On Monday morning, Maya's second week of work began with a comically tragic scene right in the main hall of St. Jude.
The sun had just broken through, and the school gates were already packed with luxury vehicles rolling along the marble-paved road. Amid the bustling crowd, a boy of about four, wearing a miniature fine wool tuxedo with a neat black bowtie and holding an expensive stuffed bear, walked leisurely through the gates. Walking directly behind the boy was a man in a black suit carrying a leather briefcase, accompanied by a private female assistant continuously taking notes on a tablet with an extremely urgent demeanor.
The boy stopped right in front of Maya, raising big, round yet bold eyes, looking up and down at her with clear snobbery.
"Are you the new intern?" The boy spoke up, his voice that of a child, but his posture was as grand as a miniature corporate chairman.
Maya smiled softly and slowly squatted down to match the boy's eye level. Even though a feeling of weariness rose inside her at the ultra-rich's way of molding children into "miniature adults," her outer demeanor maintained full composure, restraint, and professionalism. "That is right, I am Miss Maya. May I ask what this 'little friend' needs help with?"
The boy crossed his arms over his chest and casually stated his condition: "My dad is busy with a board meeting in London, and there is no one else at home. I am missing someone to play the role of a parent in this afternoon's meeting. My assistant will pay you five thousand dollars for two hours. If you do a good job, I will tell my dad to buy you out from this school so you do not have to tire yourself out being an intern."
As soon as he finished speaking, the female assistant immediately took a step forward and swiftly opened the fine leather briefcase. Inside were no toys or boxed milk like those of normal children, but rather neatly arranged stacks of audit documents along with a gold-plated bank card glittering under the sunlight.
Five thousand dollars for two hours—an amount equal to three full months of the miserable intern salary that Principal Evans had arranged for her. It was a sum of money enough to pay off two months of overdue rent and help her live comfortably for an entire academic term. A deadly temptation for someone lacking every single cent like Maya.
Yet, her bright, sparkling eyes only blinked lightly. Maya showed not a hint of greed or panic, her face maintaining a smile so gentle it bordered on sly. Using two fingers, she gently pinched the gold-plated card, leisurely dropped it back into the heart of the briefcase, and slowly shut the lid, letting out a clean click.
"Regrettably, school regulations do not permit teachers to 'sell time' to act as parents," Maya said in a lazy, unhurried tone that nevertheless contained an unshakable firmness, "and I am not a commodity for anyone who wants to spend money to buy out. Off to class, 'little boss.' Being late for roll call means points deducted from conduct evaluations."
The boy stood dazed, his eyes widening as he looked at Maya as though he had just encountered a strange creature fallen from the sky. At St. Jude, everyone from servants and security guards to full-time teachers acted subserviently before his family's prestigious reputation. No one had ever rejected his money with such a casual, effortless attitude. He let out a soft, dissatisfied grunt, raised his chin to signal his two assistants to withdraw, and quietly adjusted his backpack before walking inside.
By afternoon tea time, the nuisance and madness of this wealthy world truly exploded.
According to St. Jude's schedule, the afternoon was reserved for English pastries and organic herbal tea. Aristocratic ladies or mothers with free time often took this opportunity to come to school to "visit their children"—though in reality, it was to compete over whose child wore more expensive designer clothes and to take advantage of the chance to scrutinize and bark orders at the intern staff.
Maya was carefully using tongs to arrange each strawberry tart onto expensive bone china plates when a parent walked over. The woman wore a diamond ring as big as a pea, holding the latest phone in her hand as she continuously filmed close-ups of every pastry on the table.
"Teacher!" Her voice rang out sourly, piercing through the entire dining room. "This cake has a diameter of only five centimeters, and the strawberry is tilted to the left by zero point five millimeters! Are you intending to feed my child this defective scrap? Do you know how much money my family pays in here every month?"
Maya's hand paused slightly as she looked at the tiny strawberry tilted by exactly... half a millimeter. She suppressed a sigh deep into her chest, hiding her sarcasm under a veneer of restraint. Given her current circumstances, she was forced to be patient. Maya bowed her head slightly, her voice so calm that it lacked even a ripple: "I am very sorry for this oversight. Let me exchange this for another, more perfect cake for you immediately, madam."
"Exchange what! Looking at it shows you have no aesthetic taste anyway!" The woman snapped. Before she could jump up to continue hurling curses, another disaster struck unexpectedly.
