7MoH 1.1

This place is a jungle. A place where hormone-driven kids form small groups.

Every day the hierarchy shifts, and the strong and weak are divided by invisible boundaries. The only absolute rule governing this place is survival of the fittest. Power becomes law, and reading the room is the first step to survival.

“Don’t block the way, nerd.”

Someone bumped into his shoulder, causing his glasses to slide down. Seemingly used to this treatment, Lim Jeong-in adjusted his thick, large-framed glasses and headed toward his locker.

A well-organized locker with only a schedule posted—no photos or stickers—gave a hint about its owner’s personality. Lim Jeong-in hurriedly gathered the binder, notebook, and other items he needed for the day.

Unlike in Korea where there was time to do something during breaks, American school breaks were only four minutes long. Yet the campus was frustratingly vast, leaving no opportunity to visit one’s locker twice.

While stuffing books into his bag according to his schedule, he heard chattering voices nearby. It was the cheerleaders, Ava Winslow and Sienna Reznick.

“I heard there was a pool party at Madison’s yesterday. Must have been fun, right? Wish you could have gone too.”

“Ava, you were grounded. I couldn’t go alone.”

“Really? Then whose is this disloyal purple bikini in the photos Max Schneider posted?”

In this place, you never know who to trust and who not to trust. Everything is just a game.

In this wilderness where one merely endures, hides, and pretends, there exists an invisible hierarchy.

First, those lucky enough to belong to a group. Second, those who have joined a group but are walking on eggshells, never knowing when they might be kicked out. Third, the outsiders who are forced into solitude.

As for Lim Jeong-in, he undoubtedly belongs to the third group.

Even as he closed his locker and turned the dial, the cheerleaders’ bickering continued.

“Fine, I went. So what?”

“For someone who stabbed me in the back, you’re quite bold. By the way, isn’t that the bikini you borrowed from Hannah in the photo? You told her you returned it, you thief.”

“Mind your own business. It’s because you’re always butting into others’ affairs that Brian is fooling around with Lila Harrington…”

The conversation that had been continuing like they were clawing at each other suddenly stopped. Turning his head to see what happened, Lim Jeong-in saw them—boys wearing varsity jackets, which only school team representatives could wear.

They were the varsity football players, the apex predators at the top of the school’s food chain.

As they appeared, the entire hallway cleared as if it belonged to them, and a group of followers naturally formed around them.

Their single word, a slight glance, or a subtle expression could establish new rules in the school. As if it were the natural order, an irresistible principle.

The brown-haired one tossing and catching a rugby ball while laughing was Brian Cole, the linebacker, known to have a city councilman for a father. The Black player with a height over 2 meters and an impressive physique was Darius Thompson, an offensive lineman. The Latin American hottie with a friendly smile was Alex Martinez, a cornerback. The shortest but most talkative one was Max Schneider, a running back—though “short” still meant nearly 6 feet (about 183cm) tall.

Of course, even within this predator group, there was a hierarchy, and there was a clear leader, an Alpha, that anyone could see.

Chase Alexander Prescott.

His honey-blonde hair, as if woven from gold thread, shone brilliantly in the morning sunlight. His delicate facial features, as if drawn, revealed a clear three-dimensional beauty.

A face where prettiness and handsomeness coexisted had perfectly settled into place, excellently defending against the attacks of puberty. In fact, one might wonder if something like puberty ever existed for him.

Moreover, his robust frame, reaching 6 feet 5 inches (195cm), boasted a presence that seemed to fill the hallway.

However, what always caught Lim Jeong-in’s eye the most were his eyes.

Chase Prescott’s eyes were a clear and deep blue, like a transparent midsummer sea. When touched by sunlight, the blue of his iris came alive, revealing fine textures and sparkling like gentle ripples on the water’s surface. The dark pupil in the center of that blue seemed to hide deep and distant secrets like a sinkhole.

