When I lifted my head, I saw someone still lingering in the hallway.
Junseo? she whispered my name, surprised.
I stepped closer, holding my umbrella at my side.
"Oh, you're still here," I said. "Everyone went home already."
She gave me a small nod, tucking her hair behind her ear. "Oh, I left my umbrella in the classroom."
I frowned. "Oh. I didn't see any in there."
Her eyes widened slightly, the corners of her mouth twitching in disbelief.
"What...? Did someone take my umbrella?!"
I shifted my gaze to the stand by the door, where a cluster of umbrellas leaned carelessly against the wall. "I think they may have..." I murmured.
For a moment, silence hung between us, broken only by the faint sound of rain hammering against the windows.
And in that silence, something hardened in my chest.
I didn't always hate Ajin.
Back then, I didn't even think of her much at all. She was just another classmate, another quiet presence in the same space. But she gave me a reason-one I couldn't ignore, one that changed everything.
That night, as the storm raged outside, I realized something: no one walks away untouched after crossing Baek Ajin.
The memory pulls me back, five months earlier... to the beginning of the year.
The sound of rain grows louder in my mind-
SWAAAAA-
a storm that hasn't stopped since the day everything started.
"Could you move?" Seonghee's voice broke the silence behind me.
"I'm gonna take a look myself. It might be on the floor... I thought everyone had left already."
I froze for a second, surprised she was still here. But I didn't turn back. My eyes stayed on Ajin.
Just then, from the corner of my vision, I noticed a shadow lingering near the art room. For the briefest moment, I thought I saw... her.
Was that... Ajin and the art teacher? The thought passed like lightning through my head, but I brushed it away, tightening my grip on the umbrella.
"Come on," I said gently, stepping closer to Ajin. "I'll walk you to the bus stop."
Her head jerked up. "W-What?"
"You don't have an umbrella," I explained, holding mine just above us both. "You'll get drenched in the rain."
"Um..." she hesitated, glancing toward the darkened hallway.
I forced a small smile, even though my chest felt tight. "Come on, let's get going before it gets any darker."
She blinked, then gave the faintest nod. "O-Okay, I'll come with you. Slow down!"
I adjusted my pace, the rain hammering against the windows like a steady drumbeat as we walked side by side.
What I didn't know then was that Seonghee hadn't left. She lingered in the shadows of the hallway, lips pressed tight, watching us go. Every word I spoke-every glance I gave Ajin-was being carved into her memory, feeding something dangerous I couldn't yet see.
The chatter in the classroom was louder than usual that morning. I had just slipped into my seat when I noticed clusters of students whispering in urgent tones, some glancing around as if afraid of being overheard.
"Did you hear?!" a girl near the windows blurted out, her voice just loud enough to carry across the room. "Someone stole the class president's MP3!"
Gasps rippled through the desks. A few students twisted around in their chairs to catch every word.
"Yeah," another boy said, leaning forward on his desk. "I heard it was stolen during our P.E. class. She was crying and everything."
"That sucks," a third muttered, shaking his head. "Didn't she just buy it too?"
I could almost picture our class president's face, tear-streaked and humiliated, clutching her empty bag. The air felt heavy, a mix of pity and curiosity.
"Yeah," the boy continued, lowering his voice, "and our classroom lock is broken too..."
The room buzzed with speculation. Someone in the back suggested, "Should we ask the school to put in CCTV in the hallway? At least then we'd know who's sneaking around."
Murmurs of agreement followed, though I caught the uneasy glances between students. It was one thing to talk about cameras, but another to live under their constant watch.
I sat still, pretending to focus on my notebook, though my ears were wide open. The stolen MP3 wasn't just about the loss of an item-it was about trust, suspicion. Everyone was now looking at each other a little differently, wondering who among us could have done it.

WOW, honor roll students are really something else, huh? I can't help but feel a mix of awe and disbelief every time I see them. Even with everything happening around me, they somehow manage to stay focused, organized, and unshakable.
