Pop 4
Leo sat at the admissions desk, effortlessly handsome in a way that made people
do double takes without even realizing it.
His posture was polite, his expression calm as he slid his old school ID across the counter.
The woman behind the desk—a young admissions clerk in her late twenties—looked up
and paused, caught off guard by the sight of him.
“Oh,” she said under her breath,
quickly tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear and adjusting her smile.
It brightened like a lamp turned on high.
Behind Leo, three nursing classmates waited in line.
They weren’t trying to eavesdrop, but their amused expressions said it all—
they were definitely watching.
“My nursing instructor said we need to update our IDs,”
Leo said, voice courteous as always.
The clerk nodded, her acrylic nails tapping over the keyboard.
“Alright, Leo,” she said, her tone laced with interest.
“Sit up straight and look into the camera for me.”
Leo sat down at the chair in front of the clerk,
he adjusted his posture. His face remained neutral, maybe even a little stoic.
“Come on,” the clerk teased. “Give me a smile. Trust me, Leo—your smile could take you places.”
He managed a small, reluctant curve of his lips.
She squinted at the monitor, unimpressed.
Without another word, she popped open her purse and retrieved a small compact.
To Leo’s horror—and the audible gasps of the classmates behind him—
she came around the counter and dabbed light foundation on his cheeks
like it was the most natural thing in the world.
Then suddenly, as if a hidden trapdoor had opened beneath reality, chaos ensued.
The clerk stood with the flair of someone calling “Action!” on a movie set,
grabbed her purse, and whipped out a compact mirror.
She dabbed more foundation under his eyes, completely ignoring his stunned expression.
Behind him, the three girl classmates stood frozen—until they were shoved aside
by a crew of strangers who burst into the admissions office as if on cue.
One man held up a large metallic reflector disk, angling it with precision.
Two others followed, swiftly unfolding light stands and positioning them on either
side of Leo with military coordination.
“What the hell...” whispered one of the classmates.
The fluorescent buzz of the office was drowned out by the hum of high-end lighting gear.
The admissions clerk clapped her hands like a seasoned fashion director.
“Alright, people! Let’s get this right! Reflector higher! Light softer!”
She moved with surprising elegance back to her seat,
eyes locked on her computer screen as if reviewing a model’s reel.
She motioned at Leo to smile again.
Still in shock, and totally clueless on what just happened, Leo weakly complied.
Click.
The camera flashed. A perfectly lit, absurdly professional ID photo was captured.
The clerk tapped her keyboard once more, chew her gum and quickly swallowed it.
As if responding to a secret signal, the crew packed up in silence
and exited just as swiftly as they had entered—leaving no trace of their presence.
No cables. No lights. Just the soft sound from the printer humming behind the desk.
Leo blinked, still processing what had just happened.
The clerk gave Leo a flirty smile and quick wink as she shift her attention to the student next in line.
“Next!” the clerk called, sliding Leo’s ID across the counter with a dazzling smile.
He stepped aside numbly, studying the ID in his hand.
His own face stared back at him, angelically lit, his skin smooth, his expression faintly terrified.
But he has to admit, he looked great on this ID.
Probably, you’ll look great on anything done professionally.
Behind him, one of the girl classmates eagerly stepped forward,
already dabbing powder on her nose and fluffing her hair.
She turned, preparing her best angle—only to freeze.
The office was… empty. No crew. No lights. No reflector disk.
Just the clerk chewing her gum and swallowing it again.
She gave her a bored look.
“Wait... what happened to my photo shoot?! They’re gonna return for me right?” she blurted, spinning around frantically.
The admissions clerk didn’t flinch. She slid a finished ID across the desk without a word.
The girl picked it up and frowned. “What’s this? You already took my photo?!”
“Next,” the clerk said coolly.
“No way! I demand a retake! I wasn’t even ready—I look like a dumb bimbo!”
“Pictures don’t lie, girl. Next.”
Leo was already halfway to the door, shoulders trembling—not from nerves,
but from barely contained laughter.
Outside, the sun poured through the windows, and the hallway buzzed with activity.
Students rushed past him, clipped ID badges bouncing against their uniforms.
Each one had the same barcode printed neatly across the bottom.
Leo glanced down at his own. The white bar stared back at him, blank and sterile.
His laughter faded.
He flipped the card over, his fingers brushing along the edge.
His face, professionally lit and unnaturally flawless, stared up at him from the laminate.
Yet all he could focus on was that empty bar.
His expression shifted. A quiet unease crept into his eyes.
For the first time since stepping into the office, Leo looked… uncertain.
And for a moment, he just stood there—alone, thoughtful, and oddly vulnerable—while the world bustled on around him.
It sucks to be undocumented.
You’re stuck with that weird white bar at your ID screaming the truth about who you truly are.
