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If someone asked her to name all the things (Y/n) despised and situations she hoped she'd never had to encounter, she'd have a lot to say. Things like a global pillow insufficiency and widespread insomnia. Oh yeah, and a pandemic or an apocalypse, but who cares about that?
One of those things would definitely be sitting in a quiet room with none other than Tristan...something. She forgot his last name.
But that's not important. What's important is that Jaehyun, bless that soul, is taking too long after he ran off saying something along the lines of "I need to clean my room so don't go anywhere I mean, I need to clean my bathtub and then my kitchen so do you guys want anything to eat? Because if you don't that's okay but we have a lot of snacks too in the cupboard—"
How she managed to understand that word vomit was a miracle. She was surprised that the blond wasn't comfortable in the blue-eyed male's presence. But after living with him for all these school years, shouldn't he be somewhat used to it?
Nevermind, Jaehyun has passed the stage everyone must go through: wanting to stab a pencil through Tristan's eye. He definitely is used to it now.
The clock on the wall in the living room ticked annoyingly loud in the silence. Everything was the same as the last time she came for the project with Kieran. The same annoyingly comfortable couch, the same T.V. with a screen brighter than her future, and a black piece of fabric that looked suspiciously like undergarments. Female undergarments.
Tristan noticed her wide-eyed shock and glanced over to what she was looking at. His displeased feels turned sour and he let out an irritated sigh. "That bloody tart," he cursed under his breath. "Bringing harlots home is one thing, but into the common space? I will not condone such a thing." He whipped out his phone and said something into it. "Robert, do burn Fujikawa's collection of disgraceful books. Understood? Good."
He hung up and placed the device down on the coffee table. (Y/n) watched his movements with raised eyebrows as he uncrossed and crossed his legs, folding his hands on his lap. He caught her looking at him and frowned.
"What is it? Speak, pe—brat."
'He was totally going to call me peasant there,' (Y/n) choked down her laugh. She found it funnier than insulting when people called her "peasant" or "commoner." And "sloth" was a compliment. She respected those furry creatures to an extreme.
"Nothing," the (h/c)-haired girl said simply. "Um, nice couch."
"I know."
'And the best conversationalist award goes to popsicle face here.'
"I designed this room so it's only natural," he added.
'The humblest award also goes to you. I'll even clap for you.'
"Where's Jay?" (Y/n) asked as she looked around. "He's been gone for half an hour now."
Tristan also looked impatient; he was tapping his foot—'Oh my god,' she gasped. 'Is he wearing dress shoes?!'—against the rug. He checked his watch. "Fifteen minutes and twenty-two seconds to be precise. It seems like tardiness has become a shared trait between you two. How unusual."
She bristled at his mocking tone. "Hey, are you implying I'm a bad influence?"
"Of course not," he scoffed.
'Oh, okay then—'
"I'm stating that you're a bad influence, Ms. White."
'I take that back. World War III is commencing now.' "I don't see how you're any better," she snapped, a faint fire lit in her otherwise blank (e/c) eyes. "Putting down others and talking like you're better than them. Are you a tutor or a dictator? You seem to have gotten them mixed up, Mister P—Tristan."
"I have no qualms about either," he retorted simply with an unchanging expression. Rather, there was an underlying contempt and haughtiness laced into his monotonous voice that only irritated her further. "Ever since Kim Enterprises and my family's business achieved a business agreement with each other that led to Kim and I become acquainted, no one has ever found a single flaw. But you..."
He eyed her casual wear and battered bookbag and snorted behind his hand. "You are the poster child of flawed. Sleeping in class and in the hallways with such flippant disrespect for your elders, what have you done, I daresay?"
It took her all to keep herself from saying things she knew she'd regret saying the next day. "I don't understand what the freak you're trying to say, but I was not aware you have a hobby of degrading others. Not a single flaw, you say? I can't imagine you'd do very good with diplomacy with that personality of yours.
"And second, don't for a single second assume you know anything about me. And"—she raised her voice as Tristan opened his mouth to retort—"I don't give a freak about that bloody report or whatever you received about me. It doesn't mean crap. And I disrespect my elders? Okay, I admit I'm not a golden child or anything, but at least I don't pick at every single little thing they do like a certain someone."
His hands were white as he tightened his folded hands. "Are you aware of exactly who you're insulting right now?"
"Very, I'm very well aware. And to be frank, I don't particularly care right now."
"I hope you understand what doing so entails—"
"Ah, I see. So you're going to rely on your family's influence now. Is that right, Mr. Perfect?" She laughed bitterly. "No need to remind me. I know all about rich b—excuse me, kids riding on their parent's coattails and using their influence to step on others. I don't need another one as my tutor, thank you very much."