I glance down at my own notes, the pen hovering hesitantly over the page. Can I really do this too? Somehow, I feel the energy of the room-the quiet hum of determination, the rustle of papers, the soft tapping of keyboards. It's like everyone around me is moving on a different wavelength, one I'm not entirely sure I belong to.
But then I take a deep breath. I tell myself I can try, at least. I can sit here, push through the distractions, and see how far I can go. Maybe I won't be perfect. Maybe I'll stumble. But I'll give it my all-because if they can do it, maybe... just maybe, so can I.
I tighten my grip on the pen and begin writing. One sentence at a time. One problem at a time. I am determined to prove, at least to myself, that I am capable of more than I thought.
"Did you need something...?" I ask, trying to sound casual, though my heart is already racing.
Well, I can't exactly ask her if Junseo has a crush on me... That would be way too obvious, and besides, what if I'm reading everything wrong? I shift slightly, pretending to focus on something else, but my mind keeps circling back to him.
I glance at her, hoping she might drop a hint, any hint at all, but she just looks at me expectantly, waiting. I take a deep breath. Maybe I don't need her answer right now. Maybe I just... need to figure out my own feelings first.
Because then she would know that I have a crush on Junseo. Just thinking about it makes my cheeks heat up. I can't let her know-not yet, not like this.
I know! I'll start a conversation with her and just ask her naturally... Something casual, friendly, nothing suspicious. I take a deep breath, trying to calm the jittery flutter in my chest.
"Oh, I was just curious," I begin, keeping my voice light.
She looks at me with that easy smile, and my nerves threaten to betray me, but I push forward. "I saw you at school late last night... and was super impressed! Your parents must be really happy that you study so hard!!"
I watch her eyes widen slightly, and I can't help but feel a pang of admiration for her diligence. She really does seem... untouchable sometimes. But I have to keep my cool. I can't let her see how much I'm fumbling inside.
I force a small smile, hoping she believes me. I have to play this carefully. One wrong word, one awkward pause, and she might see right through me.
Oh... I saw someone with you.
My stomach twists. My heart races. Did she actually notice? I try to keep my face neutral, but my hands feel clammy.
"It was our art teacher, wasn't it?" Her voice is sharp, almost cutting through the air, and suddenly I feel small-like a mouse caught in a spotlight.
Not only are you nosy, but... you don't know how to take a hint either, do you?
Her words hang in the air, heavy, almost suffocating. I can feel the room closing in around me. Every shadow seems sharper now, every corner darker. My pulse thunders in my ears, and I realize how absurdly terrified I am of her knowing... of anyone knowing.
I swallow hard, trying to force a laugh, but it comes out strained, brittle. I step back slightly, my mind racing. The way she's looking at me... it's like she sees everything, like she can read the panic etched across my face.
And in that moment, I can't shake the feeling that I'm standing on the edge of something darker than embarrassment-a quiet horror that twists itself into my chest and makes my limbs feel heavier than they should.
I force myself to breathe. I have to act normal. I have to. But deep down, I know... she's not just teasing. She's warning. And I don't know if I can handle what comes next.
"In horror movies, people like you usually die first," she says, and the words land like a cold blade against my chest.
I freeze. My mouth opens, but no sound comes out. My mind scrambles for something-anything-to say, but it's like the air has been sucked out of the room.
"Lucky you," she adds, a sly smirk curling at the corner of her lips.
Lucky me? I don't feel lucky. My heart is hammering, my palms are sweating. There's something in her gaze, something sharp and knowing, that makes me feel exposed... as if she's seen right into the darkest corners of my thoughts.
I force a laugh, weak and jittery. "Yeah... lucky me," I murmur, trying to play it off. But inside, I can feel my nerves unraveling. Every instinct screams that I should run, hide, disappear-but I can't. I'm rooted to the spot, caught between fear and fascination.
And just like that, I realize... maybe she isn't joking. Maybe the horror movie warning isn't about fiction at all.
