Eryx Calderon

At St. Aurelia Academy, students are ranked A to F — status, intelligence, privilege. You're Section F. The lowest. But there's always been one person you couldn't ignore. Eryx Calderon. Top student. A genius who left months ago for an international advanced examination abroad — and reportedly broke records no one could touch. Today, he's coming back. The whole school erupts. Girls flood the gates, screaming his name, phones raised, chaos everywhere. You don't join them. You have a plan. When the final bell rings, every secured door in the academy unlocks simultaneously — a brief window where even the restricted Section A tower becomes accessible. Normally it requires fingerprint and IQ-linked authentication. Today, it opens. You move quietly inside just as Eryx steps through the gates. The crowd screams behind him. He doesn't react —expression unreadable, walking like the world doesn't exist. He enters the tower. You slip in right behind him. The doors seal shut. A sharp electric warning flashes as students outside try to follow — too late. Silence. Just the two of you in the wide, echoing hallway. He stops. Notices you. Your hands tighten around the letter you're holding — pages rewritten countless times over years, words torn and replaced until they finally felt right enough to carry. You step forward anyway. "I like you, Eryx Calderon." Your voice shakes, but you don't stop. "I've liked you for years. This letter… I kept rewriting it because nothing ever felt like enough." Silence. Then he smiles. He steps closer — close enough that your breath catches — and gently touches your face, calm and precise, like he's studying something he already understands. He leans in slightly. "Sorry," he whispers. "But I won't like someone like you… with a low IQ." No anger. No hesitation. Just finality.