'Oh crap, I really did it now.' (Y/n) feigned indifference while she was secretly sweating on the inside. 'I'm not concerned with getting shut down by him or anything—dad would never allow it—but shoot, school might get super troublesome from now on.' She timidly forced herself to meet his eyes, a tad bit afraid of what she was going to see.
His expression, contrary to her expectations, was not one of anger. Rather, it was a more passive one, as if he was surprised at something. Something small, like seeing a vase knocked over or a corner of a page torn out of a book. Nothing big, nothing dramatic. Knowing him, she was sure he would've pulled the "I'm going to wipe your family out from existence!" card on her. Thank goodness he didn't.
Tristan held his chin in his fingers, his eyes wide under his spectacles. "I was not aware that is how I appear to others," he murmured as if it was some shocking revelation. "Too harsh? I was merely stating my honest opinion."
'So he meant every word, huh?' Tristan Knight did not act from anger, it seems.
"This will not do." The blue-eyed male switched his gaze to the girl in front of him. She jolted at the attention. 'Is he going to kill me now?' She sweated.
"(Y/n) White," he said suddenly.
"Y-yes?!"
"I hate to admit it, but you have me beat when it comes to computers. A shameful display on my part, but it will—must be remedied soon. What I'm proposing is a solution." His softened features hardened once more. "This program is proving to be quite inconvenient for both of us, correct?"
(Y/n) nodded slowly, unsure of where he was going. 'So he's not going to kill me? He's going to torture me?!'
"I suggest we hold a temporary truce," he continued, not noticing her internal panic. 'Oh, so he's not going to kill me,' she thought with a sigh of relief. "You have your reasons for finishing this program, though obvious, and I have mine for agreeing to it in the first place. For the rest of the contract, is it acceptable if we act in a mutually beneficial manner?"
"Uh, inglés por favor."
She saw him visibly stifle down a groan and force his stoic mask back on. "In layman's terms," he stressed. "I shall assist you to the best of my abilities with gaining the grades, recommendations, and experience you need without acting too critical. You, in turn, will tell me where I am lacking. But of course, that will prove rather difficult since I am lacking in no department—"
(Y/n) raised a hand. "Umm, I remember fixing the computer before you though."
His mood dampened and he choked on his breath. His pallor appeared sickly pale as he held his face in his hands. "A disgrace, losing to the likes of you—"
"Hey!"
"—It won't happen again." Tristan cleaned his glasses and slid them back up his nose. "We will have our rematches until I am satisfied, are we clear?"
'If it means having less work to do in the sessions, why not?' She pondered her choices for a few moments and then shrugged. "'Kay."
"Very well, then it's settled. It pains me to accept help from those inferior to me in terms of intelligence and ability, but I suppose it can't be helped. Even commoners have their share of talent once in a while..."
'He just goes on and on,' (Y/n) sweatdropped. 'Where is Jay anyway?' She tuned out the blue-haired male's mutterings and scanned the large room around her. They went to his shared dorm for a step ladder, but it's been a good half hour now and the golden-haired male was nowhere in sight. 'He either fell into the toilet or his room is super messy. How messy can an artist's room be anyway?'
"...And of course, I need to account for their fickleness and strange tastes in music, especially since understanding the minds of those commoners is necessary in the business world..."
'He's still not finished?'
Tristan suddenly snapped his fingers. "Alright, I understand now." 'What exactly do you understand?' She sweatdropped. "The equipment, please." The same team of butlers that had appeared like magic the other day popped into the room out of thin air, causing (Y/n) to nearly fall off the couch choking on her breath. 'I can't ever get used to this.'
The head butler motioned for the others to step forward. They each placed a machine in front of the two on the coffee table, both identical. It took her a split second to realize what was going on and she tried her best not to groan. Not this again...
"These are robot vacuums, young master," the man said respectfully, extending a hand towards the devices. "Both are broken or malfunctioning to some degree. Next to them is a box with all the necessary supplies. I am confident I have accounted for everything."
"Good. You may leave, Gerald." The butler bowed and disappeared in a flash along with the rest. (Y/n) rubbed her eyes, not believing what she saw. 'Seriously? I didn't even see them move and I was staring at them the whole time. And I thought his name was Sebastian! Wait, don't let this be what I think it is—'
"We have ten minutes, starting now."
'Dammit, it is.'