At least in reality... I think to myself, my pulse still racing. At least in reality, I'm not actually in a horror movie. I tell myself that over and over, like a mantra, trying to steady my breathing.
But even as I say it, I can't shake the chill creeping up my spine. Her smirk hasn't faded. If anything, it's sharper now, like she's daring me to prove her wrong. My mind spins, imagining all the ways I could embarrass myself-or worse, get caught in something I can't handle.
"Lucky you," her words echo again in my head. Lucky? I glance around the room, half-expecting the shadows to stretch and lunge at me. My hands clench into fists at my sides.
I force a laugh, shaky and high-pitched. "Yeah... lucky," I whisper, hoping the sound of my own voice will convince me. But deep down, I know the truth-I've never felt luckier and more terrified at the same time.
Reality might be safe, I tell myself. But in that moment, it feels fragile, like a thin glass wall between me and the unknown, ready to shatter with the slightest touch.
Seonghee pov
Being nosy won't get me killed, right? I try to reason with myself, but my own thoughts sound weak, even to me.
A part of me wondered if I had heard her right. The words replay in my mind, over and over, making my skin crawl. I have goosebumps all over my arms, and I can't tell if it's fear, anticipation, or both.
While everyone else in the class is busy gossiping about the missing MP3, laughing and pointing fingers, I am frozen. I am the only one who saw...
I saw Junseo's face-Ajin's face-the way it changed when no one else was watching. There was something in his eyes, something hidden, something almost... dangerous. My stomach twists at the memory, and I can't shake the image no matter how much I try.
I force my hands to stop trembling and pretend to focus on my notebook. Pretend everything is normal. But inside, a shiver runs down my spine, and I realize: I've seen something I wasn't supposed to.
And now... I can't unsee it
...and heard her voice.
It wasn't the same voice I'd grown used to - the gentle, careful one she used around everyone else. This one was different. Lower. Sharper. Like glass breaking under pressure.
Her real face disappeared within seconds. One moment she was there, looking like any other classmate; the next, it was like a mask slipping off. Something else flickered underneath - something cold and unrecognizable.
I blinked, but by then it was gone. She was smiling again, tilting her head like nothing had happened.
After that, I tried to explain to everyone how messed up and fake Ajin was. How she wasn't who she pretended to be. How I'd seen her real face.
But no one believed me. Not a single person. They laughed. They said I was imagining things, that I was jealous, that I was just tired from studying too much.
I can still feel their stares even now - the way they looked at me like I was the crazy one. And maybe that's the scariest part. Because if no one else saw it, if no one else heard it... how am I supposed to know if it was real?
...No one believed me. Not a single one of them. They laughed, rolled their eyes, or whispered behind my back like I was the one making things up.
But how will she explain away the things I saw today?
The image flashes through my mind again - her voice slipping, her face shifting, that strange flicker of something beneath the mask she wears every day. I wasn't imagining it. I couldn't have been.
My heart pounds as I clutch the edge of my desk. If she really is what I think she is, then she won't be able to talk her way out of this. Not this time. Not after what I saw with my own eyes.
But as that thought forms, a new one slithers in, cold and unnerving:
What if she's already planning how to make me doubt myself again?
I swallow hard, the weight of the classroom pressing down on me. Everyone's still chatting about the missing MP3 like nothing happened, but my skin prickles with the sense that she's watching me - waiting for my next move.
This time, though, I'm not backing down.
"Hey... hey, Seonghee!"
The voice pulls me out of my spiraling thoughts. I blink and look up, trying to force some normalcy back into my expression.
"What's got you looking so serious?" she asks, her tone light, teasing even. But I can feel the weight of her eyes on me, and for a moment, I wonder if she notices the storm still swirling in my mind.
"Aren't you going to come eat lunch? They're giving out strawberry milk for dessert!"
I force a small, distracted smile. "Yeah, I'm coming... it's just... show."
I push my chair back and stand, trying to match the casual rhythm of everyone else. Inside, though, my thoughts refuse to settle. Every laugh, every movement around me feels distant, like I'm walking through a haze.
