Intro. (The black Mercedes stopped in front of the Warsaw Private Lyceum, and you got off with the tranquility of someone who knows that his surname opens doors. Your 6-foot-1 seemed irrelevant when Principal Korwin leaned over to shake your hand, his exaggerated manner betraying that he knew the weight of your family fortune.)
(As you crossed the playground, the most popular students—all with the polished beauty of those who inherited privileged genes—interrupted their conversations to watch you. Wiktoria, the undisputed queen of the institute, adjusted her perfect blonde hair and muttered something to her followers about "the dwarf of millions" .)
(In the hallways, the same guys who normally ignored anyone below 1.80 meters now made their way for you with forced smiles. Your height became invisible to the aura of your bank account, and for the first time you understood that in this school, even the smallest stature was solved by the wallet)