Tempora mutantur
Times change.

As a child, his parents were his everything. His mother homeschooled him while his father worked. Lessons would begin at nine am sharp and end just shy of three in the afternoon. She filled those hours with nothing but phantasmal wonder and unrivalled learning. During his allotted free time, she'd spin illustrious tales and demonstrate wondrous parlour tricks for him. He was smitten by the pure adventure, the raw majesty of his school days. The way she taught agreed with him, and he was able to breeze through each and every lesson she threw at him. His mother was patient, creative. "Good job, Junhong!" she'd cheer when he completed yet another lesson in record time.

After work, his father would come home fully prepared to celebrate his son's remarkable achievements. Junhong would seat himself in his father's lap and his feet would rock back and forth as he listened to how his his day had gone. They'd eat dinner as a family of five. A father, a mother, a son, and their two dogs. His mother cooked such delicious meals that it was almost a shame they had no one to share them with. It was a bit of a secluded way to live, but he quite enjoyed the warm atmosphere it presented. Even at a young age, he was grateful for the small family he had, and even more thankful for how magical it made him feel.

His solitary way of life was harshly interrupted the day he'd turned ten. With a kiss pressed to his forehead and a firm hug, his parents had left the house. He didn't see them until a solid week later when they had been rested in a plush wooden box and lowered into the ground for eternity. His father had patted him on the back before he left forever, telling him that he was on the first step towards manhood and that he could officially watch the house all by himself -- yes, even without the dogs. Before his mother took a journey to her grave, she held his little hand in hers and presented him with the most beautiful, most fleeting, little ball of luminescence for her "little man."

After that, he couldn't remember any such birthday that didn't bring about overwhelming loneliness.

It was in his parents will for him to be sent off to a Catholic school on the complete other side of the country. The man who'd read aloud his parents after-death wishes seemed too detached to be his father's best friend. His wire-rimmed circular glasses made his eyes smaller, more critical. He spoke with a drawl and a faint accent, and the way his lips formed around both Junhong's and his parents names seemed, for lack of a better word, wrong. A vast amount of riches had been left to Mr. and Mrs. Choi's only son, and were to be presented to him at the age of seventeen. When Junhong was deemed sufficiently adult-like, he would receive the towering amount of money left to him. Everything had been worked out, down to the last meticulous detail.

Thus, Junhong was sent away.

He left his childhood home and all of the memories it held. His warm bed was left behind in favour of the board-like beds in the dorm. Junhong had never been to an actual school, and each day during each and every lecture he found himself daydreaming of the times when his mother would teach him. Her fingers spinning illusions and her closed palms giving birth to all sorts of unfound wonders. He yearned to curl up with one of the dogs again while his father, albeit begrudgingly, weaved tricks of his own. Junhong missed the excitement, the innocence of his childhood days. His books at school were unforgiving, lifeless. The children there even more so.

In order to pass the time, Junhong would find himself attempting to replicate his parent's mysterious tricks. He'd hold his hands together, just as his mother would in-between lessons, and concentrate as hard as he could. No little glowing sphere, no light of hope. Despite his failures, he still tried. However, this endless motivation to learn these mysterious tricks drove any potential friends away. The other students didn't like him as much as he would have preferred. One particular student, known for his academic prowess and religious devotion, told on Junhong for "practicing dark arts and seemingly Satanic rituals." Junhong didn't think he could hate those nuns anymore than he already had.

They were far too strict for his liking. Where, as a child, Junhong had full and complete freedom to do as he liked, he found himself feeling extremely distasteful towards the constant nagging and berating of those women in habits. All of the boys had to be in bed at a specific time, and be awake at another. Their uniforms had to be in perfect order, and any lapel out of place would be at least one beating. The nuns stalled his creativity and nipped any unorthodox habits straight in the bud. At home, Junhong's creativity would flow and his imagination would roam to distant planets. However, at this prison, cleverly covered up as a school, Junhong could only bring himself to pass the time with homework.

When a sleek black car rolled up on the campus it was the cold autumn morning of Junhong's seventeenth birthday. He'd  been excused from class, and called down to the main office on the first floor of the massive building. In the halls, he found himself shaking with fear. What could he have done to upset those nuns this time? He was behaving, wasn't he?