I tell myself it's just lunch. Strawberry milk. Just a normal day. But deep down, I know it's not. Not after everything I saw. Not after what I can't make anyone else see.
Still, I follow along, hoping the simple act of eating, talking, pretending, can anchor me... at least for a little while.
"Yeah, I'm coming... it's show time," I say, forcing my voice bright, even though my stomach is still in knots.
Around me, the lunchroom is alive with chatter-laughter bouncing off the walls, trays clattering, friends swapping bites and gossiping about everything from exams to the missing MP3. The smell of fried chicken mixes with the sweet tang of strawberry milk, and for a second, I almost feel like I could forget everything.
Almost.
"Hey, Seonghee! Over here!" someone calls, waving a tray. I duck my head and make my way through the crowd, forcing a smile, letting the noise wash over me. My mind, however, is elsewhere-replaying the way Ajin's face had shifted earlier, the cold glint in her eyes.
"Here you go," a friend says, plopping a carton of strawberry milk in front of me. I take it with a nod, keeping my tone light. "Thanks... really."
Everyone is chattering, oblivious, and I try to join in. "So... did anyone see what happened in art class yesterday?" I ask, hoping to blend in.
Laughter erupts somewhere across the table. I grin faintly, letting it carry me, even if just a little. The show must go on, after all.

"Hey, you're gonna chip in... for our teacher's wedding gift, right?" someone asks, leaning over with a hopeful smile.
"Oh, yeah. Of course I'd love to-" I start, already reaching for my wallet, wanting to be polite, wanting to fit in.
But then... no.
I pause, the words stopping me mid-motion. I realize I don't feel like joining in this time. Not for this gift, not for the show of friendliness that everyone else seems so eager to perform. My chest tightens, and I can feel the tension creeping up my spine.
The room grows slightly louder, the chatter wrapping around me, but I don't move. "No," I finally say, my voice calm but firm.
I see their surprised faces, the brief flicker of confusion. Some whisper, some shrug it off, but I don't care. For once, I'm letting myself choose, letting myself step outside the expectation that I always say yes.
And as I watch them go back to planning, smiling and laughing, I feel a small, strange relief. Maybe this time... I'm doing what I want, not what everyone else wants me to do.
"Don't chip in."
The words leave my mouth before I even realize I'm saying them. The room seems to pause for a fraction of a second. Everyone's eyes turn toward me, curious, maybe a little shocked.
I feel the weight of their stares, but I don't back down. My jaw tightens. I'm done pretending. Done following along just because it's expected.
A few whispers ripple through the table, but I stay still, letting the silence do its work. Inside, there's a strange mix of fear and relief. Fear, because I know I just broke the unspoken rules. Relief, because for once... I said exactly what I wanted.
---
Suddenly, before I can even react, Seonghee strides up to my table and pours strawberry juice right in front of me. The liquid spills across my tray, splattering onto my notebook and the edge of my lunch. My friends gasp, some scrambling to grab napkins, their voices a mix of shock and confusion.
"What's wrong with you, Seonghee?!" I hear someone shout, but the words barely register. My mind is racing, heart hammering against my ribs.
"Are you okay, Ajin?!" another friend calls, their tone panicked. I can barely lift my gaze.
I sit frozen, the sticky sweetness of the juice clinging to my fingers, my stomach knotting. For a moment, the room seems to tilt, voices blending into a deafening roar.
I can feel Seonghee's eyes on me, sharp and accusing, but her expression is unreadable. There's no apology, no hesitation-just that intense gaze that makes my skin crawl. I swallow hard, trying to force myself to act normal, to calm the rising panic, but the world feels off-balance.
My friends chatter frantically, asking if I'm hurt, telling me to calm down, but I can't focus on them. All I can see is Seonghee, standing there like she's dared the world to notice, and a flicker of something inside me that I can't name-fear, maybe, or something worse.
"Are you okay, Ajin?!" someone shouts, but I barely hear them. My focus is entirely on Seonghee.
