INTRACTABLE

"Abide by the rules if you value your life… I mean your studies."

That was the note Christan found on the board as he headed for the next step of admission. The words were written in bold, unremovable paint, as if they were some kind of encouragement.

The way it read felt like someone was speaking directly to him rather than just a simple note. The quotation marks only added to the effect. He stared at it with a stiffened expression.

"So, I'm really in Goldlef, huh?" He took a deep breath.

Every step so far only increased his unease. He felt troubled whenever he imagined what his life would be like here. He hoped everything he had heard was exaggerated, but seeing that note only nailed his doubts.

He stood in front of a room and took another deep breath. This was the next office he needed to enter to complete his admission. Finally, he stepped inside.

Inside, there were several chairs and long tables, indicating that multiple teachers shared this office. However, only two of them were present.

A man in his early thirties with light brown spots on his face rummaged through Christan's suitcase as he inspected it. Some items weren't allowed, and he had to ensure that students followed the packing guidelines.

He pulled out a blanket and scoffed. "This? You call this a thick blanket?" He glanced at the student for answers.

The school was located near the mountains, and it tended to get extremely cold, especially at night. That was why the joining instructions specifically ordered students to bring a thick duvet.

Students often ignored this requirement—one of them being the boy standing before him.

Christan looked at the blanket. He couldn't blame anyone; after all, it had been his own idea to bring it. He hadn't wanted a big one, thinking it would be bothersome to carry since it wouldn't even fit in his suitcase.

The teacher sighed, giving up. "You came here to freeze to death? Then be our guest."

Next, Christan moved and stood in front of another teacher in the same room. This teacher had brown skin and sat with his long legs on the table, giggling at his phone while his one-sided dimple deepened with every chuckle.

As Christan approached, he wondered how he was supposed to snap the man out of his little world. However, before he could do anything, the teacher turned to him.

"Open that drawer. You'll find a pair of scissors." Then, he quickly returned to his phone.

Christan hesitated, processing the request. Scissors?

As far as he knew, scissors were for cutting. But what exactly needed to be cut on him? His imagination ran wild with possibilities—most of them unpleasant.

He had already been warned that this school was hell. Would it really be so strange if his worst fears turned out to be true?

He turned to the cupboard, opened the upper drawer, and saw the silver scissors just as the teacher had said.

He was supposed to hand them over, but instead, he remained frozen, staring at them. His fingers traced over the sharp edge.

For a moment, the world around him became distant, and he felt completely alone.

Suddenly, he turned—just in time to see a blade swinging toward him. The sharp edge reflected in his wide eyes.

His body reacted instantly, stepping back in preparation to dodge.

But then, nothing.

The blade was gone. The office was exactly the same as before. The brown-skinned teacher was still glued to his phone.

He turned to the other teacher—and gasped silently when he saw the man watching him intently.

The freckled teacher had been observing him, eyes narrowed like he was trying to figure something out. Christan had even cut his finger, but he hadn't seemed to notice. If the teacher had assumed he was just a normal student before, he certainly didn't think so now.

Christan grabbed the scissors.

The teacher with the phone, noticing his colleague's tense expression, followed his gaze.

He saw Christan approaching with the scissors in hand. The teacher accepted them but gave him a strange look, wondering what his colleague had seen.

"Whatever you're imagining is what's going to happen" The teacher grinned, twirling the scissors. Then, he lowered his eyes and glanced at Christan.

Christan tensed. No one had ever told him this was what happened to students who enrolled here. He took a step back.

"Come on, sit. No need to tire your tiny balls."

He wanted to stay composed but failed. His imagination was proving to be true—these monsters were going to castrate him. His brows knitted as he prepared to fight for his survival.

Then, the teacher burst into laughter. He laughed so hard he forgot he was in the office.

Judging by the student's expression, it was easy to guess what he had imagined.

"What a day!" He wiped the tears from the corner of his eyes. "Come and sit already, I have a lot to do. Ah, and don't worry—nothing you're thinking is going to happen. Everything will be intact when you leave here."

Soon, Christan sat down, the teacher standing behind him. Casually, the teacher lifted the scissors and snipped the tip of his hair.

Startled, Christan turned abruptly.

"Long hair suits you. But not here," the teacher said, cutting away without concern.

Soon, Christan's hair was trimmed to ear level. He picked up the strands from his lap and the floor and walked outside. Standing at the door, he closed his eyes and took a deep breath.

Inside the office, the brown-skinned teacher's expression hardened as he looked at his colleague.

"Reed, you saw something. What was it?"

Reed turned to him. "Not much. I just noticed… he's sick. Lauren, Oh, did I tell you he'll be your student."

"What? Why does it have to be me? Doesn't my class already have enough trouble?"

Reed shrugged and took a sip of his juice, looking completely unbothered.

"What was his name again?" Lauren asked, deciding he had to keep his attention on the boy from now on.

---

After completing the admission process, Christan needed to find his dorm, unpack, and attend class. A female teacher was supposed to assign a student to guide him. As he waited, he stole glances at her.

He had seen slim women before, but none quite like her. His eyes traveled to her chest—it was too flat to be normal. Front and back, she was the same.

For a second, he almost mistook her for a man, but her gown and voice confirmed otherwise.

"Stripping me in that small brain of yours?" the teacher sternly asked.

Embarrassed, Christan coughed. "No… I was just—"

"Shut it." She turned forward and called over a passing student.

"Madam Kevielle, you called me?"

"Show him to his dorm."

Christan's eyes narrowed as he looked at the student assigned to guide him. He recognized him.

It was the same boy he had seen imagining what had happened to him before ending up in Goldlef only after he arrived in the office.

The boy had golden, honey-like skin and raven-black hair, with thick brows framing his beautiful eyes. He had a pretty face and looked so soft that Christan wondered why he had initially thought he was the weak one.

As they walked, a frown never left Christan's face. Suddenly, the boy halted and turned with a smirk.

Christan stopped too, watching him in confusion.

"I'm Vivek. And you?" the boy introduced himself.

Christan raised an eyebrow. He didn't see the need for them to know each other's names. But he was more surprised by his name.

He looked at him again. It made sense. His features resembled an Indian, though his accent was flawless.

"Christan," he answered.

"Well, Christan—"

Then, the boy walked toward him and stretched out his hand to help with his suitcase, because Christan was also carrying a backpack.

Christan swiftly switched the suitcase to his other hand, looking at him without amusement. "No need to trouble yourself. I'm grateful enough for you showing me the room."

Vivek blinked in disbelief. He hadn't expected him to refuse.

"It's okay." The boy smiled with closed eyes and thought, "I hope he makes my days here less boring."