I’m deep underground, in a cell with no windows—just a locked door without a knob. This is where I was brought yesterday after my session with the academy’s groomers. They trimmed my hair, filed my nails, and seemed disappointed that there wasn’t more work to be done.

My temporary quarters in the Incubation Suites are furnished with a bed, a bureau, and a rack of expensive clothing. It seemed perfectly comfortable at first, until I realized there’s no desk. No books. Not even an alarm clock. A small bathroom with no door is off to one side. Toiletries have been provided. Nothing dangerous or poisonous. No bottles made out of glass.

There’s no way to hide from yourself in this place. The far wall of my cell features a wide, full-length mirror.

Last night, while exploring my cage, I discovered that I could see my own reflection from every corner of the room. That’s when I began to suspect that I wasn’t alone.I rapped on the mirror, and the hollow sound confirmed that it wasn’t fixed to a solid wall.

I waved at whoever was watching on the other side. And when dinner was delivered on a tray to my door, my reflection and I sat on the floor and shared the meal with my unseen guests. A bell rang shortly after the tray was taken away. I didn’t realize its purpose until the lights shut off a few minutes later.

The room was so dark that I could have slept with my eyes open. And yet I could still feel them watching.

Fortunately, Peter Pan made good on his promise. He didn’t visit me during the night. But I know he hasn’t forgotten me because he sent me a dream again.

I saw myself sitting on the steps outside the public pool in Guryong Park. It was a warm morning at the beginning of May, and I was desperate for a dip, but the pool was still closed for the season. Weeks had passed since I’d last been truly clean.

I heard sandals slapping the sidewalk and spotted a boy walking toward me. I’m not sure what caught my eye first. The wild, black hair that floated around his face—or the slim, lean body clad in form fitting clothes.

When the breeze pinned the fabric to his body, he might as well have been .

He wasn’t beautiful. At least not in the model pageant-winner way. He was absolutely magnificent.

“The pool doesn’t open till Memorial Day,” the boy stopped to inform me.

I’d seen him before. He lived somewhere in the neighborhood, but I didn’t think he’d noticed me. My grubbiness rendered me invisible to almost everyone.

I checked over my shoulder, just to make sure I was the only person around.

“Why don’t you come with me,” he said.

“Where?” I asked, and instantly regretted it. It didn’t really matter where.

“You’ll see.”

We walked side by side without saying a word. Most people get fidgety when no one’s talking. This boy seemed perfectly comfortable with the silence. I kept inching closer to catch the unusual scent he was trailing.

Halfway down the block, he stopped outside the baths, and I realized we’d reached our destination.

“I don’t have any money,” I told him, patting my empty pockets.

“If you come before business hours and tell them Sunggyu sent you, they won’t ask you to pay.”

“Who’s Sunggyu?” I asked.

“That’s me.” I know his name now.

“Where are you from?” I asked. I’d never seen anyone who looked quite like him or have that distinct accent and lisp he did.

“Well, you will just have to find out, won’t you?”

I took a shower first and gave my clothes a light wash. Then I grabbed a robe from the pile stacked up for patrons and set out in search of Sunggyu. When I reached the ice-cold plunge pool, I found him.

Gods have been known to murder mortals who catch sight of them . Sunggyu just smiled as though he had nothing to hide.

There was something so innocent about it that I knew he wasn’t trying to seduce me.

But he did.

When I woke, I felt warm, wet skin under my fingertips. The sensation slipped away, but I could still see Sunggyu gently treading water behind my eyelids. Then the lights in my cell came on with no warning.

Sunggyu faded, and another day began.

I thought I knew what I was doing when I came here. It all seemed so simple. Take a few classes. Graduate in nine months. Get the proof Jungyeop promised. Destroy my father and join my brother.

I thought it would be easy to leave Sunggyu behind. This morning I found out I was wrong.

I think a part of my heart knew this would be the hardest thing to do in my life.

• • •

I’m glad I worked up the energy to shower and dress because the door of my cell just slid open. There’s a woman standing outside in the hall, waiting to me to the first experiment of the day. She’s attractive. All the women who work here are attractive. The men are too, come to think of it. But it’s hard to look at any of them. Whenever one of the employees meets my eyes, I can tell they’re staring straight through me.

“What time is it?” I ask.

“Lights on is at seven. Breakfast is at eight. Starting tomorrow, you will not have an . So please pay attention. You’ll be expected to find your own way.”

“Maybe you should give us maps.”

