Ji-Woo saw Eun-Woo at the end of the hallway, light from the windows sliding across the floor and catching on his shoes.
Her heart stuttered.
"Eun-Woo."
He stopped.
Hope flared — stupid, fast.
He turned just enough to adjust the strap of his bag, his fingers tightening around it for a brief second. Then he stepped aside and walked past her.
Didn't look up. Didn't slow down.
"Eun-Woo," she said again, quieter this time. "Can we just—"
He kept walking.
The hallway noise swallowed him whole, but the space he left behind stayed loud.
Ji-Woo stood there, her throat tight, palms burning like she'd reached for something hot and pulled back too late.
She went to class.
By lunch, the room was abandoned.
Chairs sat unevenly, sunlight spilling across desks in warm rectangles that didn't feel warm at all.
Ji-Woo dropped into her seat, staring at the grain of the wood until her eyes blurred.
"Ji-Woo."
She looked up, startled.
Ji-Ho stood near the teacher's desk, papers tucked under his arm. "I'm collecting the math assignment. You and Ji-Bok are the only ones who didn't submit yesterday."
Her chest lifted sharply. "I did submit."
"You did?" he asked, surprised.
"Yes." She sat up straighter. "It's in your locker."
"Oh." Ji-Ho nodded, embarrassed. "Okay. I'll go get it."
The door clicked shut.
Silence rushed in.
Ji-Woo exhaled, rubbing at her eyes.
Eun-Woo's turned back replayed in her mind — the way he hadn't even hesitated, like he'd already decided she wasn't worth the pause.
I deserve this, she told herself.
It didn't help.
She felt it then.
Someone standing too close.
The air shifted. Her skin prickled.
Ji-Woo spun around—
—and nearly ran straight into Ji-Bok.
He was leaning in, face inches from hers, eyes widening as he realized he'd been caught.
Her reaction was instant.
Tap.
She knocked her knuckles against his forehead.
"Ow—!" Ji-Bok stumbled back, clutching his head. "What was that for?!"
"Personal space," she snapped. "Try it."
He blinked, then laughed, rubbing his forehead. "Okay, okay. Fair."
He pulled out the chair beside her and dropped into it, grinning like nothing had happened.
"Anyway, I came to borrow your math homework."
She let out a humorless breath. "I already submitted it. Maybe you should try doing it yourself."
"Wow," he said, wounded. "Mrs. Arrogant."
"No," she said flatly. "Mrs. Tired."
"Come on," he pleaded, leaning closer. "Just this once. I swear I'll copy it neatly."
"No."
"That's your final answer?"
"Yes."
Ji-Bok sighed dramatically and leaned back, staring at the ceiling. Then his voice dropped.
"Should I tell you something," he asked, "that no one else knows?"
She glanced at him. "You're dramatic. You know that?"
"Still," he said. "Want to hear it?"
"…Fine."
"The reason I don't do my homework," he said slowly.
She turned fully this time. "I'm listening."
His smile thinned, then faded. "Because when I do things right, people start expecting me to keep doing them. And I don't want to become someone who only exists for expectations."
The words hit harder than she expected.
Ji-Woo swallowed. "That's… honest."
She hesitated, then nodded. "I'll tell you something too."
His eyebrows lifted. "Now I'm curious."
"You think you know who I am," she said quietly. "Most people do. Or think they do."
He didn't interrupt.
"But I'm probably not who you think," she continued. Her voice barely held. "Still… I'm going to keep being known as Kim Ji-Woo."
Ji-Bok studied her for a moment, then smiled — soft, not teasing.
"Yeah," he said. "I had a feeling."
The lunch bell rang, sharp and sudden.
Noise rushed back in — voices, laughter, footsteps filling the hallway.
Somewhere among them, Eun-Woo walked past without looking in.
And Ji-Woo hated that even now —after everything —
he was the first person she searched for, and the first person she didn't find.
--
The bathroom was quiet in the wrong way.
No voices. No footsteps. Just the hum of the lights and the faint drip of water echoing against tile.
Ji-Woo stood at the sink, slowly drying her hands, her movements measured, unhurried.
She sensed it before she saw it.