Then-THUMP!
The bottle hits the floor, spilling strawberry juice everywhere. The sticky liquid spreads across the tiles, forming a bright, chaotic puddle at my feet. Everyone freezes for a moment, staring at the scene, the chatter in the lunchroom dying down to murmurs and gasps.
I feel my chest tighten, my stomach twisting. My friends are frantic now, reaching for napkins, muttering apologies to me, but I can't move. I can only watch Seonghee stand there, the bottle still in her hand moments ago, her eyes sharp and unflinching, as if daring me to react.
"Seonghee..." I whisper, my voice barely audible over the sudden, tense silence.
Her lips curl slightly, but she doesn't answer. I can feel every heartbeat in my ears, every drop of juice on my tray, every whisper around me. It's like the room has stopped, leaving just the two of us in this charged, messy moment.
And I know, deep down, that whatever comes next, things will never feel normal again.
"What... ...are you doing...?!" I manage to choke out, my voice shaking, half with anger, half with disbelief.
Seonghee freezes for just a moment, her eyes locking with mine, and I feel the weight of her stare like a physical force. The spilled strawberry juice glistens under the fluorescent lights, a stark, chaotic reminder of what just happened.
My friends hover around me, whispering frantic reassurances, but I can't hear them. All I can focus on is her-the way she's standing there so calm, so deliberate, as if nothing's wrong.
I take a shaky step back, my hand gripping the edge of the table for support. "Seonghee... what are you thinking?" My voice is louder this time, demanding an answer, but also trembling.
The room feels smaller, tighter, every sound amplified-the scraping of chairs, the soft murmurs of my classmates, the sticky squelch of juice underfoot. And through it all, Seonghee doesn't flinch.
I realize, with a pit in my stomach, that this isn't just a prank. This... this is something else. Something intentional.
---
There she is.
Her true face.
I can't look away. Every instinct in me is screaming to freeze, to run, to do something-anything-but my body moves on its own.
SNATCH!
In an instant, everything changes. My hands shoot out, catching the edge of her bag-or is it a book?-and it jerks violently from her grip. The sound of it scraping across the floor echoes like a gunshot in the suddenly silent lunchroom.
Her eyes widen for a split second, and in that flicker, I see it: the real her. Not the calm, collected mask she wears around everyone else. Something sharp, unnerving, alive beneath her surface.
I swallow hard, my pulse racing, the world around me narrowing to just the two of us. Everyone else's chatter fades into the background; their confused, shocked faces blur at the edges.
I've seen too much now. And somehow... I know she's noticed that I've seen it.
"Why?" she snaps, her voice sharp, cutting through the chatter around us. I feel it like a punch straight to my chest.
"Did I piss you off too much?" she steps closer, her gaze piercing, daring me to answer.
"Suck it up. I have to hold back every time you pretend to be sweet and kind... every time you wear that perfect little mask in front of everyone."
My stomach twists. My hands curl into fists under the table, but I don't move. Her words are like ice sliding down my spine, leaving me tense and exposed.
"So why..." she continues, and I can hear the frustration dripping from every syllable, "why do you get to act like nothing's wrong?"
I want to say something, anything, to calm the tension, but my throat is tight. The lunchroom noise fades into the background, and all I can feel is her stare, relentless and unyielding. I'm frozen, caught between anger, shock, and the growing unease that I can't quite hide behind my mask this time.
I realize, with a sick twist in my stomach, that Seonghee sees more than anyone else ever has. And I'm not sure I'm ready for her to know the rest.
I have to hold back every time you pretend to be sweet and kind..." Seonghee's words slice through me like a whip, and I feel my chest tighten.
"So why don't you shut up and suck it up?" she continues, her voice sharp and unforgiving. My stomach twists. Every eye in the lunchroom seems to be on us, but I can barely notice them.
"It's disgusting... how you pretend to be such a great person in front of everyone..."
