TBBS 01

Chapter 01….

Who said Sweden was a heavenly welfare state without discrimination?

Well, just coming here for a short trip won’t give you the full picture.

From the perspective of someone like me, born here as a person of color, their so-called “non-discrimination” is nothing more than something aristocratic Scandinavians believe to be the dignity of a modern, cultured person.

And that belief of mine was proven in an instant the moment I first stepped into a classroom at Wrangel.

See for yourself.

A Swedish white student, next to another Swedish white student, and another Swedish white student, with countless more Swedish whites behind them.

There was exactly one Black Swedish student, and one more who looked like me—Swedish but with only Asian ancestry. But from where they sat, you could tell instantly they were outsiders.

The composition here was completely different from the high school I had attended in Järva.

In short, this place was a small society of Swedish white aristocrats—unbreakable and closed off.

“Welcome, everyone. First day of the new school year.”

Mr. Dahlin, the mentor teacher, walked into the classroom carrying the attendance sheet. He wore a casual knit cardigan—naturally, he was also Swedish and white—and, in keeping with the school’s character, spoke in English as if it were the obvious choice. I had already greeted him earlier that morning.

“You’ve all probably met already, right? We have a transfer student. Vivi Han, would you like to introduce yourself to your new classmates?”

It wouldn’t be an exaggeration to say I had been preparing this introduction all summer long.

I stood up, put on a polite social smile, glanced around the room once, and spoke lightly.

“Hi, nice to meet you. I’m Vivi.”

And then I began with the story they were all curious about, but too hesitant to ask first.

“I’m a third-generation Korean immigrant, born in Stockholm. Until the summer, I attended Järva High School.”

It was better to say it myself.

Everyone knew Järva was considered a poor, crime-ridden district, and now that I was here, it was bound to become a topic of conversation sooner or later.

A long-haired girl sitting near the door brightened her gray eyes and asked,

“So why did you suddenly transfer here?”

Her meaning was obvious: How did an immigrant kid from the Blue Line suddenly end up in a school like this?

I understood her question instantly, but I only shrugged nonchalantly and answered,

“I was selected as a scholarship student over the summer.”

I spoke clearly, loud enough for even the back row to hear, but my words—“she’s a scholarship student”—spread across the classroom like ripples on water.

It was as if everyone worried that someone might miss this very interesting bit of news if they weren’t paying attention.

“I was a little scared about transferring to a new school, but I heard I could complete the IB curriculum here. Please take care of me from now on.”

With that, I felt my introduction was good enough, so I sat back down.

Under the curious stares, as if they had discovered a brand-new species, the day felt endlessly long.

By the time I finished wandering through the halls trying to find my classrooms, the last period ended.

I ignored the strange gazes glued to my face all day, packed up my bag, and got up first.

“See you.”

Olivia, who had sat beside me in English class, looked briefly puzzled as if wondering why I was leaving in such a hurry. But since it was only the first day, she let it go.

We both knew this wouldn’t be the last chance to talk. Olivia had already told me she lived in the same dorm as I did.

When I pushed open the heavy wooden door into the corridor, warm afternoon sunlight poured in through an old window with its shutters open. In Stockholm, where winter was approaching, such clear weather was far too precious to waste.

Outside the window, I could see several students lying on the grass.

As I walked down the straight corridor, I suddenly came upon a chandelier so extravagant it felt absurd to be hanging inside a school.

I flinched, inhaled deeply, then exhaled in resignation.

Right, this was that kind of place.

Brangél Boarding School—founded 120 years ago by Marquis Wrangel with great ambition. Over the last century, several Swedish princes and princesses had graduated from here.

Tuition alone was 400,000 kronor a year (about 52 million won), and with dormitory fees added in, the total cost of graduating was astronomical.

Unlike Järva, where I had received completely free education in Sweden, here even breathing seemed to cost money.

Just the day before, I had seen the cafeteria menu: a single latte was 60 kronor (about 7,800 won). Inside the school. Was this a joke?

So even a lucky scholarship student like me, with room and board covered, needed some extra pocket money.

When I finally reached the library, it looked surprisingly ordinary.

I had half-expected something grand like the library from a Harry Potter movie, so I felt a little let down.

But right now, what mattered to me wasn’t the number of floors or shelves, but how much the internship hourly wage was.

So I walked past the plain rows of shelves and carefully approached the librarian’s desk.

“Hello, I heard the library offers after-school internship positions.”

At my polite voice, the librarian looked up.

She was a woman whose curly hair and round glasses seemed to perfectly match the library atmosphere. She wore a name tag on her chest.

“Internship? Oh, you’ve come to apply for the internship?”

Thankfully, I could hear genuine pleasure in her voice.

Of course, not many students at such an elite school would bother applying for an after-school library internship.

If it weren’t for financial reasons, a university or corporate internship would look better on college applications. And at Wrangel, students already had countless prestigious clubs and artistic activities to choose from.

“Yes, Miss Sjölin.”

I read her name tag aloud and handed over my application. She skimmed through it quickly.

The casual way she read was probably because she didn’t expect any other applicants anyway.

So, for once, even my unusual last name wouldn’t be a disadvantage here.

Besides, I already had experience interning at the Järva Library.

But before she finished reading my form, I heard footsteps behind me.

When I turned naturally, my eyes met deep green ones from up high, and I froze.

In that moment, I was confronted with the very situation I had spent all day trying to avoid.

I should have looked away quickly, but I couldn’t.

He was wearing the same school uniform as me, and yet he seemed to belong to a completely different species.

Features so striking no one could ever forget, eyes as mysterious as a damp forest, and hair that shone golden brown in the afternoon sun.

There stood Erik Martin Wrangel, heir of Wrangel itself.

Beep— a warning siren rang in my head as the librarian’s voice overlapped it.

“Long time no see, Erik. What brings you here?”

Only then could I tear my gaze away from Erik Wrangel—but strangely, he didn’t do the same.

Even as my brief sense of relief flickered, his pale green eyes remained fixed firmly on my face.

From his smooth, peach-colored lips came a declaration like thunder on a clear day.

“I’d like to apply for the after-school internship.”

…What? Why you?

No way.

There was absolutely no way.

And it wasn’t just me thinking that—even the librarian went momentarily silent, forgetting to answer.

But then she quickly recovered and asked with a laugh,

“Erik Wrangel wants to apply for the library internship?”

She set down my application and folded her arms as if she had just heard the most fascinating piece of gossip.

“May I ask why?”

Erik Martin Wrangel—the direct descendant of the school’s founder, Marquis Wrangel.

His grandfather still held the marquis title passed down from the founder. The Wrangel family didn’t just own this school—they owned the Wrangel Bank, Wrangel-Andersson Pharmaceuticals, and several other global companies.

When Erik tilted his flawless face slightly to the side, his light brown hair rippled like a scene from a commercial. It was almost dazzling.

He shrugged his broad shoulders—probably honed by swimming, rowing, or some other upper-class sport I didn’t even know—and his deep green eyes gleamed.

“I want to help the transfer student adjust to the new school.”

What?

I flinched in shock.

Not because I was touched or grateful, but because dread washed over me.

The way Erik looked at me was nothing like a kind classmate wanting to help a newcomer.

It was more like a lion spotting a deer on the plains.

Or more precisely, like a lion that was already well-fed but still enjoyed scaring the deer just for fun.

Even though his eyes curved in a smile, there was something cruel about them.

Panicking, I raised my hands to wave it off, but before I could, he opened his mouth again.

“Right, transfer student?”