To avoid making the mistake of staring at him for too long, Lim Jeong-in lowered his gaze toward his already-closed locker and fiddled with the dial.

“Well, well, who do we have here? Dumpling Wong!”

Turning his head at the familiar mockery, Lim Jeong-in saw Max Schneider blocking Justin Wong, who was passing through the hallway carrying a large wooden board for making presentation materials. Justin was a Chinese American whose parents ran a Chinese restaurant in the mall.

“Didn’t bring dumplings today? I’m hungry.”

As Max Schneider asked while shaking his bag, the shoulders of chubby Justin rounded up in tension.

“…I didn’t pack anything like that.”

“Hmm, your attitude seems a bit disrespectful? Has it been too long since you were locked in a locker? Let me see your lunchbox. If you have one, you’ll be in trouble.”

As Max teased with a snicker, his entourage burst into laughter as if it were amusing.

That’s when, for some reason, Chase Prescott stepped in.

Chase Prescott generally tended to condone the words and actions of his entourage. But he had the power to change the atmosphere of the group just by slightly frowning or calling someone’s name.

“Schneider, that’s enough.”

As if it were an implicit rule, they called each other by their last names, not first names. Max Schneider let Justin go with a somewhat disappointed expression, as if he had lost prey he had almost caught. The predator group, having finished their business at the lockers, moved down the hallway in a pack.

Justin sniffed at the air behind Chase Prescott as he passed by. Then, tilting his head, he approached Lim Jeong-in.

“How does even his smell have to be good? Does aftershave come out of his armpits instead of sweat?”

Lim Jeong-in chuckled and held Justin’s board for him while he opened his locker and gathered his things.

“By the way, why does Max Schneider keep going on about dumplings whenever he sees you?”

“Once! I brought dumplings in my lunchbox just once, and he’s like that about it. And that was back in junior high.”

Lim Jeong-in tried to change the subject, but Justin returned to talking about Chase Prescott.

“But, Jay, you know what? They say men who smell good are con artists.”

“Who says?”

“My grandmother.”

Justin lives with his working parents and his grandmother.

Whenever Lim Jeong-in visits his house, Grandma Meiling sits in the living room rocking chair like a fixture, always watching telenovelas (daily soap operas produced in Latin America).

The expressionless grandmother, who doesn’t even respond when greeted, only reacts with laughter during dramatic plot twists—like when the female protagonist’s hidden father turns out to be her mother, or when the male protagonist gets slapped for having a child out of wedlock.

Lim Jeong-in was close not only with Justin but also with Justin’s family.

“Tch.”

Justin clicked his tongue, glaring at Chase Prescott’s retreating figure with disapproval.

“I don’t understand what girls see in guys like that. Just a quarterback with a handsome face, tall height, and lots of money.”

“You just listed all the reasons.”

“Jay, have you heard the saying ‘popular because they’re popular’? Chase Prescott is exactly that case. Anyway, girls have no taste, it’s terrible. Jules Faulkner is apparently thinking of making a fan site. And Hailey Simmons? Don’t even get me started on that snob.”

“I didn’t.”

Justin’s eyes suddenly widened.

“Oh crap, it’s Hailey.”

Justin sucked in his cheeks, making his chubby face look slim, raised one eyebrow, and made what he considered his most confident, alluring expression.

“Hi, Hailey.”

Hailey glanced at Justin as if looking at an insect and walked past him. Justin raised his voice even louder.

“Hailey! Stop right there!”

Lim Jeong-in tried to stop Justin in embarrassment, but Justin was already approaching her with confident steps.

“Here’s what you asked for.”

Hailey took the paper with a lukewarm smile, saying “Thanks,” using her thumb and index finger like tweezers.

As Justin returned with a satisfied expression, Lim Jeong-in asked,

“What was that?”

“An essay on women’s suffrage and the 19th Amendment.”

“…”

A look of pity crossed Lim Jeong-in’s face.

