The golden rays of the setting sun filtered through the horizontal slats of the infirmary blinds, painting long, amber stripes across the white tiles. It was a quiet afternoon, the kind that usually felt peaceful, but the air inside the clinic was charged with a strange, intellectual tension.
Ren sat on the edge of the examination bed, her legs swinging back and forth with rhythmic indifference. She was hunched over her phone, her fingers moving with a speed that suggested she was in the middle of a high-stakes mobile game. Her long, soft hair fell over her shoulders, obscuring her face, but the aura of cool detachment she projected was as thick as ever.
Across the room, at the medicine counter, Juan was focused. He was preparing a new dressing, his movements surgical and precise. He didn't speak, but his gaze occasionally flickered toward the girl on the bed, his dark eyes harboring a depth of concern he rarely showed to the world.
Charles, the elite lawyer who usually commanded courtrooms with a single glance, was currently slumped on the sofa, looking utterly defeated by a piece of paper. In his hand was Ren's English answer sheet from the recent monthly exam. The score, written in a mocking red ink, was a pathetic 4 out of 100.
"Juan," Charles finally spoke, his voice hushed with confusion. "I've spent the last hour looking at this. This girl… we both know she's terrifyingly smart. She solved the Physics 'Death Paper' in ten minutes. So how is it statistically possible for her to score a four? Even if she picked 'C' for everything, she'd hit at least twenty."
He held the sheet up to the light. "She didn't just fail. She systematically avoided every single correct answer. It's harder to get a four than it is to get a ninety."
Juan didn't look up from the iodine he was pouring. He merely tightened the cap and spoke in a low, gravelly drawl. "Look at the pattern of the bubbles she filled in. Don't look at them as answers. Look at them as code."
Charles frowned, adjusting his glasses. He took a pen and began to trace the sequence of the 'A', 'B', 'C', and 'D' choices Ren had filled in.
A... B... A... A...
Long... Short... Long... Long...
As a top-tier lawyer who dealt with high-level corporate espionage and encrypted files, Charles was no stranger to basic cryptography. His eyes widened as the realization hit him.
"Is this… Morse code?"
He frantically scribbled the decoded letters onto the margin of the sheet.
H... 2... W... O... 4...
"H₂WO₄?" Charles, an Ivy League graduate, felt his brain stutter. "That's… the molecular formula for Tungstic Acid? Why on earth would she write a chemical formula on an English answer sheet? Is she trying to tell the world she's a chemistry fan?"
Juan walked over, holding a tray of medical supplies. He stood in front of Ren, looking down at her messy hair. A faint, knowing smile played on his lips. "What is the molecular weight of Tungstic Acid, Charles?"
Charles pulled out his phone, his fingers flying across the screen. "Let's see… Hydrogen is 1, Tungsten is 183.8, Oxygen is 16… The total molecular weight is 249.86…"
He stopped. The number hung in the air like a physical weight.
"Two hundred and fifty," Charles whispered. He looked at the 4-point paper, then at the girl who was currently killing a digital boss on her phone screen. "Two-fifty… 'Er-Bai-Wu'… She's calling the people who wrote the exam idiots?"
Ren didn't look up, but she shifted her weight slightly. "The questions were insulting," she mumbled, her voice muffled by the lollipop in her mouth. "I got bored after the first four. If they want to give me a test that easy, they deserve to be told the truth."
Charles leaned back, staring at the ceiling in a daze. He had represented geniuses, billionaires, and world leaders, but he had never seen anyone use Morse code and molecular weights to insult their teachers on an official document. This wasn't just rebellion; it was a high-intelligence flex that bordered on the psychopathic.
***
The silence that followed was shattered by the sound of the infirmary door being slammed open so hard it bounced off the wall.
Principal Shaw burst in, his usual air of dignified elegance completely vanished. His tie was loose, his breathing was heavy, and his eyes were wide with a frantic, protective rage. He didn't even acknowledge Charles or Juan; he lunged straight for Ren.
"Ren! Your hand! Show me your hand right now!"
He grabbed her right wrist before she could pull away. Juan had just finished removing the old bandages, revealing the palm. The wound was deep, a jagged line that had required several stitches. It was red and swollen, the kind of injury that looked like it would leave a permanent mark.
"Who did this?" Principal Shaw's voice was a low, vibrating growl. "Who was it? I'll have their head on a platter!"
Ren pulled her hand back, looking annoyed. "It was an accident, Principal. I'm fine. It's already healing."
"Fine? You're telling me you're fine?" Principal Shaw's face was turning a dangerous shade of purple. He turned around, pacing the small room like a caged tiger, before letting out a string of curses that would have shocked the student body.
"That idiot, **Fitz**!" Shaw roared, referring to the Mayor. "What is he doing? Is he blind? You are a girl whose hands are meant to win international awards in the Capital! You're meant to be playing the violin in the Golden Hall! And he lets you get a wound like this in Moon City? Does he not know your condition? Does he not know who he's supposed to be protecting?"