“You won’t need a map. I’m going to show you everything you need to know.”

There are signs on the doors now. The woman reads them all, as though I’m incapable of doing so on my own. She starts with room 6. My room.

“Room five, room four, room three, room two, room one,” she says as we walk down the hall. These are the other students’ cells. We turn a corner. “Classroom one, classroom two, classroom three.” We turn another corner. “Media room, gym, cafeteria.”

The gym is in the center of the square formed by the hallway. It’s got to be huge. The woman stops at the cafeteria, but I take a peek around the next corner. I see the elevators and two unmarked doors. I’m guessing the first one hides a stairwell to the glass catwalk that passes above my head and into the gym.

“What’s down this way?” I ask.

“Those rooms are for employees only,” she states.

The woman pushes a metal button that opens the cafeteria door, and I step inside. It’s the same place where I taught Alex his little lesson, but a new set seems to have been constructed during the night. The bottom half of the room has been transformed into a restaurant that has four walls but no ceiling.

Instead of the self-service food bar, there are five tables with crisp white tablecloths. Antique mirrors with gilded frames reflect the warm light shed by brass sconces. When I look up, the illusion ends. The brasserie’s walls are only ten feet high. Above that mark, the room still resembles a soundstage. The catwalk’s glass is clear. I’m the first to arrive.

A waiter approaches me. Not a waiter, I remind myself. One of them in a black vest and white apron.

“Bonjour, monsieur,” he says. “Table for one?”

“Oui,” I respond, deciding to play along. “Je voudrais une table près de la fenêtre, s’il-vous plaît.”

It’s one of the four or five phrases I ever managed to memorize. I knew better than to expect a laugh, but my joke seems to catch the faux waiter completely off guard. Jungyeop should have hired someone who speaks a little French.

“Oh, never mind,” I say with an exaggerated sigh. “Just give me the very best table you have.”

I take my seat. I’m placing my napkin in my lap when Sungyeol arrives. From my position sitting down and his walking over, it makes him look even taller.

I feel the urge to applaud, so I do. His hair has been cut and trimmed. Now that there’s nothing to distract from his face, I can see how ruggedly handsome he is. They’ve put him in a simple gray shirt and tasteful studs in his ears. Sungyeol gives me the finger and a cruel smile on the way to his table.

Sungjong is next. He looks like a model with his coral-colored oxford shirt tucked into a pair of olive chinos. Not much of a difference, truth be told, but he doesn’t seem particularly pleased. Probably because someone told him to button his shirt all the way to the top.

He’s followed by Alex. It’s hard to focus on anything other than the white bandage across his nose and his two swollen eyes, but I can see he’s been given a respectable haircut, a shirt custom-made for his brawny torso, and a pair of black pants. He smiles at me as he passes. I’m not sure if it’s a peace offering or a threat. But I’m impressed by the quality of his new veneers.

Key arrives last. The transformation is remarkable. They’ve darkened his hair and cut some bangs. The dark, feline-like eyes peeking out from beneath them are framed by long, black lashes. He’s wearing dress shoes, tight, black slacks, and a diaphanous blue dress shirt.

The same eyes that haven’t left my face since the moment he walked into the room. I hope he hasn’t gotten me mixed up with Prince Charming. That wouldn’t be good. Not good at all. I rescued him once, but I may not be willing to do it again.

Our waiter glides between the tables, delivering a menu to each of us. Another man arrives and wordlessly makes his way around the room. His sense of style feels formal and casual all at once. Red check shirt carefully rolled up to the elbows. A striped tie with a double knot. Sleek navy pants that are tapered at the ankle. Glasses with fashionable frames that probably don’t hold corrective lenses.

“Excellent,” the man announces when he reaches my table. “Alex, where is Flick’s napkin?” I can tell by his tone when he calls us, he’d prefer to call us by our surnames if we had any.

“Huh?” Alex grunts.

“Flick’s napkin is in his lap. Folded lengthwise with the fold facing toward him,” the man says, not bothering to wait for an answer. “Sungyeol, where are Flick’s elbows?”

I turn to see that Sungyeol has one elbow on the table. His head is propped up by his palm. “Who gives a f—?” he sneers. I have a feeling somebody isn’t too thrilled by his makeover.

The man’s nostrils flare, but his voice remains calm. “That’s the last time you—or any of your classmates—will use that word while you’re inside these walls. Do I make myself clear?”

“Yes, sir!” I chirp. I think I may be on my way to becoming the teacher’s pet.

