his father whenever he's scolded. I expect very little from you."
King raised a brow. "Asfand Miller, did your courage grow along with your hair?"
"And your wit seems to be receding like your hairline," Asfand replied coolly as he brushed past him and set the folders down. His eyes narrowed at the open file.
"If you're trying to be funny again... don't. Of all the people in this place, your life's the only joke."
"When you say it like that," King drawled, "it makes me want to do it even more."
He started toward the door, hand on the knob, and pulled it open, only to find a pale hand frozen mid-knock.
The girl standing there blinked up at him, startled by the door suddenly swinging open. Her face was ghostly white, a thin trail of blood on her cheek where she'd clearly been struck by something blunt. King's eyes drifted to the small box in her hand...the same one he had thrown away earlier.
Something about her tugged at his memory. His hand shot out before he could think, gripping her shoulder.
"You," he said sharply, his voice turning venomous.
Jujube's eyes widened. "Let me go," she said softly, her voice faint, almost mechanical.
"Why? You gonna call the cops on me again?" King spat. "You think you're something special just because you got away with it last time?"
He grabbed her collar and pulled her closer, eyes blazing. "And that thing you're holding? That's mine. I can easily report it as theft."
Jujube glanced down at the box, then at him. "I got hurt," she said flatly, pointing at her cheek. "Bodily harm."
Her calm tone was almost eerie, emotionless, as if she were reciting from a police report. King froze for a second, thrown off by her robotic manner.
Before he could react further, Asfand stepped forward. "That's enough, King!" he barked, yanking him back. He positioned himself between them, glaring. "Get out. This isn't a playground."
The tension in the room sharpened like glass. King's jaw flexed, his pride stinging at being cut off. His eyes flicked from Asfand to Jujube, dark with rage.
"Watch your back, Strawberry," he said, his tone low and dangerous. "From now on, I'll make your life hell."
Then he turned on his heel and stormed out, the door slamming behind him.
The silence that followed was thick. Asfand let out a weary breath and rubbed the bridge of his nose before turning back to Jujube.
"How may I assist you?" he asked, his voice calmer now, though still edged with irritation.
Jujube didn't respond right away. Her gaze wandered, unfocused, before finally meeting his. Then she looked away again, slowly slipping her bag from her shoulder and pulling out a file.
Asfand took it, brushing his thumb over the damp cover. "What's this?"
"Application form," she said dully, her tone flat and distant.
Asfand's patience, already thin from King's antics, snapped. "Do you have any manners? Is this how you speak to your seniors?" His voice rose in frustration, making her flinch.
Jujube hesitated, fingers trembling before she clasped them together. Her red hair fell forward as she bowed her head slightly.
"My name… Jujube," she whispered, the words barely audible. " Applying for… position." It took her a lot of effort to speak all those words, these were the most she had spoke in one go, Asfand saw her struggle as she had already caught her breath.
She paused after each phrase, as if every word cost her effort. Then, without waiting for a reply, she turned toward the door.
"What was that?" Asfand muttered, watching her leave. On his desk, beside the file, lay the small box with a note attached: I found this.
He hadn't even noticed her place it there. The handwriting was sharp, minimal, the same strange precision as her speech.
"What is she?" he whispered under his breath. "Is she sick?"
Leaning back in his chair, he brushed his hair from his forehead and exhaled. "I can't deal with any more oddities today."
He tossed her file carelessly into the pile beside his desk and rubbed his temples in frustration. "That's enough madness for one day."