The next morning started like any other—except it didn't.
I walked through the hallways of Delight High with my head down, as I'd learned to do. The whispers had become background noise, the glances just static. I'd mastered the art of being invisible, of shrinking myself so small that no one would notice me. It was exhausting, but it was survival.
I reached my locker, punched in the code, and pulled the door open.
Then I screamed.
A dead mouse lay inside, its tiny body limp and cold, drops of blood dripping from its mouth every few seconds. The metallic smell hit me instantly, making my stomach lurch. I stumbled backward, my hand flying to my mouth as I gagged.
The kids in the corridor snickered around me, their laughter like nails on a chalkboard. A few of them pulled out their phones, recording my reaction like it was some kind of entertainment. I could hear their comments—"Did you see his face?" and "He looks like he's about to cry!"—but their voices felt distant, muffled, like I was underwater.
Is this how rich kids entertain themselves?
I stood there for a long moment, staring at the dead animal in my locker. My hands were shaking. My heart was pounding. Every part of me wanted to run, to leave this place and never come back. But I couldn't. I wouldn't give them the satisfaction.
With trembling hands, I grabbed a tissue from my bag and carefully—so carefully—removed the mouse, wrapping it in several layers before disposing of it in the nearest trash can. I scrubbed the inside of my locker with hand sanitizer until my fingers were raw, trying to erase the evidence of what had been there. But no amount of cleaning could erase the image from my mind. Or the smell. Or the sound of their laughter.
I glanced at the clock and my heart dropped. I was going to be late.
---
I rushed to my next class, which was Mr. Park's—our homeroom teacher. I burst through the door, breathless and flustered, and immediately felt all eyes on me. Mr. Park's gaze was cold, his lips pressed into a thin line.
"It's not even a week since you enrolled, and you're already late?! You scholarship kids really don't value time..." His voice dripped with disdain.
"But sir—" I started, my voice pleading.
"I don't need your excuses. You have one hour of detention today."
Without sparing me another glance, he turned back to the board and continued his lecture, as if I didn't exist. As if my explanation didn't matter. As if the dead mouse in my locker was just another Tuesday.
I sighed before taking my seat. But when I sat down, I realized my bench was ruined. Curses and scribbles were drawn across the surface in white chalk—words I didn't even want to read. Loser. Trash. Go back to Daegu. I stared at them, my jaw tight, my eyes burning.
This time, I won't bother the teacher.
He was already annoyed at me. If I complained, he'd probably blame me for provoking them. So I quietly pulled out a handkerchief and started scrubbing, erasing the words one by one. Each stroke felt like I was erasing a little piece of myself. But what else could I do?
---
School had finally ended, but much to my discontent, I still had to attend an hour of detention because I was late for class after lunch. Today had been the most peaceful for me since Daejung didn't bother me—but it seemed like the rest of my classmates were starting to pick on me because I was an easy target. The ones who used to ignore me now saw an opportunity to join in, to prove their loyalty to Daejung by making my life miserable.
Judging by the way Daejung got away even after being late, I thought that I wouldn't have to face any of Daejung's buddies for the rest of the day. And in fact, I was right to a certain extent.
At least the detention room would be quiet.
Wishing to finish my homework, I entered the detention room. It was a small, sterile space with rows of desks and a single window that looked out onto the empty courtyard. There was only one other student—an older boy, maybe a senior, who was napping with his head on his desk. His uniform was slightly disheveled, his tie loose, and he looked completely unbothered by the fact that he was in detention.
I took a seat far from him but near the window, hoping to avoid any interaction. I opened my bag and took out my homework, determined to complete it within the hour. The scratch of my pen against paper was the only sound besides the older boy's snores.
Soon the teacher arrived—a tired-looking man who barely glanced at us before settling behind his desk and burying his nose in a newspaper. There was near pin-drop silence in the room except for the older boy's rhythmic breathing.
---
Time went slowly, each minute stretching into an eternity. But eventually, the detention came to an end, and the teacher left the classroom. I packed my bag, thinking about how I'd have to wait nearly two hours for the bus. The thought made me sigh.
But my thoughts were soon cut short when I found the older student standing in front of me.
