The front gates opened with a soft hum as the Kwon estate swallowed Aiden's car into its pristine driveway. Everything was polished to perfection—gardens trimmed by professionals, the marble steps gleaming white under the afternoon light, and gold-painted pillars framing the enormous front doors like the set of a palace drama.
Aiden stepped out of the car, school bag slung lazily over his shoulder, his expression unreadable as always.
Inside, the house was quiet at first—until voices drifted from the living room.
He froze for half a second. Then sighed.
His uncle was here.
He moved through the foyer with long, uninterested strides, not bothering to glance at the men in tailored suits or the older women with jewelry glinting under the chandelier.
His uncle's voice rose over the others. "We'll need his approval when the estate hearing begins."
Estate hearing. Legacy talk. Old money politics.
It was the reason he had to come home early. Apparently, the heir to the Kwon fortune still had to show his face—even if no one remembered he was just eighteen.
He adjusted the strap on his shoulder and moved toward the grand staircase, pretending not to notice the stares.
"Aiden," came a sharp voice from behind.
He stopped on the first step.
His father's voice again. "Come over here and greet your family."
Aiden slowly turned, his dark hair falling slightly over one eye. His father stood tall, spectacled, rigid in his thousand-dollar suit. The kind of man who didn't speak—he delivered statements.
Everyone in the room looked at him now.
Aiden stared blankly.
Then said flatly, "They're not my family. They're your business partners in disguise."
The silence that followed stretched far too long.
His father exhaled—long, slow, tired. He adjusted his glasses and gave a dismissive wave to the guests.
"That's how he is," he muttered. "Let him go. He'll come around."
Aiden didn't look back. He climbed the stairs, two steps at a time, and disappeared down the hallway.
His room was cold, quiet, and too large for one person. The kind of room you could scream in and never be heard.
He dropped his bag on the table, kicked off his shoes, and slammed the door shut behind him. The lock clicked.
Then silence again.
He walked to the mirror, pulling off his tie. His face stared back at him—too composed. Too empty. His lips looked carved from stone.
He hadn't smiled in years.
He didn't remember what it felt like.
And deep down, he didn't think anything existed that could ever make him smile.
He reached for his phone on the dresser.
But before he could unlock it, the image returned.
The girl from school.
Her books on the ground.
Her hair being yanked.
The way she didn't even cry. Didn't scream. Didn't fight back.
Aiden shook his head hard.
"Not my business," he muttered.
The knock came right after his shower.
He hesitated by the door, towel still over his shoulders.
Then—
"Open up. It's me, Aiden. Mommy."
The soft voice made him pause.
He opened the door, face unreadable.
His mother stood there, dressed simply but elegantly. Her eyes tired, lips forced into a gentle smile.
He stared for a second, then stepped aside without a word. She entered quietly and sat on the edge of his bed, hands clasped in her lap.
"How have you been?" she asked softly, scanning his face. "How's school going? I'm sorry I'm not here for you like you want, but… you know how work is. Your daddy and I—"
She trailed off, searching his expression.
"We really do want to be present," she tried again. "But the company's expanding, and your father—he's under so much pressure lately. And Japan's been so demanding with—"
"You don't have to explain," Aiden cut her off, sighing. "I don't care."
He picked up his earphones and let one dangle in his hand.
His mother looked down, biting her lip.
"Can you at least come down for lunch with the family?" she asked gently.
"I'm better eating by myself," he said. "I'm used to it."
She didn't answer at first.
Then just nodded, slowly. "Okay."
She stood to leave.
At the door, she looked back once.
But he was already sitting at his desk, back to her, earphones in.
She left without another word.
Aiden sat in silence, not pressing play.
The music didn't matter.
He stared at the wall.
And again—Lina's face flickered in his mind.
The way she looked at no one.
The way she didn't ask for help.
The way no one noticed—except him.
His hands clenched once.
"What if no one ever stands up for her?"
—-
The class was noisy again.
Not with learning, not with laughter—just the usual taunts whispered behind cupped hands and half-covered giggles aimed at one person.
Lina Seo sat at the back of the room, eyes lowered, hands folded on her desk. Her bag—worn and fraying at the seams—rested beside her like a lifeline. She clutched it slightly when a girl from the front row turned with a cruel grin.
"I passed by your neighborhood yesterday," the girl said loudly enough for others to hear. "Is that your house, Seo? The one that looks like it's holding pigs inside?"
The laughter rippled.
Another added, "I swear I saw actual chickens outside the gate. You sure you're not living on a farm?"
Lina said nothing.
She didn't even flinch when someone "accidentally" tipped their ink bottle onto her bag. A dark smear seeped into the fabric like a slow bruise. One girl gasped theatrically.
"Lina! How careless! That was your fault."
Still no reaction.
Just a soft, almost invisible motion—Lina reaching for tissue from her pocket, dabbing at the ink quietly as if she wasn't surrounded by eyes trained to humiliate her.
Later, during break, she made the mistake of walking near the east wing stairwell.
Three girls cornered her.
"On your knees."
She hesitated.
The slap came before she could comply. Lina knelt, her school skirt grazing the cold tiles. She placed both hands behind her back, as instructed—like a criminal on display.
"Again," one of them sneered, yanking her hair. "Say you're beneath us."
Lina's nose had started to bleed, but she only blinked the sting away.
Another slap. This one harder.
Someone kicked her books aside. Pages scattered .
Still, she didn't make a sound.
It wasn't supposed to be this way. She remembered the joy on her grandmother's face the day her acceptance letter arrived. "You're going to that school, Lina," the old woman had said with trembling hands, pressing the letter to her chest. "You'll make something of yourself."
First day, her grandmother had packed her a simple lunch—boiled eggs and rice wrapped in cloth. Lina had smiled so hard her cheeks hurt.
Now her cheeks hurt for another reason.
"You think you're better than us just because you're smart?" one girl spat. "We could kill you here and no one would care. You're nothing."
Lina wiped the blood from her nose, quietly.
That was when he saw her.
Aiden Kwon had been walking the perimeter of the school—his usual slow steps, earphones in, hands shoved in his coat pockets. He always walked this way, where fewer students lingered. The silence helped him think. Or more accurately—feel nothing.
But today wasn't silent.
He stopped a few feet away, shadow falling across the scene. The students looked up. Guilt rippled through them .
The girl holding Lina's hair dropped it immediately, her fingers trembling. Another one stepped away and offered a small wave, forcing a sugary smile.
Aiden didn't respond.
His frown deepened.
Not because they were trying to get his attention.
But because of her.
Lina didn't look at him. She didn't even glance up. She stayed still, kneeling, bruised, and bleeding—and calm.
She didn't cry.
Not even once.
His music played softly in his ears, the lyrics half-muted by the thud of his heartbeat.
Why doesn't she fight back? Why doesn't she tell someone?
He hated how irritated he felt.
He hated that he was still standing there.
And he hated that—for once—he didn't want to walk away.