welcome to section e

The black car stops just outside the towering gates of Higher Value International School. The marble sign gleams in the morning sun — “A Place for Future Leaders.”

Inside the car, Elfaria Albis Santos sits quietly, her school ID card hanging from a pale pink ribbon around her neck. She’s on a call with her manager, Bobby, whose voice booms through the speaker.

“Did you eat breakfast properly, Aria? And your new stationery—did you pack it? What about your ID—oh wait, you’re wearing it, good girl. Don’t forget to smile even if people act rude, okay?”

Elfaria sighs softly, adjusting her glasses.

“I’m not Aria today, Bobby. Just Elfaria Santos. Remember?”

“Yeah, yeah,” he mutters. “Just... don’t accidentally sign an autograph.”

She hangs up before he can say more and steps out of the car. The guards open the gate, bowing politely — they have no clue the quiet girl before them once performed at the National Theatre last month.

Inside, students in designer uniforms chatter in small clusters. Most of them are children of CEOs, politicians, and movie producers. Elfaria glances around, clutching her file.

“Excuse me, where is the admission desk?”

The receptionist smiles mechanically.

“New transfer? Form 10? You’ve been assigned to... Section E.”

A pause. A raised eyebrow.

“Use the back gate to enter the classroom.”

Elfaria blinks.

“Back gate?”

“Yes. The front stairs are for Sections A to D.”

Walking toward the back of the campus, the glamour of the school slowly fades. The marble floors turn to cracked tiles. The perfectly painted walls are replaced with peeling graffiti. Someone had scribbled “E \= End of hope” in red marker.

Elfaria’s neat shoes echo down the empty corridor.

“So this... is Section E,” she whispers.

The classroom door slides open roughly. The noise hits her like a wave — laughter, shouting, paper planes flying midair.

“Yo! New student?” a boy calls out from a broken desk.

“She looks like she came from Section A by mistake!” another girl giggles.

Elfaria bows politely, adjusting her glasses again.

“Good morning. I’m Elfaria Albis Santos. Please call me... Elfie.”

A teacher in a half-buttoned shirt strolls in, coffee in hand.

“Alright, everyone, quiet down! Mrs. Santos, right? You’re the transfer from the city branch?”

“Yes, sir,” she replies softly.

He nods toward an empty seat near the window.

“You can sit there. Don’t mind the chaos. You’ll get used to it.”

As she walks to her desk, whispers follow her.

“She’s too proper for Section E.”

“Look at that hair—two braids? Is she from the countryside or what?”

Elfaria sits down, smiling faintly. The sunlight filters through the dusty window, catching in her eyes for just a moment — the same light that once shone on her during a sold-out concert.

But here, no one knows.

Here, she’s just Elfie — another misfit in Section E.

Scene: Lunch Break — “Welcome to Section E”

The bell rings, echoing through the shabby corridors of Section E. The classroom explodes with noise — chairs scraping, boys shouting, paper flying. Elfaria quietly opens her lunchbox, carefully unwrapping the neat meal her aunt had packed.

Just as she’s about to take her first bite, a shadow falls across her desk.

A tall boy with messy brown hair and a sharp, lazy grin towers over her. His tie hangs loose, his sleeves rolled up. The room quiets a little as the others turn to watch.

“You. New girl,” he says, his tone low but cold. “Keifer Mark Watson. Remember the name.”

Elfaria blinks, confused.

“Alright,” she answers softly.

He leans closer, smirking.

“You don’t belong here. Section E isn’t for people like you — prim and proper types who look like they walked out of a brochure. So do yourself a favor and transfer out before you regret it.”

The class bursts into laughter, the sound echoing off the cracked walls.

Elfaria closes her lunchbox calmly, stands up, and looks him straight in the eye.

“Thank you for your concern, Mr. Watson,” she says politely. “But my transfer isn’t your business.”

The laughter fades into surprised silence for a moment. Even Keifer looks taken aback before scoffing and walking away.

Without another word, Elfaria picks up her lunch and heads for the hallway — her quiet footsteps almost lost under the noise behind her.

The corridor is dim and cool. She finds a small corner near the window, where sunlight spills through the glass, dust dancing in the air. Sitting down, she opens her lunch again — but before she can take a bite, a hand darts out.

“Yoink!”

Her lunchbox is snatched away, and a group of boys run off laughing.

“Hey—!” she calls, but they’ve already disappeared around the corner.

She sighs, staring at the empty space where her food used to be. Before she can react further, a cheerful voice comes from behind.

A boy with soft brown eyes and a playful smile leans against the wall, hands in his pockets.

“Don’t bother chasing them,” he says. “I’m Felix. Welcome to Section E.”

“You all steal food here?” she asks, half amused, half tired.

He grins.

“We’re not allowed in the cafeteria. So yeah — the guys snatch whatever they see. Survival rule of Section E.”

Elfaria blinks, then quietly pulls out a small packet of crackers from her bag.

“Good thing I brought these, then.”

Before she can open it, Felix suddenly snatches it from her hand and runs backward down the hall, laughing.

“Told you!” he shouts over his shoulder. “Guys snatch food wherever they see it!”

Elfaria can’t help but let out a small, helpless laugh — the first real one that day.

“Unbelievable…” she murmurs, shaking her head.

For the first time since morning, the tension in her chest softens.

Even in this chaotic, cracked world of Section E — maybe, just maybe — she’ll find her place.

.

Still hungry, Elfaria decides she won’t let a few mischievous boys ruin her first day.

She dusts off her uniform, ties her braids neatly again, and walks toward the cafeteria — the one Felix said Section E wasn’t allowed in.

