[CONTENTID1] Fifteen [/CONTENTID1]

[CONTENTID2]

You are on your way down to head to your third period math class, when someone suddenly kicks out their foot in front of you. Startled, you trip, making the crowd of students surrounding the perpetrator giggle. You luckily manage to land on your feet and glance up to see the smirking face of Mimi, the bubbly light mage from your elemental class.

"How clumsy of you, ___-ah," she giggles.

Your blood boils at the way she speaks informally to you when she's so much younger. But you bite back your anger and quickly bow at her, "Sorry, Mimi-ssi." Then ignoring the laughter and jeers of the crowd of her friends, you sidestep her outstretched foot and try to weave your way through the bodies to class. But they stand firm in front of you like a wall.

From behind them, leaning casually against the lockers across the hall from you, is Aorn. Besides the first time, when she confronted you before elemental class, she doesn't directly engage you anymore. Instead, she lets her minions pick on you, then watches you in amusement from a safe distance. In a way, this hurts more than if she directly confronted you herself. It makes you feel like you're not worth the fight. That you're so beneath her that she doesn't bother lifting the finger it takes to crush you.

You stare at the blockade of Aorn's minions, all in their matching plaid headbands and pastel manicures. This was you just a few weeks ago, and you're not sure if you feel more wistful or remorseful.

"Where do you think you're going, soulsucker ?" One of them asks, crossing her arms over her chest.

The little nickname Aorn assigned you spread like wildfire through the school these past few weeks. It's a bit unnerving to be called a term that could not suit you less, but the irony is almost humorous, and after all this time, the insult slides off your skin like oil.

"I'm trying to get to class. Do you mind stepping aside?" You politely ask.

A second girl snorts, "I really don't see what Namjoon's doing. Has oppa gone crazy?"

"It has to be some kind of quarter life crisis," another one comments, Namjoon's embroidered monogram on your jacket, "Maybe he's finally gotten sick of all the pretty girls and wanted to try an ugly for once."

This makes everyone laugh. "How often do you have blow him to make him stay around?" Mimi adds with a smug grin.

It's the most ridiculous thing you've ever heard. You can't imagine Namjoon laying a single hand on you without Jungkook beating him off you. You take a breath to try to calm yourself, but can't control the smile that tugs on your lips. You force it back immediately, but it's too late.

"Did you just laugh at me, soulsucker?" Mimi growls, all amusement dropping from her face.

"No, of course not, Mimi-ssi."

The other girls mirror Mimi's expression of sudden seriousness, and tighten the circle, blocking any hope of escape. You glance wildly around you, but there aren't any professors or hall monitors around to break this up. And even if there were, you doubt they would bother to help. Hoseok is the leader in charge of the hall monitors, after all. You turn back to the wall of girls with a sigh, "I'm sorry, but I really need to get to class," you try to shove at the shoulder of a short blonde girl, but she doesn't budge one inch.

"You seem to be in a hurry," Mimi hisses, "Trying to get back to your death cult, huh?"

You pause for a moment as fury suddenly shoots through your system. They're just trying to provoke you. Ignore them. But out of all the insults, out of all the times you've been called a "soulsucker" or "," this is the only thing that actually seeps under your skin. You marvel at the sensation of heat surging to your ears.

"Don't call me that," you find yourself saying before you can stop yourself.

Mimi freezes, surprised by your outburst. It's the first time you've been anything less than submissive. "Don't call you that? But that's exactly what you are. Death cult . How did they let you out of America, huh? I bet you've been helping out your little friends with all these attacks."

A tall brunette stiffens, "My uncle died in that explosion, you ."

You glance at her nervously, "I'm so sorry that happened to you, but that wasn't me, I swear."

"You swear?" Mimi spits back at you, "You swear? What does the word of a death cult mean to us? You should get on your knees to beg for forgiveness."

"It wasn't me!" You yell back, "I'm not part of the death cult!"

"Really? Then you won't mind us taking a look for ourselves, hmm?"

"Yeah, what's all this filthy hair hiding?" The blonde girl says, grabbing a fistful of your hair.

"No, stop!" You exclaim, panicking at this point, "There's nothing there."

"She's definitely hiding something! Hold her down!" Mimi orders the other girls.

From the corner of your eyes, you see a flash of blue as Aorn makes her way closer in interest, but you're too preoccupied trying to fight off the multiple pairs of hands that grab at you. "Stop!" You cry, giving up on fending off their limbs and instead pressing both hands protectively against the back of your neck.

"Hold her down already!" Mimi barks, "Pin down her arms!"

You wildly kick out your limbs, but the struggle is futile. The girls are all prissy and weak, but there are still half a dozen of them and only one of you. They slam you on your back against the ground. A different girl grabs each limb, but you still manage a kick into soft flesh, earning yourself a satisfying squeal of pain, before you're fully trapped.

"Grab her head!" Mimi yells. Hands yank at your chin, and that's when you know that it's all over. Cold dread sinks into the pit of your stomach. You begin to fight back with twice the intensity, kicking and biting with a savage lack of restraint. But it's too late.

Mimi yanks your hair so hard that tears spring into your eyes, then rips it to the side. Thick, pinkish-white scars crisscross over the soft skin at the back of your neck, but there's no mistaking the twisting black symbol underneath.

"Oh my god," Mimi gasps, stumbling back, "This really is part of the death cult."

The other girls lean over to take a look, but burst into shrieks of fear at the very sight of the dark tattoo that your scars blur, but do not erase. Shame floods every cell in your entire body.

"I'm not part of the death cult," you deny, "I'm not, I'm not, I'm not!"

But nobody's listening. Desperation overwhelms you. You feel trapped—unbearably claustrophobic. It's so hot, and you can't breathe. You gasp for air and try to claw at the tight confines of your itchy throat, but your limbs are still pinned against the dirty linoleum.

You can't breathe. There's no oxygen left in this building. Panic swells inside of you, filling you up like a balloon. You need to escape. The girlish curses and exclamations of fear warp and twist in your mind, making the panic expand in your stomach. Then you explode into a million pieces.

You barely register the bloodcurdling screams of the girls around you before you fade to blackness. The last thing you see before you flee into the shadows is the electric stare of Aorn's gray eyes.

Headmaster Kwon stares back and forth between you and Namjoon for a long minute. You drop your gaze to your lap, too humiliated to meet his gaze. You would have fled the office a long time ago, if not for Namjoon's comforting hand on your knee.

Finally, Headmaster Kwon sighs and leans back in his seat, "Are we ever going to get to the bottom of your endless pit of secrets, Miss ___?"

You curl your arms around yourself tighter, "I'm sorry, Headmaster. But I swear that I am not a death cult member."

"But you used to be," He points out.

It takes a second to remember how to breathe, "Not anymore."

"Isn't that all that matters?" Namjoon quickly interjects, "You know how strict the death cult is about their membership, Headmaster. There's no way she could still be a member after what she's done with her tattoo."

Headmaster Kwon glances at him through his thick spectacles, "Let's add up all the evidence, shall we? First, we find out, after months enrolled at this school, that Miss ___ is an unregistered dark mage, then—"

"They don't have to be registered in our country anymore!" Namjoon hotly interrupts.

"Yes, but is this not worrisome? Next, we find out that she is a former member of the death cult… And finally, we find out that she can vaporize. How many mages, of any kind, do you think can vaporize, Mr. Kim?"

Namjoon hesitates for a moment, "Well, it's obviously a rare talent, but—"

"Name one, right now."

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