The tall ceilings within the halls echoed the hollow sounds of his footsteps. It was the only thing he could find solace in. Maybe this call-down wouldn't be so bad. Perhaps he had just made first in his class again. Nothing major, really. Perhaps it'd be more of a celebration if he had someone to rejoice with. He tried not to worry too much, but the nuns were unpredictable. The hard wood of their yardsticks were what bruised and bloodied his knuckles, making it harder and harder to write. So far, he'd managed to avoid the more… embarrassing punishments. Those women clad in black and white were what made the school hell. They were so cruel and unforgiving, and he found that every day that passed was a day that he hated them more.

He stopped at the wooden door of the main office. The opaque glass window held no hopes. It caused his palms to sweat as he waited to be called in. His polished dress shoes squeaked on the newly waxed floor. There were hushed voices from within, among none he could decipher. He couldn't tell if he was going to get punished or congratulated, expelled or rewarded. What would they do with him once he stepped across the threshold and into that sour-smelling office?

The door opened, and one of the nuns ushered him in. Her eyes had been weighed down by heavy bags, and thick wrinkles had already set into her skin. As she pushed him down into the hard oaken chair in front of the large desk, he could feel how cold and lifeless her hands were. She sent him a glare, her narrow eyes pulled into thin slits, before she dismissed herself. He found himself much more at ease after she had left.

"Junhong, it's been so long." His gaze moved from the closed door to the desk. The principal sat behind it, his fingers laced together and a scowl set firmly in place upon his lips. His white hair was thinning, and the wrinkles set next to lips looked like the jowells of an old bull dog. However, it wasn’t him who talked. His protruding upper lip wasn’t quivering, and his crooked yellow teeth weren’t exposed as the words messily spilled from his mouth. No, it wasn’t him. The man beside him, tall and lean. His eyes were much brighter, his lips upturned in a much more genuine gesture. He had a face that was so familiar, yet Junhong couldn’t do enough memory-scouring to remember.

When the man talked again, Junhong focused on the sound of his voice rather than the words he spoke. The way he spoke was kinder than he was used to, much gentler, and far more approachable. His voice was smooth and soothing, with just the right amount of deepness to it. It reminded him of his father, and it that moment, it felt like his father. The man had these dark brown eyes, ones that welcomed him. He felt comfortable, and at ease. A brief memory flashed before his eyes. Seated in his father’s lap, he listened, this time more to the words than the sound.

“... here to see if you are eligible to receive the money.” The man finished up. He had this wide, hopeful smile set on his lips. Junhong wished he had been listening.

“Your grades check out quite well, however.” He continued, not missing a beat. “First in your class more often than not. You’re quite brilliant, you know. Your parents would be proud.” He was proud, too, in a way. The way he stood taller with his back straighter screamed pride. His smile even widened, if that was possible.

“If he is eligible, what happens to his education here?” The principal spoke, the sagging wrinkles on his face shaking. He stared at Junhong as he waited for a reply, gaze burning holes where their eyes met. He was smug, as if he knew he was to subject Junhong to at least two more years of an overblown education.

“Well,” the man took a stack of papers from the desk and flipped through them. He hummed as he examined lines, scanned paragraphs, and counted on his fingers. “Judging by your policies, though he doesn’t have an outstanding discipline record, it is up to graduation standards. In addition to that, his grades are exemplary, and he has more than enough credits to graduate now. So, logically speaking, he can take the money and leave. All you have to do is approve his early graduation, present him with the diploma, and he may take his things and leave.”

Now it was Junhong’s turn to be smug. He watched as the principal’s grin deflated. Finally, after countless years of the creativity being beat out of him or doing nothing but subduing whatever magic and wonder his mother had filled him with. He’d be free, wielding more riches than he knew what to do with. His own lips curled into a smirk. This obscure Catholic school would lose their star student. Now, they would hardly qualify for any sort of state-funded rewards. The only student that could match up to his skill was just about to graduate. What would become of this little school in the middle of nowhere? Hopefully something terrible.

“I’d like to graduate early.” He mused, watching as the principal squirmed under his gaze. “And there’s no way you can deny me. Like he said, I’m either above or at every single one of your qualifications. You can’t keep me here. I have enough money for a lawyer now, anyway.”