It was a gray Sunday. The school, coming off the weekend, reeked of stagnant dampness and despair. Class 2-3 was no longer a group—it had become a cluster of isolated cells, each rotting in its own private infection.
Han Soojin found the missing earring in her desk drawer early that morning. But unlike what Jihoo had expected, she felt no gratitude, not even confusion. Her first emotion was burning rage. This move by Yoojin—she was certain it was him—carried a clear message: "I can invade your space. I know where it is, and I can do whatever I want." It was a silent threat. A declaration of war from the seemingly timid mouse.
Soojin spent the entire morning with a heavy, furious face. Her glances at Yoojin were no longer merely contemptuous; now they were predatory.
---
Mandatory counseling session. 10:30 a.m.
The school had declared a "mental health week," which had turned into a bitter joke. Students were herded into counseling classes. The counselor, Mr. Kang, was a middle-aged man with a blank expression who read from a sheet about "respecting differences."
No one was listening. The room was thick with dormant tension.
Mr. Kang said, "…so it's important that we connect with empathy. The person sitting next to you might be going through struggles you know nothing about."
Soojin suddenly spoke up, loud and deliberately blunt: "Sir, are you serious? If someone lies right in front of everyone, steals, and acts like a stray dog, are we still supposed to empathize? Or should we just spit in their face?"
Yoojin froze in his seat. His fists clenched.
Mr. Kang raised an eyebrow. "Well… we need to understand the reasons for their behavior—"
"Reasons?" Soojin cut him off with a mocking laugh. "The reason is their house is so filthy and chaotic they have to steal from other people's bags just to feel like they own something? Or maybe their mom and dad are so busy fucking each other and fighting that they forgot to teach this little cunt the difference between mine and yours?"
A deathly silence fell over the room. Even Minsoo, who had been dozing, lifted his head. The attack was direct, unfiltered. Soojin was crossing every line.
Yoojin's face went white, his lips trembling. He tried to speak, but the words choked in his throat. Only a stifled, sobbing sound escaped.
Mr. Kang tried to regain control: "Miss Soojin, that kind of judgment—"
"Judgment?" Soojin's eyes glittered with malice. "This is pure fact, sir. Some people are born filthy and broken straight out of their mother's womb. Like God forgot to put a conscience in them and left it in their mother's cunt instead. Or maybe they never had one to begin with."
Taesun, sitting in the back row, let out a loud, crude laugh. Jungho stared out the window, but the corner of his mouth twitched. Minsoo nodded approvingly—he enjoyed this verbal bloodsport.
And Jihoo? Jihoo sat by the window, watching the rain. As if none of it concerned him. But his right hand, under the desk, was slowly pressing the knuckle of his left index finger. Press… release… press… release… a calming rhythm. He was cataloging reactions: Soojin, rage barely contained; Yoojin, on the verge of collapse; the others, complicit in their indifference.
Mr. Kang tried futilely to change the subject. But the atmosphere had turned poisonous.
---
Break time. Rooftop.
Yoojin caught up to Soojin. His eyes were red and swollen, but there were no tears this time. Only rage. The rage of a cornered animal.
"Why did you do that, you piece of shit?" His voice was hoarse, thick with hate. "Why did you fuck me over in front of everyone?"
Soojin was smoking with practiced calm. "Which part, you little whore? The part where I said your house is a dump? Oh, sorry, my mistake. It's probably just a filthy nest full of trash that even a dog wouldn't live in."
"You know I could tell everything… all those nights when you and Jungho fucked each other like animals—"
In the blink of an eye, Soojin dropped the cigarette and raised her hand. Yoojin instinctively flinched, but the blow didn't come. Instead, she hooked her index finger under his chin and forced his face up, her breath hot on his skin.
"Look who's talking about spilling secrets, you thieving motherfucker," Soojin said softly, her voice dripping venom. "You think anyone would believe you if you opened that filthy mouth? Right now you're just a psychotic thieving cunt who even hates his own family. Even that silent monster by the window has more credibility than you—because at least his mouth doesn't stink."
Tears of fury spilled down Yoojin's cheeks again. "I… I gave the earring back. You saw that I gave it back, damn you."
"Yeah, I saw, you cowardly idiot," Soojin said, pressing harder until his chin ached. "After you rifled through my bag and sniffed around my stuff like a stray dog. And now you want a medal? Don't think your little stunt fixed anything. You just proved how pathetic and worthless you are. Now get the fuck out of my sight—you reek of fear-sweat and desperation, you whore. You're making me sick."
Yoojin backed away. The humiliation burned like acid on his skin. He turned and ran. But not toward the classroom. Toward the emergency stairs.
---
Same time. Study hall.
Dongwoo, in total isolation and paranoia, was trying to hide inside his books. But he felt the stares. Jihoo's stare from across the room. Never direct, but always there—like atmospheric pressure.
Suddenly, Choi Taesun sat down beside him. Dongwoo flinched.
"Relax, you little cunt poet. I'm not in the mood to fuck you up today," Taesun said, voice laced with mockery. "Just got one question, asshole."
Dongwoo said nothing.
"How does he know?" Taesun whispered, his voice shaking. "About… my family. About all the fights and the filth."
Dongwoo looked confused. "What are you talking about? I don't know anything."
"Don't lie, motherfucker. You're connected to him. He told you, didn't he?" Taesun's eyes were full of suspicion and fear. "Is he trying to get revenge? Does he want everyone to know how my dad beats my mom and I'm too scared to do shit?"
