Golden Boys Must Burn || 8TURN

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The sky at dawn was an explosion of burnt sienna and peach and indigo. Like lava, the sun's rays slowly seeped out across the glistening ocean misting the empty beach in a spectral, yellow glow. Mingled with the near-silence – besides the lazy tide and distant bird calls – it might've been a beautiful sight. But the youth under the jetty's glassy stare was caught in forever now. Lost to the present.

A young woman on her morning jog slowed on the wooden planks and looked over the rail. Something had caught her eye. Shocked and horrified swearing escaped her mouth as she jumped back and scrambled for her phone. She called an ambulance, though it was too late; the teen lying under the jetty in the shallows was dead.

The paramedics arrived. Then the police. Then the metropolis's residents who expected to start their day like any other instead showed up to flashing lights and police tape sectioning off a portion of the beach. It was still early, though the crowds were growing, all wanting to see what tragedy had marred their affluent seaside town.

Whether this was an accident, or something more sinister, detectives could not yet tell. What was evident, however, was the clothes indicated that this teen was a student from a local, elite school. 

MNH High.

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☆★☆

Six months Earlier:

I tried not to balk at the heat. South Korea's coastal weather was nothing like that of the small Central European town I'd spent the last several years. I couldn't even remember the last time I had been near a beach. Now I lived about a twenty-minute jog from one, and would be starting my first day at a school where its name was plated over a gold and bronze statue of its founder.

If "Tell me you're rich without telling me you're rich" was a place, MNH High School would be it. All I could hope for was that I didn't pass out on my first day from heat stroke. I'd rather be known as the unassuming student than the eighteen-year-old who gives ladies having hot flushes at church a run for their money.

A girl with an accent who'd just moved abroad from another continent was sure to bring enough attention at first. I wanted to leave it at that.

"Y/N!" called my mum from downstairs. "Come and take a look at what the school sent over. You don't want to leave this till the last minute!"

Probably looking like a limbed pancake on my new bed, I craned my neck to look at the ajar door behind me. It was Friday morning. I'd be starting at MNH on Monday. A week later than the rest of the school. I had meant to start four days ago, though transfer delays with my dad's practice, and our flight was put off until yesterday. I was jetlagged to say the least. Maybe I could just roll off the bed and out the door?