A reflection that didn't belong to her.
Ji-Woo lifted her eyes.
Mi-Sook stood behind her, leaning casually against the row of sinks, arms crossed. Her uniform was perfect. Hair neat.
Expression relaxed — like she'd been waiting, not hunting.
"Still keeping up the act?" Mi-Sook asked lightly.
Ji-Woo didn't turn right away. She folded the paper towel once.
Then again. Calm. Precise.
"Move," she said.
Mi-Sook smiled.
"You know what's funny about fake people?" she said, stepping closer. "They always think confidence will save them."
Ji-Woo finally turned.
Her face was blank. No anger. No fear.
"You talk a lot," she said evenly, "for someone who hasn't said anything worth remembering."
Mi-Sook's smile twitched — just slightly.
"Oh?" she murmured. "You won't be smiling when everyone finds out who you really are."
"I don't think you understand," Ji-Woo replied.
Her voice didn't rise. Didn't shake. "People don't believe you because you're loud. They believe you because you're right."
She stepped closer — close enough now that the air between them felt tight.
"And you're not."
Mi-Sook laughed softly. "You're already cracking. I can see it. You're tired. Slipping. One push and—"
Ji-Woo cut her off.
"No," she said calmly. "You want me to crack. That's different."
Mi-Sook's eyes narrowed.
"You think I won't prove it?" she asked. "You think I won't expose you?"
Ji-Woo tilted her head slightly, studying her like something small and loud.
"Do it," she said.
The words landed flat. Heavy.
"If you're so sure," Ji-Woo continued, "stop circling me like a warning sign and actually try."
Mi-Sook stiffened.
"But understand this," Ji-Woo added, her tone still even, still controlled. "The moment you make it public, you don't get to take it back. And people will start asking why you were watching me so closely."
Silence.
The hum of the lights suddenly felt louder.
Mi-Sook took a step back, her smile returning — thinner now. Sharper.
"This isn't over," she said.
Ji-Woo turned back to the sink, already reaching for her bag. "It never is,
" she replied. "For people who need attention."
Ji-Ho stopped outside the bathroom without meaning to.
He'd been walking past, assignment papers tucked under his arm, when a voice drifted through the half-open door.
"…People don't believe you because you're loud."
He slowed.
Ji-Ho frowned slightly.
"That's not how this works," the voice continued—steady, controlled. Not angry. Not shaking. "They believe you because you're right."
There was a pause. The hum of the lights. The faint echo of tiles.
Then another voice, sharper. "You think you're untouchable?"
Ji-Ho's grip tightened on the papers.
He didn't recognize the second voice clearly, but the first—
Ji-Woo.
He stepped closer without realizing it, stopping just short of the doorway.
"I didn't say that," Ji-Woo replied calmly. "I said you're wrong."
Silence.
Then, quieter but unmistakable:
"Do it," Ji-Woo said. "If you're so sure."
Ji-Ho's brows knit together. His mind scrambled to place the tone. This wasn't the Ji-Woo he knew in class—quiet, polite, careful.
This one sounded… composed. Sharp-edged.
Another pause.
Footsteps.
Ji-Ho barely had time to move before the bathroom door swung open.
Ji-Woo walked out.
She didn't look flustered. Didn't look angry .Didn't look shaken.
Her face was calm, almost blank, like a lake after something heavy had sunk beneath the surface.
She adjusted the strap of her bag, posture straight, steps even.
She noticed Ji-Ho then.
Their eyes met.
For half a second, Ji-Ho thought she might explain.
Or apologize.
Or look embarrassed.
She did none of those things.
She simply nodded once—polite, distant—and walked past him.
The faint scent of soap lingered in the air after she was gone.
Ji-Ho stood there, confused, his heart beating a little faster than it should have been.
He glanced toward the bathroom door.
It was closed now.
Whatever had happened inside hadn't followed her out.
But Ji-Ho couldn't shake the feeling that he'd just seen the aftermath of something important—something Ji-Woo had walked away from intact, and someone else had not.
He looked down at the papers in his hands.
Then back at the hallway where Ji-Woo had disappeared.
"…What was that," he murmured to himself.