Chapter Three: Lines That Were Never Neutral
The first interview invitations went out three days later.
Not to everyone.
That was the point.
Krit found out because his inbox stayed empty.
He stared at the screen longer than necessary, not because he expected an invitation—he hadn't—but because absence had a weight. Silence, this time, wasn't neutral. It was a decision made somewhere else.
Around him, the study hall hummed with restrained excitement. Students checked their phones with practiced nonchalance, smiles flickering and disappearing just as fast.
Nawin arrived ten minutes late and dropped into the chair across from him.
"Nothing?" Nawin asked quietly.
Krit shook his head.
Nawin exhaled through his nose. "Same."
They didn't say anything else. They didn't need to. Being excluded at the same time felt deliberate in a way that coincidence never did.
Across the room, Phum laughed—loud, easy. His phone lay face-up on the table.
ILP Interview – Confirmed.
Krit noticed the way people subtly angled their bodies toward him now. How conversations paused when Phum stood. How exclusion reshaped gravity.
Phum caught Nawin watching.
His smile softened. He stood and crossed the room without hesitation.
"Coffee?" Phum asked.
Nawin blinked. "Now?"
"Now," Phum said. "Before everyone decides what they think this means."
Nawin hesitated just long enough for Phum to notice.
"Just coffee," Phum added. "No audience."
Against his better judgment, Nawin stood.
Krit watched them leave, unease settling in his chest—not jealousy, not concern, but recognition.
Pressure changes people.
The café was quiet enough to pretend privacy.
Phum ordered without asking, slid a cup toward Nawin like it was a peace offering.
"You didn't get an invite," Phum said.
"That obvious?" Nawin replied.
"Nothing about you is invisible," Phum said easily. "That's the problem."
Nawin stiffened. "Careful."
Phum leaned back. "I'm serious. They don't know what to do with someone who doesn't perform."
"That's not my fault."
"No," Phum agreed. "But it is their excuse."
Nawin studied him. "And you?"
Phum didn't pretend confusion. "I know how to be seen."
"That's not what I asked."
Phum hesitated. Just a fraction. Enough.
"I know how to survive systems like this," he said. "I thought maybe… you could let me help."
There it was.
Nawin's jaw tightened. "Help how?"
Phum lowered his voice. "Be seen with me. Be associated. People listen to me."
Nawin stood so abruptly his chair scraped.
"So that's it," he said coldly. "Visibility through proximity."
"That's not—"
"Don't dress it up," Nawin cut in. "You're offering me access."
Phum frowned. "I'm offering support."
"No," Nawin said. "You're offering ownership."
The word landed hard.
"I didn't mean it like that," Phum said, irritation bleeding through.
"But you did," Nawin replied. "You just didn't think I'd say no."
He turned and walked out.
Phum stayed seated, coffee untouched, something sour settling in his chest.
Charm hadn't worked.
That was new.
Later that afternoon, Krit was summoned.
The email was polite. Neutral. Carefully worded.
Faculty consultation regarding academic trajectory.
He almost didn't go.
The office was quiet. Too quiet.
Tanin stood by the window when Krit entered, posture composed, expression unreadable.
"You wanted to see me?" Krit asked.
"Yes," Tanin said. "Sit."
That should have been the warning.
"This isn't an interview," Tanin said calmly. "Not officially."
Krit didn't sit.
Tanin observed him for a moment, then continued anyway.
"Your academic record is strong," Tanin said. "Your reasoning is sharp. But your visibility is… complicated."
"Because I disagreed in class?"
"Because you did it publicly," Tanin corrected.
Krit met his gaze. "Truth doesn't change based on volume."
"No," Tanin agreed. "But consequences do."
Silence stretched.
Then Tanin said the thing he shouldn't have.
"I can help you," he said. "Quietly."
Krit felt something in him go still.
"Help how?" he asked.
"Recommendations. Context. Reframing yesterday's impression."
Krit understood immediately.
Not bribery.
Worse.
Narrative control.
"You didn't ask if I wanted that," Krit said.
Tanin's expression tightened—not anger, but surprise.
"I assumed—"
"That's the problem," Krit said. "You assumed."
Tanin took a breath. "This program decides futures."
"So does choice," Krit replied.
They stared at each other across the small office, power finally named.
"Think about it," Tanin said quietly. "Refusal has a cost."
"I know," Krit said. "So does acceptance."
He turned and walked out.
That evening, Nawin found Krit on the steps outside the dorm.
They didn't speak at first.
Then Nawin said, "He tried to buy me."
Krit nodded. "He tried to protect me."
They looked at each other.
Same move.
Different masks.
"Did you say no?" Krit asked.
"Yes."
"So did I."
They sat in the growing dark, two people newly aware that resistance had made them visible in the worst possible way.
Across campus, Tanin stared at his phone, replaying the conversation.
Across the city, Phum stood on his balcony, jaw tight, realizing charm had limits.
The lines had been drawn.
Not by policy.
Not by merit.
But by choice.
And from this point on, no one would be able to pretend otherwise.