I freeze, my fork halfway to my mouth. The room feels impossibly heavy, like the air itself is pressing down on me. My carefully constructed mask-the one I wear so effortlessly around friends and classmates-feels brittle, fragile, like it could shatter at any moment.
I want to argue. I want to defend myself. But the words stick in my throat. Every syllable of hers lands perfectly, unrelenting, leaving me exposed in a way no one else has ever done.
I swallow hard, forcing my hands to unclench under the table. My mind races, trying to figure out what to do next. Every instinct screams at me to stay calm, to smile, to act like nothing's wrong-but inside, something is fraying, slowly unraveling.
For the first time, I realize that Seonghee sees the real me. And I'm not sure I'm ready for her to see it all.
"And then go behind everyone's back to play loan shark like the piece of trash you are..."
I flinch, the words hitting harder than I expected. My hands tighten around my tray, knuckles whitening, but I don't move. I feel trapped, exposed, as if the lunchroom walls have closed in around us.
"Π..." she mutters-or maybe it's just a sound of disgust-and I can't tell if it's aimed at me or the very air between us.
"If our teacher heard that her wedding gift was bought with that kind of money... she'd be real happy, huh?"
My stomach twists violently. I open my mouth, wanting to explain, to deny it, to say anything-but no sound comes out. My carefully maintained composure is gone, replaced with a cold, creeping panic that coils through my chest.
I can feel every pair of eyes on us now, classmates whispering, glancing between us, but I can't focus on them. I can only stare at Seonghee, her gaze sharp, unyielding, as if she can see every dark corner I've tried to hide from the world.
I swallow hard, the taste of strawberry juice from earlier still clinging to my tongue, and realize that this confrontation isn't just about words. It's about control. And right now... she has it.
"You just wait."
The words slice through me, sharp and deliberate. I feel a cold knot form in my stomach, my hands clenching tightly under the table.
"The days where people treated you as if you were some kind of angel..." she continues, each word punctuated with frustration and anger, "are over."
I can't breathe properly. My carefully maintained calm, the mask I've worn for so long, feels like it's crumbling in real time. The lunchroom chatter fades into a dull hum around me; all I can hear is the sound of my own heartbeat, pounding like a drum in my ears.
Her eyes are fixed on me, unblinking, relentless. It's as if she can see straight through the image I've spent so long constructing, straight into the parts of me I've worked so hard to hide.
I want to speak, to defend myself, to convince her that none of it is true-but the words stick in my throat. Every instinct screams to keep control, to act like nothing's wrong, but inside, something's shifting. Something that can't be contained anymore.
For the first time, I realize that the image I've carefully built for everyone... isn't just fragile. It's gone. And Seonghee is the one who just shattered it.as she walks away I see her fading .
"Hey, Ajin..."
Her voice is softer now, almost a murmur, and it makes my chest tighten. My throat feels dry, and I can barely form a response.
"A-are you okay?" she asks, stepping closer for just a moment before turning away. Her eyes flicker once toward me, unreadable, and then she walks off, leaving me staring at the space she just occupied.
The lunchroom noise rushes back suddenly-trays clattering, classmates laughing, conversations buzzing-but it all feels distant, muted, like it's happening in another world. My hands shake slightly as I set down my fork, trying to steady myself.
I force my mask back into place, the calm, composed exterior I show everyone else, but inside, my heart is still racing. Her words, her stare... they linger, echoing in my mind. I know she saw through me, saw the cracks I've hidden for so long.
And for the first time, I feel... vulnerable.
I clench my fist under the table, nails digging into my palm. The tight coil of anger and frustration inside me refuses to loosen. My jaw aches from holding back words I want to scream.
Junseo saw what she did. He saw. And he didn't stop her. Not a word. Not even a glance in my direction to intervene.
My stomach twists at the thought. Was he... ignoring it? Or worse, did he think it was funny?
I force myself to breathe, to keep my composure, but every fiber of me is tense, ready to snap. The lunchroom noise around me-laughter, chatter, the clatter of trays-feels like it's happening in a different world, irrelevant to the storm building inside me.
