Haesol High School
The silence in the classroom was thick, almost tangible, broken only by the dry, rhythmic scratching of pens against paper.
"Second derivative of the function… point of extremum. If x approaches infinity, then the limit equals…"
There was no room for stray thoughts in his head. In moments like these, he heard neither the noise outside the window nor the creak of chairs. His mind was a whirlwind of formulas, dates, and grammatical structures. The math test faded into English questions, then history—in his consciousness, it was a seamless stream of data to be processed, structured, and output as a perfect result.
Choi Woo-yeon inked the final period. He reread his answers. No mistakes. There couldn't be.
He raised his hand. In a room where thirty other students were frantically gnawing on their pen caps, the movement felt too sharp, too sudden. The teacher nodded. Woo-yeon stood up, slid his chair back soundlessly, and placed the sheet on the teacher's desk. A perfect bow followed. He stepped out into the hallway, hitching his black leather backpack over his shoulder as he went. The air here felt different—less electrified. But it was too early to relax. His daily schedule had no room for idle time.
Hardly had he turned the corner when the door of the neighboring classroom swung open with a bang. Someone tumbled out backward, nearly knocking Woo-yeon off his feet.
"Teacher, it wasn't us! I swear!" a boy yelled, retreating under the onslaught of an infuriated educator.
Woo-yeon braked hard, instinctively clutching his folder of notes to his chest. A tall boy with tousled hair—Lee Ji-hoon from the parallel class—stumbled into him, nearly trampling his perfectly polished shoes.
"Oh!" Ji-hoon turned around. "Sorry, man, I didn't—"
Woo-yeon didn't even look at him. He simply stepped aside, fastidiously brushing invisible dust from his sleeve, and continued on his way as if he had just maneuvered around a traffic cone.
"Noisy. Useless," flashed through Woo-yeon's mind. The very existence of such people irritated him—those who wasted time shouting in hallways when every minute was a building block for the future.
Behind him, the drama escalated.
"Teacher, we're telling you the truth!" Ji-hoon's voice sounded aggrieved, yet laced with a hint of amusement.
Woo-yeon could feel that mirth even with his back turned, and it grated on his nerves. How could someone treat disgrace so flippantly?
"Then who? Who did it then?!" thundered Mr. Kim. "You talk as if I don't know what you three are capable of!"
"Sir, you make it sound like we're the school's top delinquents…" another voice drawled.
"Hey! Your gang was seen there! You dare deny it? Where's your third buddy, Park Min-ki? What class is he in now?"
"Aw, come on! Why won't you believe us, Teacher!"
Woo-yeon receded down the hall, his back straight, his gait disciplined. The noise of the scandal grew louder, but he didn't look back.
Ji-hoon, still being scolded by the teacher, paused for a second. While the educator drew breath for a fresh tirade—"To the faculty office, now! And you, Ji-hoon, should be a hundred times more ashamed!"—Ji-hoon stole a glance. He watched the retreating figure with the perfect posture. There was something... curious about that guy.
But the moment passed. Ji-hoon flashed his habitual grin and allowed the teacher to haul him away by the ear.
Choi Woo-yeon's life was like the internal gears of a Swiss watch.
16:30. The driver arrived for him.
17:00. Private English tutor.
19:00. School Library.
He sat at the far table, walled in by reference books. The yellow glow of the lamp highlighted lines of text that seared themselves into his memory.
21:30. Dinner with the family.
The dining room in the Choi household was spacious and hauntingly quiet. The clink of cutlery against porcelain sounded deafening.
"Your mock test," his father's voice was devoid of emotion; he didn't even look up from his plate. "Second in the school."
"Second." The word hit Woo-yeon in the gut like a physical blow. Second place meant someone was better. Woo-yeon wasn't good enough. Someone was always better.
"I'll fix it, Father," Woo-yeon replied softly, eyes fixed on the table.
"Professor Lee was asking about you. Don't make me blush in front of my colleagues."
Woo-yeon only gripped his chopsticks tighter. His mother silently pushed a dish of side stones toward him, but her gaze was hollow. The air in the room was so thick it was hard to breathe.
01:15.
Woo-yeon sat at the desk in his room. The desk lamp hummed. His eyes burned as if someone had poured sand into them. He took off his glasses and rubbed his face with his palms, pressing hard against his eyelids to chase away the spots of color. He stretched his stiff neck. The crack of his vertebrae sounded like a gunshot in the dead silence.
His gaze fell on the clock. One in the morning.
"Someone is studying more than me right now. The one who took first place… maybe they aren't asleep yet."
He hated that clock face. But he hated the thought of someone always being better even more.
05:30.
The alarm. Wake up. The taste of mint toothpaste, meant to invigorate but only causing nausea.
06:00.
Reviewing material over coffee on an empty stomach.
07:00.
A perfectly pressed uniform. Backpack on. A look in the mirror—cold and composed. Dark circles had settled under his eyes from the lack of sleep; Woo-yeon no longer tried to hide them. It was useless anyway.
07:30.
Woo-yeon entered the classroom. Life was already bustling here. Girls adjusted their makeup while discussing idols. Boys huddled by the window, laughing loudly at some video.
Ji-hoon was among them. He sat on a desk, swinging his legs, animatedly telling a story with wide gestures. His laughter was loud and effortless.
Woo-yeon walked to his seat as if moving through a vacuum. He took out his textbooks. Opened his notebook. To him, these people were nothing more than background noise.
After classes, Woo-yeon was back in the library. His "usual" spot by the window. Books, notes, and silence.