The air in the dorm room was frigid, seeping into the bones, carrying a faint antiseptic scent that seemed to ooze from the cracks of the slick white walls. Choi Sera stood at the edge of her narrow bed, her eyes tracing the confines of the small room that now anchored her at Mirae High School. On a simple wooden desk, a sleek tablet cast a soft glow, its screen displaying her name alongside a string of numbers that seemed to mock her.
Choi Sera :
Points Accumulated: 140 | Rank: 360
Ability Stats:
Physical Strength: D
IQ: F
Strategic Thinking: F
Social Influence: F
Overall Potential: E-
Sera drew a long breath, her eyes narrowing at the screen, as if her glare could burn those numbers away. "I can just imagine Mother's face right now," she muttered under her breath, her body shivering at the thought of Shin Min-hye's icy expression, one that could freeze the air around her.
With careless motion, she set the tablet down, as if those numbers were nothing more than meaningless scribbles. But deep in her mind, she knew: at Mirae High, those numbers were life itself. They dictated everything—food on your plate, clothes on your back, even the fragile scraps of dignity you clung to.
It was the first day for new students, and Sera was just one of countless unfamiliar faces flooding the school's main hall. Mirae High School, dubbed the "School of the Future," was no ordinary institution. Perched on the outskirts of Seoul, its towering glass buildings gleamed like a fortress, a temple for those deemed geniuses—or cunning enough to survive. Here, points and ranks were everything, and students with low scores were prey, waiting to be devoured.
Sera tugged at her stiff black uniform jacket, its golden emblem glinting on her chest, feeling foreign against her skin. She stepped out of the dorm, into a long corridor buzzing with the shuffle of footsteps and whispers of other students. A few pairs of eyes flicked her way—some curious, others sneering. Her name slipped through the murmurs:
"Choi Sera, Director Shin's kid, but they say she's got nothing in her head." Sera walked with her shoulders squared, her face a blank mask, as if she heard nothing.
The main hall was a grand space, its glass ceiling scattering sunlight across shimmering marble walls. At its center, a massive screen flaunted the latest student rankings, and Sera's name sat at the bottom, a stubborn stain that wouldn't fade. Those numbers were enough to make her mother's jaw tighten. Amid the crowd, she spotted her older siblings: Choi Min-hwa and Choi Seol-hwa, the twins who reigned at ranks one and two.
Min-hwa, with neatly combed black hair and a thin smile that chilled the blood, was the student council president. Seol-hwa, her ponytail pulled tight and her gaze sharp as a blade, was his vice. They stood on the stage, commanding the welcome ceremony with an untouchable aura.
"Welcome to Mirae High School," Min-hwa's voice boomed through the microphone, deep and authoritative.
"Here, you will be tested—mind, body, and soul. Your points are your worth. Fail to manage them, and you'll end up with nothing, groveling in disgrace. Remember that."
Sera rolled her eyes subtly, leaning against a wall in the hall's shadowed corner, half-hidden. She knew the rules better than anyone. At Mirae, points were currency: high-ranking students could "buy" gourmet meals, luxurious supplies, even decent dorm rooms. Points came from exams, competitions, and schemes, but low-ranking students were easy targets, trampled—literally or otherwise. Punishments ranged from insults to physical blows, and the school allowed it, as long as it followed the "rules." Rules crafted by her mother, Shin Min-hye, the director and architect of this cruel system.
Suddenly, someone shoved her shoulder hard. Sera turned to face three male students, their high-rank badges gleaming on their uniforms. The tallest, his face twisted with mockery, grinned wide.
"Choi Sera, huh? Director Shin's kid, rotting at the bottom of the ranks?"
Sera met his gaze, her eyes cold as a frozen lake. "That's right," she said, her tone flat.
The boy laughed, shoving her again, rougher this time. "Look at this shameless girl. Got in here on family connections, didn't you? We clawed our way into this place. But you? You just waltzed in because your mom's the director?" The crowd began to notice, whispers swelling into a hum. Sera stayed silent, hands tucked in her pockets, her face unmoving. She knew what was coming.
She knew her presence here was a punchline, a topic that drew snickers from students and even teachers. Back in middle school, she was the bottom of her class, the bottom of her school. Every student at Mirae had been in the top ten at their previous schools, but Sera? She passed the entrance exam ranked 120 out of 120 first-years. To the world, she was just a spoiled brat riding her mother's name. But they were wrong. Sera didn't get in on connections. She didn't even care about attending, but her mother, with a gaze that could shatter stone, forced her. "If you fail, don't bother coming home," Min-hye had said, her voice like a knife.
Sera had no choice. She studied, fought, and passed—on her own, even if just barely, at the very bottom. At least she wasn't kicked out of her home. At least she still had a place in this world, however small.
"Would your mom be mad if I slapped you?" The boy leaned closer, his face inches from hers.
"Isn't that unfair? Here, family status means nothing. All that matters are points and ranks. If I hit you, would your mom break her own principles?"
At Mirae, low-ranking students were prey, and the rules forbade them from fighting back unless they had points to "buy" the right. Her mother's rules. Rules Sera loathed to her core.
"Go ahead and try," Sera said, her voice calm, her eyes daring. "She wouldn't care. Like you said, it's her principle. And she'd never betray it—not even for me."
Before the boy could respond, a sharp throat-clearing cut through the air.
Choi Yeri, another of Sera's older sisters, stood on the stage beside Min-hwa and Seol-hwa. Ranked fifth in the school, Yeri was a commanding figure, her long hair flowing like silk, her eyes piercing like a hawk's. "Focus on the ceremony," she said, her voice icy, slicing through the commotion like a blade.
The boy scoffed but backed off. Sera glanced at Yeri, but her sister didn't return the look. Yeri's face was stone, as if Sera didn't exist. Sera swallowed the bitter lump in her throat. She was used to it—her mother treated her like a shadow, and her siblings weren't much different, at least in public.
The ceremony ended, and the new students were directed to their classrooms.
Sera entered Class 1-B, a spacious room with futuristic desks and blinking interactive screens at every corner. There, she met Lee Seyong, a fellow freshman seated beside her. Seyong was a petite girl with thick glasses, her hair tied in a messy bun. She smiled awkwardly.
"Hi… Sera, right? I'm Seyong. Looks like we'll be sticking together, since we're both at the bottom of the ranks…"
Sera glanced at her, then gave a stiff nod. She wasn't looking for friends—not because she didn't want them, but because no one wanted to befriend her. At this school, she was an outcast. But Seyong's smile, so earnest and unassuming, caught her off guard. For the first time, someone spoke to her without mockery.
Seyong kept chatting, rambling about her near-failure in the entrance exam, and Sera listened halfheartedly, her mind elsewhere. The first day ended with an introduction to the point system. Each student received a specialized tablet linked to the school's database, tracking their points, stats, and ranks. Sera opened hers again, staring at her dismal stats. Beside her, Seyong proudly showed off her own:
Lee Seyong :
Points Accumulated: 170 | Rank: 349
Ability Stats:
Physical Strength: E
IQ: C
Strategic Thinking: C-
Social Influence: D
Overall Potential: D
"Not too great, but decent, right?" Seyong grinned, her eyes sparkling.
Sera nodded, but her thoughts drifted.
Tomorrow, the group strategy exam would begin—the first test to shape their initial rankings. At Mirae, exams weren't just about brains but also brawn and spirit. She clenched her fist under the desk, her face still blank, but inside, something stirred—a tiny, hidden spark she didn't even recognize.
"Can I survive this?" she murmured, her voice barely a whisper.