Wichian woke up early and dressed carefully, his school uniform neatly ironed and a sleek black blazer layered on top. As he descended the stairs, he spotted his mother and stepfather already seated at the dining table.

Sorawit followed a few steps behind, still groggy.

“Wichian, you look sharp in that blazer. Presentation day?” Mr. Pong asked, his tone warm and approving.

Wichian joined them at the table, Wit taking the seat next to him.

“Yes,” Wichian replied, adjusting his sleeve. “I don’t want to be late, so I’ll have breakfast there. Bye, Mom.”

He turned to Mr. Pong with a polite, “Bye,” then hesitated as he glanced at Sorawit.

“Bye,” he added quietly, uncertain if Wit would even acknowledge it.

But to his surprise, Sorawit gave him a faint smile and replied, just as softly, “All the best.”

Both parents looked up, slightly stunned at the rare kindness in Sorawit’s voice.

Wichian blinked, smiled quickly in return, and dashed out, heart lighter than it had been in days. Today was important—for more than just the presentation.

Minutes later, Sorawit finished his breakfast and headed out, where Tor was already revving his motorbike at the gate.

He hopped on, strapped the helmet on, and said coolly, “Take me to XYZ.”

Tor blinked in confusion. “Wait—aren’t we going to school today?”

At XYZ School, the venue was buzzing with energy. Students from all over Bangkok had gathered, dressed in crisp uniforms and carrying themselves with a sense of confidence. The competition atmosphere was thick—everyone busy reviewing notes, tweaking presentations, and rehearsing lines.

Wichian stood quietly in the middle of it all, double-checking his application form. Compared to the others, he looked calm, collected, but deeply focused.

Soon, an announcement echoed through the space, inviting all participants to assemble in the main hall. The large room brimmed with nearly fifty students, all ready to present their ideas.

One by one, each participant took the stage. Wichian, seated in the middle row, listened intently, scribbling notes and highlighting key points—quietly analyzing what he could do to make his own pitch stand out. While he was engrossed in his notes, the boy next to him kept stealing glances.

“Hi! I’m Paul—from ABC School,” the boy finally said, unable to hold back his curiosity.

Wichian looked up, a bit startled. “Oh… hi.”

Paul smiled, using the presentation topic as a conversation starter. To his surprise, Wichian responded. Though usually not the type to engage with strangers, today felt different. He needed insight—understanding what others brought to the table could help sharpen his edge.

What began as a polite exchange gradually turned into a fluid conversation. The two soon grew comfortable.

“Have you decided which university you’ll apply to after graduation?” Paul asked, casually leaning in.

“Not yet,” Wichian replied.

“If you don’t mind… could I have your number?” Paul asked with a hopeful tone. “I’m planning to attend a few open house events. Maybe we can go together—help each other out?”

Wichian hesitated. Sharing his number wasn’t something he did lightly. But Paul’s suggestion felt genuine. After a pause, he gave a small nod and typed his number into Paul’s phone.

Paul grinned. “Thanks! I’ll message you soon.”

Meanwhile, just outside the hall, Sorawit and Tor stood near the tall windows, peeking in.

Tor nudged Sorawit with a smirk. “Well, looks like your brother isn’t as introverted as we thought. See that? He’s already charmed his next fan—and gave his number too.”

Sorawit didn’t reply. His eyes were locked on Wichian and Paul.

The sight of Wichian smiling—even slightly—and typing into another boy’s phone made Sorawit’s jaw tighten. He didn’t say a word. But his clenched fists and the way he ground his teeth said everything.

He didn’t even know why he was reacting this way. Was it anger? Annoyance?

Or something else?

-----------

It was finally Wichian’s turn to present. He walked up to the stage, carrying his laptop, and connected it to the projector. His slides lit up the large screen behind him, crisp and professional. With the mic in hand, he began his speech — fluent, steady, and full of quiet confidence.

Minutes passed. The room, once buzzing with chatter, had fallen silent.

Everyone — the students, staff, and even the judges — was visibly impressed by the clarity of his ideas and the calm charisma in his voice.

Even Sorawit, who had come fully expecting to witness Wichian’s failure, found himself momentarily lost in the presentation, caught off guard by how effortlessly Wichian commanded the stage.

But then... it happened.

A sudden, eerie silence gripped the room.

Gasps echoed. Eyes widened. The energy shifted from admiration to confusion — and then to horror.

Wichian, still speaking mid-sentence, faltered as he noticed the change in the audience. His brows furrowed, confused. Slowly, he turned toward the big screen behind him.

What he saw made the blood drain from his face

His carefully prepared slides were gone.

In their place, unfamiliar images began flashing on the big screen — jarring, intrusive, and personal.

A little boy sobbing, cheeks stained with tears. 

A toddler sitting on the floor in nothing but a pair of underpants, visibly frightened by something outside the frame.

A grainy photo of a child hiding behind a curtain, eyes swollen, as if he’d been crying for hours.

Another — a blurry close-up of a messy face mid-sob, twisted in fear and pain.

The crowd didn’t laugh. They didn’t have to.

They just stared — silent, stunned, uncomfortable.

Some began to whisper. A few exchanged knowing glances.

It didn’t take long for people to start piecing it together.

That child… was Wichian.

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Backstage, hidden among the crowd, Tor burst into laughter, nudging Wit in the ribs.

“Oh, Wit! You’re just amazing, man! How the hell did you pull this off?” Tor whispered excitedly.

Wit didn’t answer.

His eyes were still locked on the screen, watching Wichian's expression crumble.

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Flashback:

It happened the day Sorawit’s father told them about the two-month arrangement.

As soon as the conversation ended, Sorawit stormed off to his room, clearly annoyed. But on the way down the hallway, something caught his eye — Wichian’s bedroom door was slightly ajar. The light from the laptop screen blinked in the dim room.

Curious — or maybe just cruelly tempted — Sorawit stepped inside.

On the screen, an email was open: a draft addressed to Wichian’s school principal with a presentation file attached. Sorawit’s eyes gleamed.

He clicked open the file.

The presentation slides loaded in front of him — clean, detailed, professional.

But what grabbed his attention more… was the folder sitting openly on the desktop. Inside were dozens of childhood photos. Some embarrassing. Some deeply personal. All things never meant for public eyes.

A wicked idea sparked.

Sorawit dragged a handful of the most humiliating photos into the middle of the original presentation file. He made sure they were timed perfectly — not at the start, not at the end, but during the peak of the speech when all eyes would be on the screen.

He smirked to himself as he reset the screen to the email draft, carefully making sure everything looked untouched.

Then, without a trace of guilt, he left the room and headed back to his own.

A satisfied grin tugged at his lips.