Believing in truth was one thing—but chasing it was another.
Thump! Thump! Thump!The sound of hurried footsteps echoed through the narrow alley.
The wind howled past her ears, slapping her cheeks like a scolding grandmother, wild and fast. Her hair danced behind her as she ran with all her might, trying to catch the bus.
Whoosh...Too late. The bus roared away before she could reach it. The wind, once her chaotic companion, calmed. Her footsteps slowed.
Silence She stood still—face flushed, a flicker of defeat in her eyes, lips pressed into a pout.
Her inner monologue screamed, "Why do buses always leave like I owe them money?"Later, at school…The usual morning chatter buzzed outside the classroom.
As she entered through the front door, her eyes wandered—until they locked onto something.Or rather, someone.Middle row.
First seat Slowly, he lifted it, unaware of the mini heart attack he was causing.
As their eyes almost met, she snapped back to reality, spun around like a malfunctioning robot, and walked to her seat with the elegance of a broken penguin."Why do I walk like a giraffe learning ballet when I panic?" she thought.
As she slid into her seat, whispers reached her ears.> "Psst… I heard a new student is joining today.""Yeah, I heard she's super rich. Like… custom-uniform and sparkle-eyeliner rich!"Before she could roll her eyes, the classroom door opened.
The teacher walked in. Instantly, the room dropped into silence like someone pressed mute."Good morning, class," the teacher said. "We have a new student joining us today."He noticed her walking back to her seat but didn't turn his head.
His eyes stayed glued to the book, but he could sense her presence—like a strong gust of wind that entered the room and messed up your hair emotionally.
As she sat down, she overheard whispers from nearby classmates.> "I heard there's a new student joining today.
She's super rich... like 'designer lunchbox and diamond pen' rich.""And super stylish too. I bet even her uniform was dry-cleaned in Paris.
"Just then, the classroom door opened. The teacher entered, and instantly the class fell silent—the type of silence that only fear or Wi-Fi disconnection can bring."Class," the teacher announced, "please welcome our new student."She stepped in.One glance at her and Byeol already knew—this girl meant business.
Her sharp eyes, perfectly pressed uniform, and the way she stood like she was ready to file a complaint against gravity itself.Her expression screamed: "Don't mess with me unless you want your ego gently destroyed."The teacher smiled nervously.
"Why don't you introduce yourself to the class?"The girl stared ahead blankly. "Kim Minji," she said flatly.That was it. One name. No fluff. No "Hi everyone." No "Nice to meet you." Just… Kim Minji. Like a final boss unlocking her presence."Alright then," the teacher said awkwardly, "Minji, you can take the empty seat next to Byeol."Byeol blinked.
Next to me?!She glanced to her left. Yep—empty seat. Great. Now she had to breathe next to this living thundercloud.Minji's posture was flawless as she walked—not too fast, not too slow. Confident. Composed. Like she was gliding on invisible hover shoes powered by judgment.
She sat down beside Byeol and faced forward, completely unfazed. The kind of presence that made even the dust particles stand up straighter.Whispers circled the room again.> "She's cute, yeah… but she looks like she could kill with one stare.
""She's like… a mixture of a porcelain doll and a taekwondo black belt."Byeol tried to focus on the lesson, but Minji's aura was too powerful. It felt like sitting next to a beautiful, angry tiger that just might help you with your homework… or steal your soul.
During the lunch break, Byeol carried her tray in one hand and a water bottle in the other—standard cafeteria juggling.Suddenly, a group of boys ran past like wild buffaloes, knocking into his arm.
The bottle flew and clattered a few feet away.She sighed and bent down to pick it up—But before she could, a hand reached it first.She looked up.Kim Minji.
Holding out the bottle. Smiling.Smiling?!She blinked in disbelief.Was this the same girl whose resting face could curdle milk?> "Hey. Watch your step, you reckless mopheads!" she shouted at the boys.