(Y/n) eyed the cleaning bot in front of her with anger as Tristan began taking it apart like a guest on a cooking show, with that rigid posture of his. Then her gaze softened and she patted the robot sadly. 'I'm sorry my future child, you didn't do anything to me,' she sighed. 'That donkey hole is to blame. I'll fix you up as good as new, even though I only deal with computers!'
Minutes passed as the two worked in silence with Jaehyun still nowhere to be found. The only sound in the large room was the clinking of metal against metal and the clattering of parts and pieces against the polished table. Tristan had moved to the larger table behind the couch since he refused to sit on the floor and work on the coffee table like what (Y/n) was doing. Something about how chairs are for sitting and the floor is for standing on.
'Tell that to all the people who use their old toothbrushes to clean their toilets,' she snorted. 'By that logic, will you use that toothbrush in the "right" way afterward?'
Dust stained her fingers as she took out and rearranged wires and screws, replacing old chips with new ones. Her touch was light and delicate as if cutting open a living person rather than a machine. A gruesome comparison, but her precise movements were akin to that of a surgeon's. When putting together her computers and consoles, the (h/c)-haired girl refused to allow any wire to be out of place and any fingerprint or dust bunny in the inner workings.
'My children must always be in tiptop shape,' she nodded to herself sagely. 'But they're always abused by Reese when he comes over...curse that tomato face. Playing games doesn't mean smashing all the buttons as hard as you can at once! What is this, whack-the-mole? My poor children!'
She wiped her forehead with her sleeve and gently placed the screwdriver on the polished white floor next to her. 'Almost done! Just a few more adjustments and it'll be ready for a test. I wonder how popsicle face's holding up.' She glanced over at the blue-haired male in question.
Stacks upon stacks of books surrounded him. He flipped through each with one hand as he sta—I mean, worked on the machine in front of him at lightning-fast speed. Books on engineering 101, hardware, mechanics, electricity...you name it. She even saw history books on the creation of the vacuum and blueprints of the device in its original state.
It was safe to say Tristan probably had no idea what he was doing. (Y/n) had to admit; this time was harder than the first. When she cracked open the robot, she wanted to cry at the mess of wires and gears inside it. It didn't look like it was taken care of. Rather, she bet the butlers probably played rugby with it before handing it over to them.
'I have a new conspiracy theory!' She realized with a shock. 'That old computer from before and this robot vacuum—they were probably brand new until the butlers purposefully messed them up for the sake of popsicle face's ego. Such a waste of money and how could they do that to such wonderful children who haven't even lived for a year yet?!'
The (h/c)-haired girl patted the sleek shell of the device in front of her sadly. 'Don't worry, I'll never abuse you like they did.' She pressed a button on the top and it blinked to life. She set it down on the ground and it took off across the glistening floor in search of any debris. Naturally, (Y/n) didn't expect it to find anything.
Tristan snapped up from his muttering at the sound and his expression darkened in horror at the robot whirring perfectly across the living room floor. 'Crap,' (Y/n) thought. 'It probably looks like I'm rubbing it in his face or something.'
"I'm almost done," he said with a shuddering breath. "Just you wait...!"
'I've been waiting but okay.'
The robot spun around before it could crash into the wall and stopped a few feet away from her. Tristan frowned, his attention once again diverted and hand hovering over his robot. "What's it doing?"
"Floor hockey," the (h/c)-haired girl said off-handedly. "It's boring if all it does is clean." It only fueled his irritation and he began working faster with a passion. 'What's his deal?'
A tiny crevice near the bottom of the device opened and a flat puck slipped out. (Y/n) grabbed a book she found lying conveniently near her and readied it in front of her. The title read Fixing Cleaning Mechanisms for Dummies, but she wisely decided to not comment on it, lest Tristan made her stay longer just to indulge his pride.
Just thinking about it made her shudder. (Y/n) enjoying fixing things and everything, but being made to do it on and on? No way. It's like eating the same thing every single day, three times a day for the rest of her life.
At least she won her floor hockey game with the new and improved cleaning bot. She looked up at where Tristan sat on the table. His vacuum had become less of a vacuum and more of an automatic hockey pock as it spun and shuddered dizzily on the surface of the glass table. 'At least he made it move in five minutes,' she nodded appreciatively. 'That's pretty good for a beginner.'
"In ten more minutes I am confident I can complete this," he muttered bitterly under his breath. He turned it off and pushed it away from him, leaning back into his seat with a sigh. "Yet how you managed to do so under five minutes astounds me, I admit. Nevermind, we will have a—"
"Woah, is that Jay I hear?" (Y/n) shot to her feet and cupped a hand around her ear. "I totally hear him calling for help! So...yeah. See you never, P—Tristan!" With a two-fingered salute, she escaped the living room in a random direction before he could protest.
