The sun rose behind a veil of clouds the next morning, and the warmth that filled the school gates yesterday felt like a distant memory. St. Liora High looked the same—clean paths, laughing students, bright eyes. But Seori Nam could see it clearly now.
The color of tension.
Orange. Red. Purple.
It rippled just beneath the surface like cracks in a painting.
She stepped through the gates, adjusting her glasses, heart heavy in her chest. Whispers reached her ears before she even got to class.
"Did you hear? That guy from Class 1-C—Minjae—he didn't show up today."
"His desk is still empty."
"Wasn't he the one who freaked out yesterday?"
Seori looked away, gripping the strap of her bag tighter. His aura had exploded just before he ran out. Red, orange, terrified. She hadn't heard from him since.
Yuna appeared beside her like a breeze, linking arms and grinning as if nothing had changed.
"You'd think someone dropping out would be bigger news," Yuna said cheerfully. "Honestly, so dramatic."
Seori glanced at her. Still no aura. Still blank. Still unreadable.
She hated how comforting it was not to see anything at all.
?
Class passed in fragments. Chalk tapped the board. Pages turned.
But every now and then, the colors would flare.
A girl two seats down clenched her fists under her desk—green streaked with red.
Someone bumped into their partner and mumbled an apology—yellow, then quickly faded to blue.
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Seori barely kept up. The noise in her head rose with every pulse of emotion around her.
Then it happened again.
"I hope no one finds out I was there."
The thought hit her like ice water down her spine. She didn't know who it belonged to. It was fast, sharp, and gone before she could trace it.
Her chest tightened. Her breathing became uneven.
Seori raised her hand.
The teacher turned mid-sentence. "Yes, Nam Seori?"
"I... I think I need to go to the nurse," she whispered, eyes low.
The teacher nodded without asking further. "Go ahead."
Seori stood slowly, holding her bag tight to her chest. As she walked out, the colors seemed to ripple behind her like waves on a poisoned shore.
?
The art room was empty, quiet, safe.
She let her sketchbook fall open across the desk and pressed her fingers to the page. She drew the color grey in soft, trembling lines.
Kaito's aura.
He hadn't said a word to her today. Not even a glance. Not that she'd expected it. But still...
The door creaked open.
She froze, flipping the sketchbook shut instinctively.
Kaito stood at the doorway, pulling off his headphones. He didn't look surprised to see her—just mildly annoyed to find someone in what was probably his hideout.
He crossed the room, grabbed a box of charcoal pencils from the supply shelf, and turned to leave.
Their eyes met for just a moment.
Then he walked out.
No smile. No comment. No curiosity.
Seori let out a breath she hadn't realized she was holding.
?
That afternoon, Seori followed Yuna home. They laughed and talked like any pair of best friends might. Yuna's room was too perfect—neatly organized, softly lit, a row of pastel plushies on her bed.
They watched videos, ate strawberry-flavored snacks, and flipped through a magazine about campus rumors.
"I bet that boy from Class 1-C just ran away because of his grades," Yuna said, flopping onto her bed with a giggle. "Some people can't handle pressure, right?"
Seori nodded. "Maybe..."
She wanted to believe it.
But as Yuna flipped to the next page, Seori noticed the tiniest twitch at the corner of her eye. A moment of stillness that didn't belong. A second too long staring at nothing.
She didn't see any aura. No color. No burst of emotion.
Until she heard it.
Faint. So faint. But there.
"Useless."
The word slipped through the crack like poison through a hairline fracture.
Seori's fingers curled in her lap, but she smiled. Yuna looked up, still smiling too. They sat in silence for a moment longer.
And in the quiet, Seori realized something chilling.
You don't have to show emotion to feel it.
You just have to hide it well enough...
and make sure no one sees the truth.