The stampede paused mid-run, shocked into submission.> "Hi…" Byeol managed, words barely making it past his surprise.Minji raised an eyebrow and tilted her head slightly.> "How can they run like hyperactive squirrels? This school is more chaotic than I imagined."Then, with a calm smile, she added—> "So, Byeol. I'm new here.
Can you help me adjust to this chaos factory?"Byeol nodded, trying not to faint from shock.The girl who looked like a luxury villain was… talking to her?She kept asking questions—about classes, teachers, lockers—and surprisingly, she listened carefully to every word.Byeol, who rarely spoke much, found himself talking about school rules, class gossip, and even the vending machine that only worked when kicked twice.> "What about you?" she finally asked. "What do you like? What don't you like?"> "I like smart people and iced lattes," she said.
"I dislike fake smiles and soggy sandwiches."They sat close, sharing lunch like it was a casual café date. For a moment, things felt oddly normal.Suddenly, BAM!A sharp pain struck Byeol's back.> "Hey bro," a loud voice teased, "just because you got a new friend doesn't mean you forget Choi Kiseok, your one and only!"Kiseok flopped onto the seat across from Byeol, grinning like a kid who just broke something expensive.
Minji went silent immediately, like her sarcasm needed a loading screen to deal with this guy.
After lunch, Byeol asked, "Minji, want to go to the library? I need to study for the upcoming exam."> "Wait—what exam?!" she asked, horrified.In the library They settled at a quiet table.
Minji pulled out her books, focused.Kiseok, not known for manners, plopped down beside her.> "Hey. Nice pen," he said casually. "Can I borrow it?"Without hesitation, Minji handed it to him.
Later, when she politely asked for it back, he tossed it to her—without the cap.Her eyes widened. Her brows knitted.
She gave him a look so cold it could refrigerate soup.> "Where's the cap?" she asked, slowly and chillingly.Kiseok grinned.He was enjoying irritating her.
He handed her nothing. Instead, he tossed the cap near her elbow like she was a dog at a park.Byeol winced. Bad idea, bro.Minji, however, smiled sweetly. Too sweetly.> "Do you have another pen?" she asked him.
He shrugged and extended his hand, thinking he'd won.She reached into her pouch, pulled out another pen, and with zero eye contact, flung it at his chest.
Perfect aim. Direct hit.> "Oops. My hand slipped."I walked toward the washroom, the corridor oddly silent—too silent—as if the air itself was holding its breath.The flickering light above the door buzzed faintly, casting nervous shadows on the pale green tiles.
I stepped inside.At first, everything seemed normal.Until I saw it. Every instinct in my body screamed to run, but I couldn't stop staring.I walked into the washroom, expecting silence—maybe a flickering light or the usual dripping tap.
But what greeted me instead was something far more sinister.There, from beneath the last stall, a thick stream of blood snaked across the floor, slow and deliberate—like it had a mind of its own.
It wasn't just a stain.It wasn't an accident.It was fresh.And it was still flowing.My breath caught in my throat.I stood frozen, my heartbeat thudding so loudly it drowned out every sound around me.
My hands began to tremble. A cold sweat coated my skin.I took one step back—then another—and bolted out of the washroom in a blind panic.But what I saw just outside the door...I wish I never had.There—against the tiled wall—lay a girl.Or at least, what used to be a girl.
Her body was slumped unnaturally, limbs sprawled like a marionette with its strings cut. Her eyes were wide open—unblinking, glassy, and forever stuck in the moment of terror. They stared at nothing, and yet... they felt like they were staring straight at me.Her throat was slashed open—ripped, not sliced. Blood soaked everything around her, pooling beneath her like she had drowned in her own life.It wasn't just a murder.
It was a massacre.The walls were painted with splatters, as if someone had used her like a brush. Crimson dripped from the sinks, the mirror was cracked, and a bloody handprint smeared across it in one last desperate plea for help.
Her uniform was torn. Her fingers were curled like claws.She had tried to fight.And she had lost.I stood there, paralyzed. My legs were shaking, my vision blurred with panic, and I couldn't scream. My voice had abandoned me.I wanted to believe it was a nightmare.But the blood on my shoes said otherwise.