For a moment, I wonder if anyone else noticed. But it doesn't matter. What matters is that Seonghee made me look weak, and Junseo... Junseo just let it happen.
I clench my fist tighter. One day, I tell myself, one day this won't happen again.
Which means...
...things are already in motion.
I feel the weight of that realization settle over me like a storm cloud. Every glance, every word, every action that's happened today isn't random-it's part of something I can't fully see yet.
My fist unclenches slightly, but the tension doesn't leave my body. My mind races, connecting pieces I hadn't wanted to acknowledge before. Seonghee's confrontation, Junseo's silence, the whispers of the other students... it's all moving toward something, and I'm caught in the middle.
I force myself to stay calm, to think, to plan. Panicking won't help. Acting too soon could make everything worse.
But I can't ignore it either. Not now.
Things are already in motion, and for once, I know I have to be ready.
"Students are not allowed on the rooftop."
The words are written plainly on a board as she walks past, but they hit me like a jolt. I freeze mid-step, my eyes glued to the letters.
"What...?" The single word escapes my lips before I can stop it.
"112," she murmurs, and I don't know if it's a number, a code, or a warning.
"What did you just say?" My voice sounds sharper than I intend, but my pulse is already hammering in my ears.
She tilts her head, a faint smirk ghosting across her lips. "Why are you so surprised?"
I swallow hard, my palms damp. Something about her tone makes my skin crawl-like she knows something I don't.
An Unexpected Confession
The chilly wind whipped around the two students standing on the forbidden rooftop, the sign "STUDENTS ARE NOT ALLOWED ON THE ROOFTOP" a silent warning above them.
"I heard you wanted to talk to me. What is this about?" the girl, with her hair tied back in a ponytail, asked, turning to face the boy. He hesitated, his expression unreadable.
"...It's about your letter," he finally said.
The girl's eyes widened. "You might already know this, but Ajin wrote and gave you the response without even asking me first."
"I'm sorry for what she did," he apologized, looking down.
"W-whatever. Tell her to come apologize to me herself if she's so sorry," she retorted, her hands clenching at her sides.
"I know you're upset," the boy continued, his gaze lifting to meet hers. "But I also wanted to ask... ...if you'd like to go out with me."
A stunned "WHAT...?" escaped her lips. "WHAT DID YOU SAY?"
"Why are you so surprised? I thought you liked me," he pressed.
She looked away, flustered. "I... ...like you too."
Lunchroom Brawl
The next scene was a jarring transition to the school lunchroom, where news of a dramatic confrontation was quickly spreading.
"Did you hear?! Ajin and Seonghee apparently had a huge fight in the lunch room!" one student whispered.
"I actually heard that Seonghee was being a bitch to Ajin out of nowhere," another corrected.
"I wonder what happened between them..."
"And then she poured the strawberry milk all over Ajin's lunch!"
"WHAT THE HELL IS WRONG WITH HER?! Wooow. WHAT DID AJIN EVER DO TO DESERVE THAT?!" the students exclaimed, clearly on Ajin's side.
"She went home right after lunch because of what Seonghee did," someone reported.
A fourth student scoffed, "Why? It wasn't even that bad."
"Yeah... Oh my god, what if she comes to school with her mommy in tow tomorrow? HAHAHA!" the first one cackled. The scene cut to a shot of a building sign: H CEMETARY.
A Somber Greeting
Finally, a young girl, possibly Ajin, with long dark hair and a backpack, stood alone in a sparse, reflective space, looking at her own reflection in the metal grating. She was at the place marked H CEMETARY.
She quietly said, "Hi, Mom."
The sequence concludes with a dark, enigmatic panel showing a young man, possibly the one from the rooftop, with a dog collar around his neck and holding a leash, labeled simply as '06', suggesting a deeper, darker context to the events unfolding.
The story seems to be a complex narrative involving bullying, an unexpected confession of love, a public fight involving spilled milk, and a reveal that the bullied girl's mother is deceased, all hinting at the title of a dark and intense webtoon, potentially dealing with themes of abuse and psychological manipulation.
