POV: First-Class Citizen's Daughter – Number 14ii
Location: Blackwood Academy of Elites
Date: One Week After Auction Day
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I sit in the third-row lounge of my classroom—because that's where 14ii is expected to be.
The classroom is divided, ranked, and color-coded.
My jacket is navy with a silver lining—that's First-Class status.
The Numbered Rank Patch gleams on my sleeve: 14ii. Daughter of Number 14, second-born.
I don't have a name. Nobody here does. Not anymore.
> "14ii, can you come forward for your daily score report?"
The teacher, a soft-voiced android, gestures toward the podium.
I step forward. My boots click in perfect rhythm. A slow scan runs down my body. My worth isn't in my name. It's in my data—grades, poise, etiquette, net worth prediction, genetic perfection.
Score: 92/100 – Status Maintained.
I turn to return to my seat but pause… because 35ii is crying.
Her family lost their spot in the auction last week. She's still here only because the transition hasn't fully processed. Her number will be downgraded to 30012ii by the next moon.
From First-Class to Survival-Class. Just like that.
Nobody speaks to her. Not even the Dictator's niece, 3iii, who usually speaks to everyone. Even 35ii's closest friend won't look at her.
And I do nothing either.
Because weakness is contagious. And sympathy is a luxury only the top five can afford.
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Breaktime – The Number Garden
We don't eat lunch with trays. We order nanobites tailored to our DNA and drop them under our tongue. The garden is open, holographic butterflies flutter around us, designed to soothe anxiety.
"14ii," says 7iii, the cocky grandson of Number 7. "Your father really held his spot well. The broadcast was... intense."
> "He paid 88 billion," I reply flatly. "He didn't earn it. He bought it."
He stares at me for a second—then chuckles.
> "Money is merit. You should learn that before next year's Re-Auction, or your family will drop."
I smile, but inside, something simmers.
Because I've seen my father pacing in the data room at night.
I know he doesn't have another 88 billion.
I know our position isn't safe.
And I know if we drop…
I'll be sitting beside 35ii.
Or worse.
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That night
I look at my reflection. No name. Just a number on my cheek.
14ii.
Daughter. Asset. Product of Blackwood's system.
> "What happens when a number wants more than digits?" I whisper to myself.
No answer.
Only silence.
And the sound of the next auction's clock already ticking.
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