Meanwhile, Hailey Simmons approached Chase Prescott as if drawn by a magnet. Whatever he said to her, she burst into laughter while clutching his arm, laughing so hard her Adam’s apple was visible. Her hand looked particularly small against Chase’s thick forearm.

Justin twisted his lips and grumbled,

“The world is unfair.”

“Well… that’s not exactly new.”

“But I believe in the law of increasing entropy and Newton’s Third Law. Everything eventually moves toward equilibrium. Maybe Chase, who has everything, has a dick as small as a vestigial organ?”

“Pfft, that’s good! Let’s write it in the book.”

The two, who shared the same class, sat side by side in the front row.

What Justin pulled out of his bag was a book with a red cover. The Chinese red color—beloved by Chinese people for its auspiciousness—had white lacquer Chinese characters written on it.

[Shame Book]

With pen in hand, Justin began writing with an excited expression.

“Chase Prescott’s sausage is presumed to be as small as a vestigial organ.”

The book was already half-filled, packed with reasons why the two of them disliked Chase Prescott. Not only that, it contained names of girls rumored to be involved with him, secrets about people at school that only the two of them knew, and private speculations.

Of course, it was all just the mental fabrications of two outsiders, but the book was the only entertainment that allowed these two isolated individuals to laugh while attending school.

Justin speculated that his dislike for Chase might be self-hatred. He had learned by chance that Chase Prescott’s weight was identical to Justin’s, down to the decimal point. Of course, their heights differed by nearly 1 foot (30cm).

Meanwhile, Jeong-in had his own reason for disliking Chase. A reason too intimate to reveal even in the shame book.

“So, why do we use limits to find instantaneous rate of change? Mr. Wong, is something funny over there?”

“Oh, no! I’m sorry!”

Justin quickly closed the shame book at the teacher’s words.

Jeong-in and Justin were taking AP Calculus BC, an advanced course designed to allow students to earn college credits early. Though the class covered college-level material and was mostly attended by seniors (4th year students), both of them excelled in mathematics and planned to take this course early as juniors (3rd year students) so they could study other advanced courses like linear algebra in their senior year.

As the class ended and everyone was about to disperse to their respective classrooms, Justin slipped the shame book toward Jeong-in. They took turns keeping the book, passing it between them every week or two, like a shared diary.

“Long live the Hate Chase Club.”

Justin whispered into Jeong-in’s ear, like a member of a villain organization secretly passing a slogan in a superhero movie.

Jeong-in laughed softly as he looked at Justin, his only and best friend. Then he repeated the slogan.

“Long live.”

The fear-like trembling he felt when first transferring schools remained vivid even after seven years.

Here in Bellacove, the proportion of people of color was not as high as in other areas. The homeroom teacher, Mr. Richardson, seemed quite perplexed about how to introduce and help adapt a newly transferred Korean student who spoke awkward English. That’s when Justin Wong, sitting in the corner of the classroom, caught Mr. Richardson’s eye.

“This is a friend from Seoul, the capital of Korea. Would you like to introduce yourself?”

“I’m Lim Jeong-in. Just call me Jay.”

“Let’s all help Jay adapt well. Justin? I think you could guide him around the school.”

“Why? Because I’m Asian?”

Justin, who was chubby even then, didn’t hide his displeasure as he puffed up his round cheeks. Perhaps because of this, Jeong-in’s first impression of Justin remained as “a child like a pufferfish.”

“Teacher, I’m ABC (American-Born-Chinese). I was born and raised in Bellacove.”

“Hmm, yes. Please guide him well.”

Justin sighed deeply as if he had no choice and gestured toward Jeong-in saying, “Follow me.” Since then, for seven years, Jeong-in and Justin had become inseparable.

“Jay, you have AP History next, right?”

“Yeah.”

“See you at lunch.”

Jeong-in lightly waved his hand toward Justin’s retreating figure as he disappeared into the crowd in the hallway.