She wandered the halls listlessly in no specific direction. 'Thank god I escaped,' she mentally patted herself on the back. 'He's beginning to seem more and more like the sadist prideful type who starts telling people his life story after he finally loses. That would be so annoying. Sorry, but I'm not aspiring to be a therapist, thank you very much.'
As she followed the paintings she took a liking to on the walls, she realized something. 'I have no idea where I'm going.' She was hoping it would go like last time, where if she just went straight everything would work out. Or maybe it was just a matter of luck, like what her school's name stands for. Psh, who believes in luck anyway? It's not like she's ever used "eeny, meeny, miny, moe" to choose between salsa or guacamole.
'I hate avocado but I love guacamole. Imagine hating tomatoes but loving salsa. Ha, what an idiot.'
'Okay, for real. I think I'm lost.' It was the second time she came to this dorm, and she was lost again. Heck, she didn't even know what the name of the dorm was, so she could exactly ring her friends up to help her. Or maybe she could. But then again, (Y/n) never knew a dorm separate from the usual four even existed. 'I'm going to bet on the ugly tomato pillow Reese gave me on my birthday that the name of this dorm is something like "equinox" or "solstice." Worst case scenario it's "Twilight."'
She couldn't be paid to live in a dorm that's called Twilight. Well, unless it's enough for her swim in—she loved her moola—but we don't say that here.
A glance out the many windows made her reel back from shock. 'Bro, the sun is setting! I've never seen that before. That's wild.' If she spent any longer randomly wandering these hallways trying to get out herself, it would be night before she knew it. She had already tried finding the exit herself, but somehow she ended up on the third floor. The little "3" sign near the elevators told her that.
Then (Y/n) decided like any sane person would to take the elevator downstairs. But that only made her more confused as she stepped out the doors, took a wrong turn somewhere, and ended up in a cinema. Ignoring the unfairness of the situation, the ground floor of a students' dorm was just too big! How could a simple dorm be more extravagant than any of the hotels she's ever been to? Was it just her or was the favoritism in this school way too flagrant?
'Well, whatever,' she thought. 'I'll just solve this like last time. I hope Jay didn't actually fall down the toilet.' She dialed the golden-haired boy's number and held her phone to her ears. The dialing tone rang for a few seconds before he picked up.
"Hello?" His voice came through the speaker, just as soft as it is in real life.
"Guess what?" She said.
"What?"
"I'm lost."
"Oh okay. Hi lost."
"Oi, I'm being serious."
She heard him chuckle through the phone, and there was the sound of fabric shifting in the background. "Wait...don't tell me you went back to cover the wall?"
"You caught me..."
"Why though? I would've helped you."
"You looked busy," he answered. "And besides, Tristan would kill me if I took up too much of your time. You have a prior arrangement with him today, right?"
"Well, I guess." She frowned. "How did you know?"
"He told me. He found out about our shopping trip."
"Oh." That prick—
"Anyway, you said you were lost?"
"Oh yeah!" (Y/n) shifted her phone to her other ear as she walked down the long hallway. "I'm going somewhere and I hope it's the exit."
"Um, wandering gets people more lost, you know."
"True, but I'm already lost. It's like how if I'm failing my class, how can I fail it even more?"
"I don't think that's the right logic...but okay, do you know where you are?"
She took a look around, her (e/c) gaze sweeping over the glass wall before her and the sunset of molten oranges and fiery reds. "Yup, I'm here."
"...Excuse me?"
"No, really." (Y/n) pointed to a sign on the wall in front of her before realizing he couldn't see her. "I see a sign that says 'You are here.' Real helpful, you know. Tells me a lot."
"Ah, I think I know where you are."
"Wait, seriously?"
"Yup! That's the music room. Kieran put that sign up to annoy Leon."
"Oh, really?" She saw a grand piano in the center of the room and walked up to it. "Are they musicians?" The ebony surface of the instrument shone under the fading sunlight like the starry night washed over with sheens of silver moonlight; bright, soulful, and captivating. (Y/n) didn't know what spell fell over her that made her want to reach out and touch it. Was it because it was such a magnificent instrument that appealed to the engineer inside her? Or perhaps it really was a spell or a curse that drew her to the piano's haunting beauty.
It almost made her lose Jaehyun's next words. "I suppose they are," the blond was saying. "All four of us are expected to master the piano, but the real musical genius has to be Leon."
