Rain drizzled that morning, as though the sky itself regretted knowing Hanrim Academy existed. The droplets tapped against the classroom windows in slow applause for everyone's collective misery.
Han Yura sat in her seat, chin resting on her palm, watching Professor Lim draw a skeletal diagram on the board. Beside her, Yoon Haerin fought a losing battle with consciousness, her notes a tragic blend of anatomy terms and snore sound effects.
Yura nudged her with a pencil.
"Try not to drool on the femur. It deserves better."
Haerin blinked awake. "Sorry. I dreamt we were dissecting a frog that screamed the national anthem."
"Hanrim's cafeteria special," Yura said, straight-faced. "You'll get used to it."
Professor Lim turned, her eyes razor-sharp. "Miss Han, do you have something to share with the class?"
Yura smiled thinly. "Just gratitude, ma'am. For reminding us that skeletons, unlike humans, never disappoint."
The professor's stare lingered a second too long — then she turned back to the board. Haerin whispered, "One day, she'll dissect you."
Yura replied, "Then at least I'll finally be part of the curriculum."
---
AFTER CLASS
The lecture ended with a merciful bell. Students shuffled out, some discussing tests, others gossiping about who fainted during last week's autopsy.
Yura lingered, pretending to adjust her bag while observing Professor Lim's desk. A stack of files labeled "Archive Transfer — Restricted" sat waiting for collection.
The word restricted had the same effect on Yura as caffeine.
She slipped closer when the room emptied. A quick glance — and there it was: one file slightly misaligned, a name written in faded ink.
Student: Lee Jaein — Status: Withdrawn (Deceased)
The name tugged at her memory. She'd seen it once, faintly scratched on the side of a lab drawer during her first day.
Before she could open it, a hand landed on her shoulder.
"Curious students don't live long here."
She turned. Kang Daejun. Leaning against the lab counter, smirk in place, voice low enough to make mischief sound like advice.
Yura replied calmly, "Then it's a good thing I plan to die interestingly."
He glanced at the file in her hand. "Lee Jaein, huh? That name's cursed. He was top of his class. Then—poof—gone. They said he transferred. Then they said he drowned. Then they stopped saying anything at all."
"Typical academic inconsistency," Yura said. "Maybe they should offer a course in storytelling."
Daejun tilted his head. "You're not going to let this go, are you?"
"I'm constitutionally incapable of letting go of anything suspicious. Or caffeinated."
He grinned. "Then you'll need help. Hanrim's archives are guarded tighter than the dean's Botox secrets."
"Charming offer," Yura said. "What's the price?"
"Dinner," he said.
"Unacceptable."
"Fine. Half your next coffee stash."
Yura considered. "Deal."
---
THE ARCHIVE ROOM
The archive room was located in the oldest wing of Hanrim — the one students joked was haunted by the school's failed experiments. The lights flickered with the enthusiasm of dying fireflies.
Daejun picked the lock in under a minute. Yura watched, unimpressed. "You seem practiced."
He winked. "I was an honors student in bad decisions."
Inside, rows of file cabinets stretched endlessly, the air thick with dust and secrets. Yura moved between shelves like a surgeon — precise, unhurried, mildly judgmental.
They found the file for Lee Jaein. Or rather, what was left of it — the middle pages were torn out, edges clean like a surgical cut. Only the first page remained:
> Medical Forensics Division — Year 3
Status: Subject to Special Project under Dean Seo's Authorization.
Yura traced the embossed seal. "Special project," she murmured. "That's administrative language for human experimentation."
"Or plagiarism," Daejun said. "Equally horrifying."
Before they could inspect further, footsteps echoed in the hallway. Voices — two staff members.
"Hide," Daejun whispered.
They ducked behind a shelf, pressed close. The proximity was suffocating — and not entirely unpleasant.
"Do you mind?" Yura muttered. "You're breathing like a broken air pump."
"I can stop," Daejun whispered, grinning. "But that might cause suspicion."
"Death by oxygen deprivation. How poetic."
The staff voices grew clearer.
"…Dean Seo ordered all files from the Founder's Project relocated to the basement vault. Make sure none of the students find out."
The sound of keys, the slam of a drawer. Then silence.
Yura and Daejun waited a few seconds before stepping out.
"Well," Yura said softly, "at least they're considerate enough to confirm my paranoia."
"Basement vault?" Daejun said. "That's off-limits even to staff."
"Perfect," Yura replied. "That's where we'll go next."
Daejun groaned. "You know, I thought you were the quiet type when I first saw you."
"I am," she said. "Internally."
---
CAFETERIA CHAOS
By lunch, Haerin was already panicking. "You broke into the archives?"
"Technically, Daejun broke in. I supervised," Yura said, slicing her omelet with surgical precision. "Teamwork."
"You're going to get expelled—or worse."
"Haerin, this is a forensic school. Worse is the default."
Across the cafeteria, Choi Minseok — the perfect senior — caught Yura's eye again. He stood with his usual entourage, charm radiating like a well-rehearsed PR campaign. When he noticed her looking, he raised his cup slightly in greeting.
Haerin sighed dreamily. "He's so composed."
Yura smirked. "So are mannequins. Doesn't mean they're real."
"Why do you hate everyone?"
"I don't. I just have high standards for human behavior, and no one meets them."
Just then, Minseok approached their table.
"Miss Han," he said politely, "Dean Seo requested to see you. Immediately."
Haerin blinked. "What? Why?"
Yura shrugged. "Probably wants to compliment my attendance record."
But Minseok's expression didn't shift. "You'll want to bring your ID. And maybe… a friend."
His eyes flicked briefly toward Daejun, who sat a few tables away, pretending not to listen.
Something about his tone made Yura's stomach knot — not fear, exactly, but curiosity sharpened to a dangerous edge.
---
DEAN SEO'S OFFICE
The dean's office smelled of polished wood and restraint. Dean Seo was a woman carved out of discipline and secrets. Her smile was precise; her eyes, surgical.
"Miss Han," she said, gesturing for Yura to sit. "I've heard promising things about your aptitude. And concerning things about your curiosity."
Yura smiled faintly. "Curiosity is an academic virtue, isn't it?"
"In moderation. Hanrim has rules for a reason."
"Of course," Yura said. "Rules are excellent for identifying who's breaking them."
Dean Seo's smile didn't move. "You remind me of someone. Brilliant. Reckless. She didn't last long."
Yura tilted her head. "Was her name Lee Jaein, by any chance?"
The dean's eyes flicked up — just for a second, but enough.
"You should focus on your studies, Miss Han," she said, voice cool. "And stay away from places you don't belong."
"Understood," Yura said sweetly. "Could you specify which places those are, for clarity?"
"Good day."
Yura stood. "Lovely chat. Let's do it again when we're both lying."
---
NIGHT WALK
That night, Yura sat by her dorm window, notebook open. The rain had stopped, but the sky still looked bruised.
She wrote three words at the top of the page:
Founder's Journal — Moving Dead.
Haerin was asleep, clutching her blanket. Daejun's message blinked on her phone:
> Basement vault. Tomorrow night. Bring gloves.
She smirked, closing her notebook.
Outside, the crows were back — perched along the fence like witnesses waiting for a sequel.
Hanrim was getting darker.
And Han Yura was enjoying every minute of it.