"I thought you liked me."
The words hang between us, heavier than the rooftop air, and for a heartbeat I can't tell if she's teasing, threatening, or confessing. The rules, the whispers, the number she spoke-they all swirl together in my head, too fast to grasp.
I force a smile, but it feels brittle, wrong. My mask is slipping again, and she can see it.
AUTHORS POV
***
As the clouds drifted lazily across the sky, a simple metal sign greeted all who dared to approach the stairwell's final door: "STUDENTS ARE NOT ALLOWED ON THE ROOFTOP." Yet, for those who sought escape or answers, the forbidden threshold was irresistible.
Footsteps echoed softly on the cold rooftop tiles before coming to an abrupt halt. There, just inside the boundary, she hesitated. Her pulse quickened as familiar words hovered in the air, so unexpected that for a moment she wondered if she'd heard them at all.
"What...?" Her voice trembled, betraying her shock. "What did you just say?"
She stared at the ground as uncertainty tangled with hope inside her. Her companion only smiled gently, their form unwavering, as if this rooftop was the only place in the world that mattered.
"Why are you so surprised?" the gentle voice replied, almost playful but sincere. "I thought you liked me."
Time seemed to stand still, the forbidden sky above bearing silent witness. The sign on the door was just a flimsy warning now, unable to hold back the truth hovering between them-raw, unexpected, and suddenly possible.
***

Confessions at the Grave
I stood before the tombstone of SEONYE LIM, my mother, born July 1971. I spoke to her, my voice quiet in the silence of the cemetery.
"How are you doing? Have you been okay...? I'm... not okay."
I explained what had happened at school, about the girl who was bullying me. "A girl in my class is being really mean to me, so I'm pretty upset."
But then, my mood shifted, a strange, cold excitement settling over me. "But it's fine... because things are about to become very interesting."
I reached out and placed my hand on the smooth stone. "By the way, I brought you something. You're curious, right?"
A Lie for a Grade
I recalled a recent incident at school. "At the beginning of the year, we had to do a big assignment for art class, and... ...I had to hand in an unfinished sketch because I didn't realize it was due that day."
I knew the grade would be terrible. "I knew I wouldn't get a very good grade on it." So I went to the Faculty Office to speak with the art teacher.
"So I went to the art teacher and said: 'I have a bad wrist because I was... ...physically abused as a child. I don't think my wrist ever fully healed. I can't seem to keep my hand steady enough to draw very well. What do I do...?'"
I thought he might be sympathetic. "I thought he might give me a better grade out of pity... if I told him that."
"Thankfully, he gave me a decent mark, but then he did something really funny."
A Final "Gift"
"I don't know if it was pity, or if he realized I was lying... but he kept pulling me aside and telling me to try therapy," I recounted. "He told me that it was a place I could trust..."
I held up the yellow piece of paper the teacher had given me-a flyer for a mental health clinic.
"Isn't he hilarious? Here. This is for you. It's my last gift to you. Because I'm never coming back here again." I placed the flyer for the "TRUE LOVE PSYCHOTHERAPY CENTER" on my mother's tombstone.
"I hope you try therapy in hell and become a better person in your next life," I whispered, my face a mask of bitter resentment. "Who knows? Maybe then your daughter might choose to save you instead of letting you die."
My voice grew hard, my eyes blazing with determination. "I won't live like you, Mom... and I won't die like you either."
A Meaningful Death
I looked away from the grave, my mind now set on a path of twisted vengeance and ambition. "I want you to sit here and watch... ...how far I get on the backs of others."
My lips curved into a cold, menacing smile. "Just you wait. I'll make your death... ...somewhat meaningful..."
The Call
Leaving the cemetery, I was walking along the school corridor when my phone started to vibrate and ring with a persistent "BZZZ." I pulled it out to see the display: "CALLER ID RESTRICTED."
"...?" I mumbled, looking at the screen, aware that the dark drama in my life was only just beginning.