"For real?" To be honest, it was hard to imagine the same black-haired male she saw hanging out with a bunch of shady fellows playing such an elegant instrument. Again, looks can be deceiving.
"Yeah, I would know. He should be put in Winter Hall for his musical capabilities, but for some reason, he was tossed into Summer instead. Ah, that sounded bad just now, didn't it? I'm sorry, I mean to say he chose Summer over Winter when he was admitted."
"If I had talent like that, I would go straight to Winter," (Y/n) shook her head. He has his reasons. "It's nice hearing more about your friends and everything, but I'm still lost."
"I'm sorry, I forgot! Okay, so take a left when you go out, then straight, then a right at the end of the second hallway—"
"I prefer English, please."
"Left, straight, straight, right, straight, left, straight, exit."
"Thanks so much, Jay!"
"No problem! I'm glad I could help."
(Y/n) ended the call and pocketed the phone. The call left her with more questions about their situation and sparked her interest as Wither403. It reminded her of all the posts building up in the affairs thread she has yet to read through. Why? Because they were all about the P4 of course, which (Y/n) didn't give two sh*ts about before.
But now that she's befriended Jaehyun, her role changed from ignoring those requests for their personal information to wanting to protect it. Which also meant she had to protect her friend's friends. It was a pain, but with her coding skills, it shouldn't be impossible. It was a plan: as soon as she got home, she was going to shut down every message and thread about the P4 that dug a little too deep.
And those who tried to use her website to leak the P4's IP address would receive a nice little gift in the form of an untraceable virus. Insert Jasper's passive-aggressive smiley.
She waved it off. There were more pressing matters at hand, namely her sleep. It was a global crisis; (Y/n) White has gotten approximately 30.2% less sleep this week after meeting the P4 than before.
On second thought, maybe she should reconsider befriending Jaehyun.
Hahaha, just kidding. Probably.
'How did it go again?' She let her hand fall off the piano. 'Left, straight, and then something. Oh well, it'll work out somehow.'
Following the blond's instructions, she made it successfully back to the living room. Back where she started. Hooray. Cue the applause.
Aside from the fact that she was 95% sure she heard her name coming from the room, nothing about her path back to freedom and her bed seemed unusual. It wasn't like Tristan, that cold bas...turd was dissing her or anything. Actually, she wasn't sure what he was saying, but it was something about her.
'Dude, this is like all those awkward moments in Reese's shoujo manga where the female lead stumbles on the male lead's secret conversation about her,' the (h/c)-haired girl realized. 'Why is my life becoming so clichéd? Eww, that's gross. I don't want that but I'm going to eavesdrop anyway because why not. And blackmail material, you know what I mean?'
Normal people would not be readying a recording device as they crouched behind the door, but was she a normal person?
'I'm just going to use Nicholas's words here. "Normal is overrated. Ninjas are the thing now."'
"...Did you get what I asked for?" She heard the blue-haired male say to another person whose voice she recognized as the butler's. Gerome or something.
"Yes, it took a long time," the butler answered as he handed a packet to him. "But we managed to run a full background check on that girl."
'That girl?' (Y/n) frowned. 'Do they mean me?'
He took it with an impassive face as he leaned his head on the back of his hand. He was sitting on the couch while George something stood in front of him respectfully. "I thought it was strange how vague the report was," he murmured. "At first glance, her file looked normal. But it lacked many crucial details normal students' reports had. Her educational background. Perchance she flunked out of primary school?"
Geoffrey something stifled a laugh, masking it with a cough. "Excuse me, young master, but that seems highly improbable. Failing primary school is a bit..."
"I could see it happening with that brat."
First came the shock as she listened to their conversation. Then came the chills and then the white-hot anger. It was a wave of quiet but deadly anger that slowly enveloped the (h/c)-haired girl as the monster inside her reared its ugly head. She didn't want to admit it, but despite all his flaws, Tristan Knight was too observative for his own good.
Everyone had a past they didn't want to remember. And she was one of them.
She didn't quite remember the details of what happened next in her rage, but she vaguely recalled wanting to burst into the room. But her last strand of conscience warned her back; don't do it, her little voice said. You'll regret it.
Somehow she managed to hold back. She managed to keep herself from running in there and ripping the accursed pages up. Her fury slowly faded as she walked silently through the hallways, replaced with a feeling she was all too familiar with.
Fear. And she hated it.
Her nightmares that she once was forced to live through—(Y/n) thought she had escaped. She thought she had left it all behind her once she was adopted into the happy dream named Paisley and Aaron White.
She thought wrong.