He pats me on the shoulder but keeps his eyes locked on Sungyeol. “Do I?”

“Yes,” he says.

“As for why you should care, to be perfectly frank, you look vulgar and ignorant. Should you ever find yourself in a restaurant like this, your fellow diners won’t be impressed by your disdain for the rules. They’ll be too busy snickering at your crudeness. Now sit up straight.”

Sungyeol does what he’s told. In fact, there’s no longer a single bent spine in the room.

“My name is Mr. Park. I will be joining you for all of your meals this week. I know many of you have come here with only the haziest knowledge of etiquette. But rest assured, by the time we’re finished, you’ll be ready to break bread with presidents and royalty.”

I’m not sure Mr. Park realizes what kind of challenge he’s set for himself. Having lunched with my classmates yesterday, I’m convinced that Alex has been eating out of a pig trough for the past seventeen years. Sungyeol is only marginally more refined. Even Sungjong grips his fork like a garden spade.

“Flick,” Mr. Park sighs. “I’m appointing you to be my teacher’s aide.”

• • •

I spent two dull hours tutoring my ignorant classmates this morning, and now I’m playing the same role again. We’re in classroom 1, which the academy’s set designers have decorated to resemble the library of an elite Seoul club. When we entered, the catwalk above was empty.

As soon as Ms. Young, our elocution instructor, asked each of us to stand and give a short speech on a subject of our choosing, the catwalk’s glass began to fog up.

I decided to introduce my classmates and observers to Schrödinger’s Cat—Europe’s first zombie and scientific proof that it’s possible to be dead and alive at the very same time. I’m not sure what she made of the topic, but Ms. Young was duly impressed by my clear enunciation and understanding of grammar.

I had an excellent teacher growing up, I almost informed her.

When my father delivered a lesson, he made sure you never needed another.

Now Ms. Young is dedicating herself to training Alex how to speak in something other than grunts, and I’ve found myself paired with Key. I hadn’t actually heard his voice until the rambling speech he just delivered on the subject of Han Mountain fireflies. As it turns out, he speaks with a maddening twang. The kind of northern drawl that calls to mind of the North Gyeongsang Province.

We’re both given a single sheet of paper with the same long list of phrases. I read one, and Key repeats it, trying to enunciate the words properly. It would probably help if he watched my lips as they form the sounds. But he keeps trying to catch my eye.

When he finally does, I know in an instant that I’m not his Prince Charming.

This isn’t how people look when they’re love struck. This is how they look when they’re petrified. And if he’s already scared, he shouldn’t be here. It will probably be dangerous, but the first chance I get, I’m going to give Key Sunggyu’s address and advise him to get himself kicked out of school.

I don’t know why, but I want Key to know that he’ll be okay with a slight smile. But my smile only seems to convince him that he’s not getting through to me, and he’s almost twitching with frustration.

Finally he leaps to his feet, rips up the sheet of paper, and tosses the pieces into the air. Except for one little scrap that he’s kept in his hand. While everyone’s watching the confetti flutter to earth, he presses the scrap into my palm.

There’s one word on it: GO.

I let it fall to the floor.

“Before it heals,” he whispers without realizing that the teacher has come up behind him.

Act fast, my brain urges. Make a scene!

“Goddamn it!” I bellow, directing my rage at the catwalk. “Why am I teaching some stupid hillbilly how to talk? What’s next? This is not why I’m here, Jungyeop! When are you going to teach me something useful?”

It’s worked. If Ms. Young heard Key’s warning, she’s already forgotten it. She is captivated by my performance now, and I’m doing everything I can to make it truly spectacular.

I’m hurling insults at everyone in the room when the door opens and Jungyeop appears. He doesn’t need to say a word. I follow him outside. He waits until we’re in the hallway to crack a smile.

“I’m terribly sorry, Flick,” he says. “I should have realized that these courses would be far too remedial for you. Most of our students tend to be rough around the edges when they arrive. They wouldn’t fit in without a few weeks of training.”

“So can I go upstairs now?” I ask.

“I’m afraid not. We follow a strict schedule here. But starting tomorrow, you may have breakfast in your room and then report to the gym. We won’t waste your time with classes you don’t need.”

“Thank you.”

He’s about to open the door and send me back inside. Then he pauses. “Do you know what the alumni are saying about you?”

“Am I supposed to guess?” I ask.

“They’re already calling you the prodigy,” he tells me. Then his lips stretch into another friendly grin.

“Let‘s see how long the label sticks.”