As she pushes the glass door open, the sound of clinking trays and chatter fills the air. Rows of students in crisp, ironed uniforms turn to glance at her — some whispering, some staring.

Elfaria hesitates for a second, then straightens her shoulders and walks to the counter.

“One lunch tray, please.”

The lady at the counter looks puzzled.

“You’re from Section E, aren’t you?”

Elfaria smiles politely.

“I’m from Higher Value International School, right?”

The woman chuckles quietly and hands her the tray. “You’ve got guts, kid.”

Elfaria finds a corner table and sits down, carefully opening her meal. She’s just about to eat when a soft, confident voice calls out.

“Mind if I sit here?”

A tall girl with shiny auburn hair and a calm, graceful aura stands before her, holding a tray. Her uniform badge reads Section C – President.

“I’m Rakki,” she says, smiling. “You’re the new transfer, right? Elfaria, from Section E?”

“Yes, that’s me. You can call me Elfie,” she replies gently.

Rakki sits down across from her, folding her hands neatly.

“You’re brave to eat here. Most from Section E wouldn’t dare.”

“Why?” Elfaria asks, curious.

Rakki sighs, stirring her drink.

“Section E… it’s where the school sends students they can’t expel — sons of businessmen, heirs of politicians, people the principal can’t touch. They cause trouble, skip classes, and fight a lot. The school pretends they don’t exist.”

She pauses, glancing around to make sure no one is listening.

“And the rest of the school? We stay away. Section E doesn’t like mingling either. They see everyone else as fake.”

Elfaria listens silently, her expression calm but thoughtful.

“So you’re saying I should transfer out?”

“If you can, yes,” Rakki says kindly. “You seem like a good girl. Section E will just drag you down. You don’t deserve that.”

Elfaria takes a quiet bite of her rice, eyes distant.

“Maybe,” she says softly, “but maybe it’s exactly where I’m meant to be.”

Rakki looks puzzled.

“What do you mean?”

Elfaria smiles faintly, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear.

She doesn’t say the rest out loud, but it lingers in her mind:

“In Section E, no one will care who I am. No cameras, no fan meetings, no flashing lights. Just… peace.”

If I stay there, I won’t have to worry about anyone discovering I’m Aria.

For once, the idea of being invisible feels comforting.

Rakki studies her for a moment, then smiles knowingly.

“You’re an interesting one, Elfie. I hope Section E doesn’t eat you alive.”

Elfaria chuckles softly.

“I’ll take my chances.”

The bell rings again, signaling the end of lunch. As they both stand up, Rakki waves gently.

“See you around, Mrs. Santos.”

“See you, President Rakki.”

Elfaria walks back toward the old hallway of Section E, the sound of her shoes echoing against the empty floor.

Her lips curve into a small smile.

“A place full of troublemakers and chaos,” she murmurs, half amused. “Sounds like the perfect hiding place for an idol.”

The afternoon sun slants through the dusty windows of Section E’s classroom, painting golden lines across the desks. The air is thick and heavy — part boredom, part mischief.

Elfaria sits near the window, quietly taking notes. Her handwriting is neat and rounded, a stark contrast to the messy scrawls on everyone else’s papers.

At the front of the room, Mrs. Lucero, the tired math teacher, drones on about equations.

“Alright, class,” she says, turning to write on the blackboard. “Let’s solve for—”

The moment her back turns, a soft whizz cuts through the air.

Thwack!

A paper ball lands squarely on Elfaria’s desk. Another one follows. Then another.

She freezes, eyes flicking up. The boys are slouched in their seats, pretending to look innocent, but their smirks give them away.

“Who threw that?” she asks quietly.

No one answers.

Mrs. Lucero turns around briefly, sees everyone sitting still, and continues writing.

Elfaria exhales softly and goes back to her notebook.

The instant the teacher’s back turns again — whizz, whizz! — two more paper balls fly, hitting her shoulder and hair.

A few boys snicker under their breath. One whispers,

“Told you she wouldn’t last a week.”

Elfaria straightens up, brushing the crumpled papers off her desk. Her expression doesn’t change — calm, composed, almost eerily so.

She lifts her hand as if to raise a complaint, but then pauses. Instead, she lowers it slowly and continues writing her notes, ignoring the laughter.

Mrs. Lucero turns again, puzzled.

“Why is the class so noisy?”

“Nothing, Ma’am,” the boys chorus in unison.

The teacher frowns, then resumes writing on the board.

This time, a paper ball hits Elfaria right in the cheek. The laughter grows louder — hidden behind fake coughs and chair squeaks.

She picks up the paper, unfolds it silently. Inside, messy handwriting reads:

Go back to your fancy world, Miss Perfect.

For a second, something flickers in her eyes — not anger, but quiet strength. She folds the paper neatly and tucks it into her notebook.

The class expects her to snap or cry. But she doesn’t.

Instead, she takes out a pencil, focuses on the equation, and whispers to herself,

“A test of patience... perfect.”

The bell rings at last. The boys jump from their seats, laughing and bumping shoulders as they rush out.

Elfaria stays seated, collecting the paper balls scattered on her desk. She throws them in the bin, straightens her books, and stands.

As she walks out, Felix watches her from the doorway, a half-eaten sandwich in hand.

“You didn’t tell the teacher?” he asks, genuinely curious.

Elfaria shakes her head with a calm smile.

“Why should I? They’ll get bored eventually.”

Felix grins.

“You’re different, Elfie. Most new kids cry by day one.”

She glances back at the classroom — at the broken desks, the graffiti, and the echo of cruel laughter.

“I’m not most kids,” she says quietly.

And with that, she walks down the hallway, her two braids swaying gently behind her — the only calm in the storm called Section E.

.

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