I still remember that day. I don't even have to close my eyes for it. It's always there.
The playground behind my old school. Gravel and dust. Rusted swings creaking in the wind. A basketball hoop with no net. I was six. I had just come out of class. A paper in my hand, clenched like it was worth something. Because it was. To me.
I had scored the highest in the year. Again.
I ran up to my teacher, breathing hard, smiling too wide. "I did it again, miss! I got full marks!"
She barely glanced down. Her lips twitched. Not a smile. Something tighter. "That's nice, Cassian. But can you go play now? The others are waiting."
The others. I turned. There they were. Grouped in circles. Laughing. Throwing a ball. One of them pointed at me, whispered something to the others. Then they laughed harder.
I remember how my stomach felt. Not pain, not fear. Just... small.
I knew I wasn't one of them. Not really.
They all had parents who showed up to school events. Who drove shiny cars. Who packed snacks that didn't come in reused plastic bags. My mum worked cleaning jobs back then. Three shifts. My dad was gone. I used to lie and say he worked abroad.
He didn't. He left.
The teacher didn't ask how I got to school every morning. Or why I never went on school trips. Or why my shoes were always a little too small. No one asked.
But I remembered everything.
Age ten. Science fair.
I had spent two months building that stupid wind turbine model. Took parts from broken toys. Read articles from the library. Learned to solder from a YouTube video. Mum didn't even know I was doing it. I stayed late at school most days.
The day of the fair, I stood there, shirt clean, hair combed, my little turbine spinning under a desk fan.
The judges passed by. One nodded. The other asked, "Where did you get the idea?"
"I wanted to show how energy can be saved using simple tools," I said. Voice steady. Heart fast.
They moved on.
An hour later, they gave the first prize to someone else. A girl. Her model was a volcano made with store-bought materials. Her dad was on the parent committee.
I didn't go home right after. I sat in the hallway with the lights off and watched the red ribbon they gave me.
"Participation"
I was fifteen when I got shortlisted for a national scholarship.
Top five in the region. Final interview.
I wore a blazer from a thrift store. The sleeves were short, but I rolled them like it was a style.
I walked into the interview room. Three people sat across from me. They asked about my grades, my plans. My ambitions. I answered everything.
Then one of them smiled and said, "Cassian, your test scores are exceptional. But these scholarships also consider well-roundedness. You're not involved in any sports or group activities. Why is that?"
"I work part-time after school," I said. "I help my mother."
They exchanged a look.
The winner was announced a week later. Son of a local banker.
He played piano. Did debate. Volunteered once a month at an art gallery.
I read his essay online. It was about how the 2008 financial crisis taught him the value of hard work.
He was ten in 2008.
I kept pushing anyway.
I got into university. Barely. Took loans. Studied economics and finance.
Then came her.
I met her in first year. Elisa.
She had long dark hair, always tied back, except when it rained. Wore too many rings. Smelled like vanilla and cigarettes.
We met during an econ project. She smiled at me, asked questions, laughed too loudly at my dry comments.
We started dating.
At first, I didn't think it would last. People like her didn't date people like me.
But she stayed. For almost a year.
Until she didn't.
Her new boyfriend? Law student. Son of a judge. Drove a BMW. Took her to Prague for spring break.
She didn't even call to explain. Just posted a photo online. Her in a red dress, sitting on a rooftop, wine glass in hand. He was in the background, blurred, but you could see the watch.
It cost more than my tuition.
I stopped dating after that. Didn't have the time. Or the money. Or the illusion.
By the time I graduated, I had nothing. No safety net. No family connections. Just debt. And that quiet rage that had been building for years.
Everywhere I looked, the game was rigged.
The best jobs went to the ones who already had them. Internships through cousins, uncles, family friends. I had one shot. Maybe two.
So I played nice. Cleaned up. Learned how to fake a smile. Memorized finance terms I'd never use. Wore a cheap suit and applied to every firm that would even glance at my CV.
That's how I ended up here. In Brussels. At this firm. Just another intern.
People think shutting off is a choice.
It's not. It's what happens when you care too much, for too long, and nothing ever comes of it. When every time you tried, the world pushed you back down. Not hard. Just enough to remind you where you belong.
I used to think I was the problem.
Now I know better.
So when I saw that black card in my locker, I didn't feel fear. I didn't feel scared.
I felt… awake. Excited?
Like something finally tilted. Just a little.
And if the world was finally tilting my way.
I was ready.