Dongwoo realized he was talking about Jihoo. His own fear multiplied. "No… I haven't spoken to him. I swear."
"Then how does he know?" Taesun's fists clenched, his voice cracking. "He knows everything. Like he drilled a hole in my brain and he's rotting inside it. Last night I dreamed… I dreamed he was in class and just staring at me with that fucking look, peeling my skin off layer by layer. And everyone was around us laughing, like I was the joke."
Dongwoo had nothing to say. He'd had similar nightmares. That cold laugh.
"You know what the worst part is?" Taesun continued, now mostly talking to himself. "I can't tell anyone. If I told Minsoo, he'd say I've gone soft, turned into a pussy. If I told a teacher, they'd laugh in my face. Because he… he hasn't actually done anything. He just watches. Like a useless piece of dick."
He stood and left, still muttering to himself. Dongwoo was left alone with a new realization: he wasn't the only one afraid. The fear was spreading like a contagion. And the source of the infection was the silent victim.
---
Afternoon. Geography class.
Yoojin didn't show up. Unexplained absence. Soojin gazed at the empty seat with a satisfied smile.
The geography teacher, Mr. Park (not the literature Ms. Park), called names indifferently and moved on.
Mid-class, the door opened and Yoojin walked in. But he was different. His eyes weren't red. They were empty. His face expressionless. His hair slightly disheveled. He went straight to his desk and sat. He didn't look at anyone. Not even Soojin.
Soojin noticed the change. It unsettled her slightly. She had expected tears and pleading, not this stony silence. She whispered, "Where were you, you thieving cunt? Out practicing another robbery so you can learn how to be human?"
Yoojin didn't even turn his head. He just stared at the blackboard.
Soojin felt her dominance questioned. She pressed harder, angrily: "What, now you won't talk to me, whore? Finally figured out who's on top and who has to kneel?"
This time, Yoojin slowly turned his head. He fixed his gaze on Soojin. A gaze that held no fear, no anger, nothing. Just void. A void similar to Jihoo's, but with a subtle difference: this void was filled with something that had shattered beyond repair.
Under that gaze, Soojin suddenly fell silent. She felt uneasy. Yoojin turned back to the board.
Jihoo watched the exchange from his spot by the window. The pressure on his knuckle stopped. He understood that Yoojin had reached the point of no return. His tolerance had snapped. And a broken person is unpredictable—to themselves and to everyone around them. This could be a new variable in the equation.
---
End of day. East hallway.
Minsoo and Jungho, keeping their distance, were getting their bags from the lockers.
"So you're doing it tomorrow?" Minsoo asked without looking at him.
"Maybe I will, maybe I won't. I'm not your dog anymore, reporting every move," Jungho replied with sarcasm.
Minsoo whipped his head around. "Don't forget who's in charge here, asshole. Things might be messy, but I'm still the same Minsoo who fucks everyone over."
"In charge?" Jungho laughed—a cold, bitter sound. "The boss who can't even control his own dick and finds a new whore every day? The boss who's losing his whole crew because everyone's realizing how hollow and fake he is? Bad news for you, Minsoo: your crown is slipping, and once you're crownless, you're just an ordinary bastard with a long list of enemies waiting to fuck you up."
In an instant, Minsoo slammed Jungho against the wall. His hand clamped around Jungho's throat, squeezing hard. "Watch that filthy mouth, or I'll choke you right here."
Jungho didn't struggle. He just looked at him, eyes full of contempt. "Kill me. Go ahead, motherfucker. Then what? You gonna kill Park too? Soojin? Taesun? Because we're all starting to hate you—we're sick of the stench of your fake power."
Minsoo loosened his grip. In Jungho's eyes he saw something more terrifying than any physical fight: absolute disrespect. Loyalty was dead.
He stepped back. Jungho straightened up and rubbed his neck. "I think our working relationship is over. From now on, I'll go my own way—without rubbing my dick on you."
And he walked off. Minsoo stood alone in the hallway, fists clenched. He was losing everything. Power, respect, control. And he couldn't understand how or when it had happened.
At the end of the hallway, a shadow moved. Jihoo Park, as if waiting for the show to end, stepped quietly out of hiding and headed toward the exit. When he passed Minsoo, he didn't even glance over.
But Minsoo called out. His voice tried not to waver, but it cracked anyway: "You… all this shit is your doing, isn't it?"
Jihoo stopped. Slowly turned. For the first time, he looked Minsoo directly in the eyes—no intermediary, no evasion. And then he spoke. His voice calm and emotionless, like reading a dry scientific text:
"I haven't done a damn thing. I just sat and watched. And you all revealed the filth inside yourselves."
Then, before Minsoo could respond, Jihoo added: "Do you know what bullies' problem is? They think they're strong because they can make others tremble. But the strongest people aren't the ones who make others shake. They're the ones who can endure. And I've been enduring for a long time—while you rot from the inside."
Then he turned and left. Minsoo stood frozen. Those words… simple. But they cut deeper than any physical threat. Because they were true.
Jihoo went home. His room was dark and cold. But for the first time, he felt warmth. The warmth of a fire now burning steadily.
He didn't do his usual exercises. He didn't need to today. Today it was enough to sit and watch how fear and distrust were doing the job better than any punch or kick ever could.
Tomorrow…