Charles, sitting on the sofa, nearly dropped his teacup.
The Principal of Wolven High was screaming at the Mayor—calling him an idiot and a failure—over a high school girl's hand injury. And he mentioned the "Golden Hall."
Charles looked at Ren again. A 19-year-old girl who could solve advanced physics, hack a school forum, insult teachers with Morse code, and was apparently a violin prodigy so important that the Mayor was personally responsible for her safety?
Juan, however, remained calm. He reached out, took Ren's hand back with a firm but gentle grip, and began applying a specialized ointment. "Calm down, Old Shaw. I'm here. Her hand won't be ruined. I've been monitoring the nerve recovery myself."
Principal Shaw stopped pacing. He looked at Juan, the anger in his eyes flickering into a deep, respectful surprise.
"You're doing it yourself?"
The Third Master of the Capital. The man whose hands were rumored to be insured for nine figures. The man who refused to perform surgeries for kings and presidents. He was here, in a dusty school infirmary, personally applying ointment to a girl's palm.
Shaw let out a long, shaky breath. "Fine. If you're on the case, I'll stop shouting. But tell Fitz… if she has so much as a scar left, I'm coming for his office."
***
Later that evening, after the Principal had left and the school had gone quiet, Juan arranged dinner in the infirmary.
The main dish was a giant platter of spicy crawfish, a local favorite. Ren's eyes lit up the moment she smelled the chili and garlic. She reached for a glove, ready to dive in, but Juan's hand intercepted hers.
"Your hand is still healing. No grease, no chili contact," Juan said firmly. He placed a glass of warm milk in front of her. "Drink your milk. Eat your vegetables."
Ren's expression soured instantly. She stabbed a piece of broccoli with her chopsticks, looking like she wanted to murder it. "Spicy is better," she grumbled.
Juan didn't answer. Instead, he picked up a crawfish.
His movements were a marvel of efficiency. His long, slender fingers—the fingers of a master surgeon—deftly peeled away the shell in one fluid motion, extracting the plump, juicy meat without breaking a single fiber. He dipped it into a mild sauce and placed it directly into Ren's bowl.
Charles and Luke watched from the sidelines, their jaws practically hitting the floor.
"I've lived for thirty years," Charles whispered to Luke, "and I never thought I'd see the day Juan became a professional shrimp-peeler."
"Get used to it," Luke replied, popping a beer. "When it comes to Sister Ren, the Boss loses all his common sense."
Ren didn't care about their gossip. She ate the shrimp Juan provided, her mood improving with every bite.
"Ren," Luke asked, unable to contain his curiosity, "how do you really know Principal Shaw? He seemed… more than just a teacher worried about a student."
Ren swallowed a piece of meat and shrugged. "A few years ago, he came to my village for a poverty-alleviation project. I helped him with some local logistics. He gave me a recommendation letter for this school as a thank-you. He's just a bit over-dramatic."
Juan's eyes darkened slightly as he listened to her.
*A poverty-alleviation project?* He knew for a fact that Principal Shaw hadn't left Moon City for a rural village in over a decade. He also knew that the Mayor, Fitz, was a man who didn't owe "favors" to random teenagers.
Everything about Ren was a contradiction. Her 4-point exam, her 9.9-point speech, her scarred hand, and the powerful men who stood in a line to protect her. She was a puzzle with a thousand pieces, and Juan was starting to realize that he was the only one patient enough to put them together.
***
Meanwhile, on the other side of the city, Faye was standing in the Student Council office.
She had been trying to find out why the post about Ren's "Sugar Daddy" had been deleted so quickly. She assumed the school was just covering its tracks to avoid a scandal.
"Faye, seriously, forget about that thread," the head of the IT department said, his voice shaking. "We didn't delete it because of the school rules. We deleted it because of a direct order from the top."
Faye's heart skipped a beat. "What do you mean 'the top'? The Principal?"
"No," the boy whispered, looking around to make sure the room was empty. "The man in that photo? The 'old man' everyone was calling a Sugar Daddy? That was **Mayor Fitz**. The Mayor himself."
Faye felt the world tilt on its axis.
"The… the Mayor?"
"The Director of Education nearly had a stroke when he found out," the boy continued. "Apparently, Student Ren and the Mayor are close family friends. The Mayor's office threatened to sue the school if we didn't wipe every trace of that post within ten minutes."
Faye walked out of the office, her legs feeling like lead.
She looked at her phone, at the photo she had saved. She had been so sure. She had been so certain that Ren was a disgrace.
But Ren wasn't a disgrace. She was a girl who had the Mayor of Moon City as her personal guardian. She was a girl who had the Principal of the most prestigious school in the province treating her like a granddaughter.
Faye looked up at the moon, a cold realization settling in her chest.
She had spent years building her reputation as the "Golden Girl" of the Lane family. But in just a few weeks, the "country bumpkin" sister she despised had not just surpassed her—she had moved into a stratosphere Faye couldn't even dream of touching.
**[Chapter 52 End]**