A young boy from the Red Sprout class nearby suddenly developed severe stomach pain from eating too many sweets since noon. The boy's face turned pale; he turned around and... bleah!
The entire pile of vomit splashed straight onto the luxury alligator leather backpack of the diamond parent, while simultaneously splattering all over Maya's uniform.
A sharp scream echoed through the entire dining room.
"Good heavens! My limited edition Hermes Birkin alligator bag!" The woman shrieked like a slaughtered pig, pointing a red-painted fingernail straight at Maya's face. "How are you doing your job? Why did you not block it for my child? Do you know this bag is worth three months of salary for an intern like you?"
Teacher Beatrice quickly appeared. Instead of handling the pile of vomit or asking about the health of the crying child, Beatrice immediately bowed her head to apologize to the parent on the spot, then turned around to glare at Maya as if wanting to swallow her alive.
"Miss Maya! Immediately write a commitment letter to reimburse the specialized dry cleaning costs and compensate for the damage to this lady! Otherwise, prepare to receive your dismissal letter!"
Maya looked at the filthy vomit on her shirt, then at the expensive alligator leather bag. Even though a fire of anger burned inside her at the blatant absurdity and injustice, she still clenched her fists hidden behind her back, suppressing all resentment into the bottom of her heart. She clearly understood her position at this moment: she needed money, she needed this job to maintain her life, and she could not allow herself to be fired over a moment of impulsiveness.
"Yes, I will write the commitment letter," Maya replied calmly, her gaze cold, but her face showing not a trace of weakness or panic.
Inside the cramped staff restroom at the end of the hallway.
Maya stood before the mirror, quietly using a wet towel to wipe clean the stain on her shirt. The commitment letter for the expensive dry cleaning reimbursement that Teacher Beatrice had forced her to write sat prominently on the sink counter.
She looked at her reflection in the mirror. Her eyes were slightly red from the pressure, but absolutely not a single tear fell. Her patience did not equate to weakness.
"A cake tilted by zero point five millimeters? An alligator bag worth three months of salary? Hiring someone to pose as family for five thousand dollars?"
Maya burst into laughter. A soft, bitter, comically tragic laugh escaped in the middle of the cramped space. The life of the ultra-rich was indeed a crazy comedy, and she—a dirt-poor person—was having to grin and bear playing the role of someone absorbing all that absurdity.
She checked her collar again, smoothed out every wrinkle on her old dress shirt, and adjusted her facial expression back to its most calm and indifferent state. Stubbornness and endurance—that was the only way for her to survive through these six months of internship. Maya took the commitment letter, tucked it neatly into her shirt pocket, cupped cold water to wash her face, and opened the door to step outside with a completely proactive demeanor.
In the afternoon, as the pale yellow sunlight began to fade on the vast courtyard of St. Jude, Maya returned to assist in managing the free activity hour for the Purple Sprout class.
The rich children were gathering into small groups. They bragged about trips by private jet to the Maldives, newly bought designer clothes, or expensive gold-plated robot toys. The surrounding atmosphere was extremely noisy and overflowing with suffocating extravagance.
Except for one corner.
Situated completely apart from the central toy area, in the corner of the room near the large glass window facing the fountain, a young boy sat alone on the wooden floor.
The boy was about five years old, wearing a neat uniform without a single wrinkle. He did not play with building blocks, nor did he talk to anyone; he merely used his small fingers in silence to disassemble every detailed component of an extremely expensive remote-controlled model car. The boy's hands operated with a speed, precision, and skill that were astonishing for his age, but his face remained sullen, ice-cold, lacking even a ripple of emotion.
The children nearby occasionally walked past, their eyes looking at the boy with clear dread and avoidance.
"Hey, do not go near him," a child whispered to the friend beside him. "My dad said his family is terrifying. Plus, he is mute; he never talks to anyone."
Maya frowned. She walked over near the student list posted on the wall, running her finger to find the seating chart for the Purple Sprout class.
In the corner box, a short name appeared alongside a photo ID of that sullen boy:
Mark.
Maya looked at the picture of the boy with deep, ash-gray eyes that were hollow, then turned to look at his lonely back in the corner of the classroom. In this school filled with luxury and vanity, the five-year-old child's indifferent, quiet, and chillingly cold attitude suddenly captured her complete attention.