I looked up, startled. He was tall, with sharp fox-like eyes that seemed to see right through me. His posture was relaxed, almost predatory, and he exuded strong bad-boy vibes that made me anxious. There was something about the way he looked at me—like I was a puzzle he was trying to solve.
"Heyo! You're Junseo, right? From Daejung's class?" he said, sitting on my desk with easy familiarity.
"Ye-yes..." I stammered, not knowing what else to say. My grip tightened on my bag strap.
The older senior narrowed his eyes and bit the inside of his cheek as he hummed in response. "Hmm... I guess I'll see you around."
He said it with a knowing smirk, like there was some inside joke I wasn't part of. Then he pushed himself off my desk and sauntered out of the room, leaving me confused and unsettled.
What was that about?
Eventually, I breathed a sigh of relief and shook off the encounter. I had more important things to worry about. Like the fact that I'd been bullied for days, and no one had done anything about it. The teachers didn't care. The students didn't care. The system didn't care.
Unless I made them care.
I had thought that maybe reporting the incidents to the disciplinary council would somehow prove to be beneficial. Maybe there was someone in this school who actually believed in justice. So I rushed to meet the director responsible—Mr. Lee Jeong.
---
I knocked on the door and nervously waited to hear a faint "come in" before entering the office. The room was spacious and elegant, decorated with expensive furniture and awards on the walls. Mr. Lee sat behind a large oak desk, his expression genial as he looked up at me.
"Good evening, sir," I said timidly, bowing to the elder.
"Ahh... You're the honor student, right? Please take a seat." Mr. Lee gestured to the chair across from him, his smile warm and welcoming. For a moment, I felt a flicker of hope.
"That's correct, Mr. Lee. My name is Choi Junseo."
"What brings you here, Mr. Choi? What can I assist you with?"
Mr. Lee inclined his arms against the table as he grinned kindly at me. He looked like a grandfather—someone who would listen, who would care. I took a deep breath and gathered my courage.
"Sir, I'm not having any concerns with the lessons, but the thing is... Some students are giving me a tough time for a while now..." My voice wavered, and I hated how weak I sounded. "They've been bullying me. Physically. Emotionally. Today, they put a dead mouse in my locker—"
"May I know who they are and what they have done?" Mr. Lee asked curiously, his eyes never leaving mine.
"It's Hwang Daejung and his friends..." I said, my voice barely above a whisper.
The moment the name left my lips, the atmosphere in the room shifted. It suddenly got cold and dark, like a shadow had fallen over the office. Mr. Lee's smile didn't falter, but something in his eyes changed—hardened.
"They were probably pranking you and warming up to you," he said smoothly, his voice now eerily calm. His smile was tight-lipped and robotic, like a mask that had been glued into place.
"But sir, they bea—" I started, desperation creeping into my voice.
He cut me off. "Maybe you're not yet used to this school. Give it some time, okay? They are just playing around."
"Yes, but—"
"If that's all, you can leave, Mr. Choi. It's already quite late."
Mr. Lee had left no room for further argument. I understood this as I stood up, bowed stiffly, and walked toward the door. My hand was trembling on the handle as I turned back one last time. But he had already returned to his papers, dismissing me like I was nothing.
---
I walked to the bus stop with my expectations crushed.
Maybe he never hoped to help me... What do I even expect from the likes of these people? They're all corrupted and rotted to the core, irrespective of their occupations... If you have the money, you can even buy people in this society...
The thought made my blood boil. But beneath the anger was something worse: hopelessness. If even the disciplinary director wouldn't help, then who would? The teachers were complicit. The students were either bullies or cowards. And I was alone.
I stood at the bus stop, staring at the darkening sky, and wondered how much longer I could do this. How many more days of dead mice and chalk insults and bruises I could endure.
But then I thought of Mom. Her tired eyes. Her loving smile. Her belief in me.
I can't give up. Not yet. Not ever.
The bus arrived, and I climbed aboard, taking a seat in the back. As the city lights blurred past, I made a decision.
If no one would help me, I would find a way to help myself. I just didn't know how—or what it would cost.
---
To be continued...