IMPERFECTLY PERFECT PERSON
"In a life of regrets and missed opportunities, I, an introverted soul merely existing, found unexpected salvation in a girl battling anxiety—a twist that rewrote my entire story."
Opening:
A week has passed since College Week ended, and my body is still aching from all the activities and mainly the basketball game. Despite our best efforts, we didn't win the finals. Our team came so close, but in the end, the other side emerged victorious. Even though I hate losing, I have to admit I had fun.
After College Week wrapped up, Rena and I finally exchanged contact information. I don't text her much since we see each other around college, but she seems quite satisfied with the work we did together. She's begun to open up more to everyone now. Before, she had built a wall around herself and carried a cold, unfriendly aura. However, after working together over the past few weeks, she's started getting along with everyone much better.
I'm glad she's found her place, but I've noticed she's become a bit harsher towards me. She gets frustrated when I slack off or doze off in class. To be honest, I don't mind this new side of her. It's not that I enjoy being treated harshly, but it's clear she cares. Her reactions also serve as a motivation for me to stay on track.
The next morning, I struggled to get out of bed and ended up skipping classes. I figured missing one day wouldn't hurt too much—hopefully. The following day, determined to be more responsible, I made sure to wake up on time and head to college for my first class.
According to my schedule, it was Tuesday, so classes were supposed to start at 8:15. I arrived at college earlier than planned, with some time to spare. I decided to wait it out in the cafeteria. When the bell finally rang, I went to my classroom but found it empty. No one was there yet. I texted my friends in our group chat to see if they had arrived, but there was no response.
I double-checked my schedule and realized, to my dismay, that today was Wednesday, not Tuesday. Classes didn't start until 10:30. With hours to kill and the hostel too far away to go back, I was left with the dilemma of what to do for the next two hours. As I pondered this, my gaze fell on the classroom projector, and an interesting idea suddenly came to mind.
"Okay, let's see if I can pull this off without getting caught," I think, a mix of excitement and nerves bubbling in my chest. I log onto the college's Wi-Fi network using my student credentials, then open my laptop and launch a network scanning tool I've been using to map out the college's devices in my spare time. Within moments, I locate the projector's IP address—something I had noted down from a previous scan.
The technical challenge is that the projector is protected by basic network security. It's not top-tier, but it's enough to keep most students out. However, I've read about a vulnerability in the model used in this classroom—a weak default password that many colleges never bother to change.
With quick, practiced keystrokes, I open a terminal and send a few carefully crafted commands to the projector's IP address, trying to gain access with the default credentials. My heart races as I wait for a response.
Success. The projector hums to life, its light flickering on. The classroom fills with the soft glow of the projector, now displaying the mirrored screen of my laptop. "Gotcha," I whisper, a triumphant grin spreading across my face. I navigate to a streaming site, keeping the volume low just in case, and select an anime movie, *Your Name*.
Watching it on the big screen feels amazing. I get so absorbed in the movie that I forget what I'm doing isn't exactly allowed. As time passes, more of my classmates start to enter the classroom and take their seats, soon joining me in watching the movie.
By then, I had completely forgotten about my earlier actions. As the movie approached its end, the teacher walked into the classroom, shocked to see an anime film playing on the projector. That's when I realized I had really messed up.
Without wasting a second, I discreetly reached into my backpack and pulled out my phone. I had a backup plan—a remote control app installed earlier that lets me access my laptop from my phone. I quickly connected to my laptop, which was still quietly running in the background. "Come on, come on," I muttered under my breath, fingers moving rapidly on my phone. I navigated to the terminal, where the projector was still connected, and issued the command to disconnect my laptop. The screen in front of the class went black, returning to its normal standby mode just as the teacher glanced over.
As the teacher remained confused, I breathed a sigh of relief, knowing I wasn't out of the woods yet. With the projector disconnected, my laptop was still vulnerable to network logs that could trace the hack back to me. I opened my laptop again, making sure no one was watching, and swiftly ran a script I had prepared for situations like this—a program designed to erase all traces of my network activity. The script wiped out any logs on my laptop, cleared the network history, and even sent a signal to the projector to reset its connection records.
When the script finished, my laptop gave a soft beep—a sign that the job was done. I closed the terminal, shut down my laptop, and slipped it back into my backpack. The teacher asked who was responsible, but no one in the room seemed to have any idea about what had just happened. As the class continued, I leaned back in my seat, trying to appear as nonchalant as possible. The teacher eventually gave up and resumed the lesson.
My heart was still pounding, but I kept my expression neutral. I knew what I had done could have landed me in serious trouble, but the thrill of pulling it off without a hitch was undeniable.
The next day, I felt like I was the mysterious Hacker from a movie . But I was summoned to the principal's office, where both the principal and my class teacher greeted me with smiles. They showed me the CCTV footage from the classroom, capturing me giggling and dancing to a loli song as I tried to access the projector. At that moment, I fully understood the gravity of my mistake.
As I braced myself for the worst, my class teacher asked, "Ashan, how did you manage to do that? When I tried to track it, all traces were wiped clean and no evidence was found."
I confessed honestly about what I had done, and they were astonished by my explanation. The principal said, "That's an impressive feat for a first-semester student, Ashan. Even though it was illegal and could have serious consequences, I must admit I'm quite impressed."
I blushed slightly but stayed silent. The principal continued, "However, you will still face a punishment for your actions."
"Yes, sir," I replied, a bit apprehensive.
"As punishment, I want you to establish a club exclusively for BCA students. You'll be the president and are expected to run it like a proper club," the principal said.
"What do you mean, sir?" I asked.
"We've been considering starting a BCA-only club but hadn't found the right person for the job. Given your skills, I believe you're the best fit to create and lead this club," the principal explained.
"So, is this a punishment or a request?" I inquired.
"Both," the principal responded.
Knowing I had little choice, I agreed. "Understood, sir."
"Great. Submit the form by the end of the week. As the president, you'll also get to choose the club's members and set its functions," the principal said.
"Yes, sir," I confirmed.
Returning to the practical lab, Rena asked why I had been called to the principal's office. I couldn't exactly tell her that I was caught hacking the projector and watching a movie. Instead, I made up an excuse, saying they wanted to discuss the creation of a BCA club and my potential role as president.
Somehow, she bought the explanation. As I prepared for the days ahead, I knew things were about to get even more hectic.
That same week, I submitted the form for the new club, The Digital Den. It was officially formed a few days later. I decided to sort out the members and positions later, but I was certain about one role: the vice president. I knew exactly who I wanted for the position.
After our practical class, I approached Rena. "So, about the new club I recently created, I'd really like you to be the vice president. Will you do it?"
"Why me?" she asked.
"Because I know you're up to the task," I replied.
"How do you know that?" she pressed.
"Didn't we already discuss this before?" I said.
"I don't recall," she said with feigned ignorance.
"It's because I understand who you are and how dedicated you are to the things you care about. You're the only person I can think of who can realistically help me here," I explained.
"So, can you be the vice president of our club and support me just like you've supported me with my CR duties?" I asked.
"That sounds better. Sure, I'd love to do it," she said with a cheeky smile.
With Rena onboard, we had the main carry in place. Now, I just needed to find members. We issued a notice about the club and invited interested students to join.
Just as things seemed to be running smoothly, trouble emerged. Some seniors, dissatisfied with a first-semester student being the president of a BCA-only club, began causing issues.