Blue's hands trembled the first time he stepped toward the elite academy, not from cold, but from the weight of what he was about to steal. Education was not just a dream for him—it was survival, obsession, hunger sharper than any pain his stomach had known. Every night, he had watched Arin's old books lying untouched, symbols of a future denied to both of them.
"I won't waste this," he whispered to himself, clutching the uniform tighter. "I can't."
The uniform once belonged to Arin, faded at the seams, the school crest still stitched proudly on the chest. It smelled faintly of dust and time, but to Blue it smelled like opportunity. He wore it knowing that if the truth surfaced, the punishment would be merciless.
He borrowed a name too.
Henry Elite.
A boy infamous for skipping classes, for disappearing without consequence, for treating privilege like air. Blue had watched Henry for weeks—how he walked, how he spoke, how he didn't care. Mimicry became his shield.
The iron gates of the academy loomed tall as monuments of exclusion. Blue hesitated for a breath.
"Just walk," he told himself. "Like you belong."
And he did.
No one stopped him. No one questioned him. The guards barely looked twice.
Inside, the school felt unreal. Marble floors reflected chandeliers above, walls lined with portraits of scholars who had never known hunger. Students moved with careless confidence, shoes polished, laughter effortless.
Blue lowered his head.
"Don't look scared," he murmured under his breath.
The classroom suffocated him. Desks gleamed, books lay thick and untouched, and every face around him carried the quiet arrogance of wealth. His seat—Henry's seat—waited near the window.
When the teacher called the name, Blue froze.
"Henry Elite."
His throat tightened. Slowly, he raised his hand.
"Yes, sir."
No suspicion. No pause.
The first days were torture. Blue forced himself into silence, eyes fixed on pages even when he knew the answers. His pen shook in his fingers, fear crawling under his skin with every glance cast his way.
"If they notice," he thought, "it's over."
But knowledge betrayed him.
One afternoon, a chemistry question hung unanswered in the air. Silence stretched. The teacher frowned.
"Anyone?" the teacher asked sharply.
Blue's lips moved before his fear could stop them.
"The reaction stabilizes because the compound absorbs excess heat," he said softly.
The room froze.
The teacher stared. "Repeat that."
Blue swallowed. "The compound absorbs excess heat, preventing decomposition."
Whispers erupted.
"That's… correct," the teacher said slowly.
Eyes turned toward him. Shock. Curiosity. Awe.
From that moment, Henry Elite stopped being invisible.
Praises followed. Teachers lingered after class. Classmates stared with newfound respect. The boy once mocked for laziness had become a mystery.
Blue felt sick.
"The more they see me," he thought, "the closer I am to ruin."
Then Era arrived.
She sat beside him without asking, her voice gentle, her smile unguarded.
"You weren't like this before," she said one day. "But I like this Henry better."
Blue stiffened.
"I don't need company," he replied coldly.
She only smiled. "That's okay. I do."
She shared her notes when he pretended indifference. Defended him when others questioned his change.
"People grow," she said firmly. "Leave him alone."
Her kindness terrified him more than suspicion ever could.
"Why do you care?" he asked her once.
She shrugged. "Because no one deserves to be alone."
The words stayed with him.
Weeks passed. Blue devoured books, haunted the library, slipped into labs late at night. Knowledge filled him like breath fills drowning lungs. Teachers called him brilliant.
"You've surprised us, Henry," one said proudly.
Blue nodded, smiling behind the mask.
At night, the mask shattered.
City 1 greeted him with broken walls, dim lights, and Pema's quiet sobs. Arin carried exhaustion like armor.
Blue stared at the uniform hanging on the wall.
"Who am I becoming?" he whispered.
The results day arrived like judgment.
Names were called. Scores announced.
Henry Elite stood at the top.
Applause thundered.
Teachers shook his hand. The principal smiled.
"Well done, son," the principal said warmly.
Blue's vision blurred. Pride surged—raw, overwhelming.
Era rushed to him.
"I knew it!" she said, hugging him tightly. "I always believed in you."
His chest ached.
"I wanted to tell you," he thought. "I wanted to tell you everything."
But fear sealed his mouth.
Whispers followed success.
"How did he change so fast?"
"Is this really Henry?"
Suspicion crept through hallways like poison.
That night, Blue stood alone on the playground, moonlight washing the swings in silver. He held the result sheet tightly.
"This is mine," he whispered, tears falling freely. "I earned this."
Yet deep inside, he knew the truth.
No mask lasts forever.
And when it breaks, it takes everything with it.