Hannah furrowed her brows and turned sharply, visible indignation flashing across her face, as someone seized her wrist, halting her mid-step.
A boy with a chaotic mess of curls atop his head stared at her, his eyes stretched wide in disbelief. His mouth opened and closed like that of a fish out of water, as if he wanted to speak but couldn't find the words. His skin, already fair, turned ghostly pale at the sight of the younger girl—as though he had just seen a ghost.
He looked deeply unsettled.
Hannah's patience was running thin. He continued to clutch her wrist, unmoving, silent, frozen in confusion.
"When did you come back?" he blurted out at last, his voice shaky but desperate.
She blinked slowly, narrowing her eyes at him, scrutinizing every inch of his face. Was there truly a possibility that they knew each other? Or was something seriously wrong with him?
"I'm listening," she said, a subtle trace of amusement in her voice. "What are you talking about?"
Ignoring her skepticism, the boy suddenly stepped forward and wrapped his arms tightly around her, pressing her body against his. He lowered his head until his chin rested gently on top of hers.
Students walking through the corridor began to take notice. Whispered conversations sparked in every direction, curious eyes turning toward the unexpected scene. Who was this girl who had managed to get so close to Jin—the untouchable, emotionally impenetrable Jin—within a single day?
"I missed you, Hannah," he whispered softly, eyes closed as if grounding himself in the moment.
He knew her name.
Pressed against his chest, her thoughts raced too quickly for her to respond. Her voice abandoned her.
"The past three months have been hell. I kept worrying about you... not knowing where you were or if you were okay. After the divorce, I didn't even have a way to contact your mother. I was terrified you'd never come back..."
Without warning, Hannah shoved him away with surprising force and stared at his stunned expression.
"I don't understand what's wrong with this school," she snapped. "First that violent lunatic, now you. Are you all completely insane from too much studying? Is this how everyone behaves around here?"
Jin blinked, dazed by the harshness of her response.
"Hannah... is this one of your games again?" he asked, his voice hollow with disbelief. A forced, nervous smile stretched across his face. "You used to do that all the time. Is this payback? For me being the reason our parents separated?"
"I'm waiting!" she shouted, her frustration loud enough to draw even more attention from the passing students.
Jin stared at her, his eyes filled with hurt.
"I see your personality changed along with your appearance," he said coldly.
"What do you want from me?" she hissed. "And how the hell do you know I used to be blonde?"
This time, it was Hannah who paled. A creeping sense of dread crawled up her spine. Had she just encountered an obsessive stalker?
Jin exhaled sharply, clearly unimpressed by what he believed was some twisted joke.
"I thought those three months apart would change something in you," he said bitterly. "But you've only become worse."
Hannah let out a sharp, scoffing breath, the kind that signaled growing fury inside her.
Wounded by her reaction, he bit his lip and turned away, retreating down the corridor and ignoring the sea of curious faces now watching them.
"And what are you all staring at? I'm not the crazy one," Hannah muttered under her breath, her cheeks flushed with a mix of embarrassment and rage, as she stood alone—suddenly the most talked-about girl in the hallway.
*
Mariah watched her boyfriend with nervous, uncertain eyes as he paced the floor of her bedroom, fists clenched tightly at his sides. His body radiated tension. Every time he looked like he might speak, his lips parted—only to close again, as if the words choked in his throat.
She straightened slightly when Jimmy finally stopped in front of her, his posture rigid, his gaze hard. Without the slightest hesitation, he delivered the blow.
"I'm breaking up with you."
Her lips parted in shock, and she stared at him, dazed. The words didn't make sense—not coming from his mouth. Not now.
Their two-year relationship collapsed in an instant, as if the weight of his decision had been building quietly, invisible until it crushed her without warning. And yet, somewhere in the back of her mind, a part of her had always feared this. Jimmy had never treated her with the kind of affection that proved love or commitment. But she had made excuses for him. He's just not the expressive type, she'd told herself countless times. He struggles to show emotion. That doesn't mean he doesn't care.
She had never heard an I love you from him—not once. And still, she had clung to the belief that he did feel something. That he just didn't know how to say it.
But now he had said something else entirely. Cold. Final.
"You're breaking up with me?" she whispered, her voice barely audible as she placed a trembling hand over her chest. "Jimmy… are you just trying to get rid of me?"
"I already did," he replied flatly, meeting her gaze with eyes that offered no warmth. No remorse. Just emptiness.
She searched his face desperately for some crack in the mask. "Why?" It was all she could force out, even as tears threatened to well in her eyes.
"Because I realized I don't need you anymore."
The words hit her like a slap. Cruel in their simplicity. She felt like a discarded toy—worn, boring, thrown aside without a second thought.
Her eyelids fluttered shut as hot tears slipped down her cheeks.
"Was this really your decision?" she asked, lifting her tear-streaked face to look at him, her voice quivering. "Or did Joseph tell you to do it?"
Jimmy's brow furrowed, and a scoff of disbelief escaped his throat.
"You think I'm my friend's pet? That I can't make my own decisions?"
"I think Joseph is the one breaking up with me, not you."
With sudden fury, Jimmy turned toward the shelf beside her bed and swiped his arm across it, sending bottles, brushes, and cosmetics clattering to the floor in a chaotic crash.
"Who do you think I am!" he roared, his chest heaving.
"You think I'm stupid?" Mariah snapped back, her voice rising with emotion. "He cornered me in the bathroom, Jimmy. Told me to talk to you—that you had something to tell me. You don't think that's suspicious?"
She glanced down at the mess on the floor, and a grimace flashed across her face as she spotted her cracked powder, the contents spilled in a pale halo on the carpet.
"You're not in control. So you'll pay for what you broke," she added coldly.
"Stop talking nonsense!" he shouted, brushing aside her words like they meant nothing.
"Jimmy, I know exactly how he feels about me. He's never liked me—not since the beginning. Because I dared to call him out. Because I told you the truth about him. You don't have to hide it. I know he's been telling you to leave me for months. I'm not an idiot." Her eyes narrowed as she stared him down. She saw it—the flicker of discomfort, of guilt, in his expression. "And if you've chosen him, that's fine. He's your friend. Your choice."
She rose from the bed, stepping toward him slowly, her voice gaining strength.
"But from this moment on, pretend you don't know me. Because I'll treat you like air—do you understand?" Her tone was dry, cold. She tilted her chin toward the door. "Go on. Go to your friend. Maybe the two of you can build the perfect relationship. You're clearly a better match for each other than you ever were with me."
He said nothing. Just turned toward the door, hand reaching for the handle. But something in her voice stopped him in his tracks.
Mariah raised a hand to her mouth, squeezing her eyes shut as she held back the sob building in her throat.
"We're not together anymore," she whispered bitterly. "So get used to not being part of our group. You were only ever in it because of me. And you know damn well why Joseph never accepted you."
Those final words sealed it.
Jimmy opened the door and walked out without looking back.
As the door clicked shut, Mariah let out a raw, choked scream—loud and unrestrained. She snatched a pillow from her bed and hurled it at the door, where he had stood only moments ago, her grief erupting in a furious burst.
*
Hannah pulled all her belongings out of her suitcase and tossed them carelessly onto the bed. A handful of cosmetics tumbled to the floor, rolling under the furniture, but her attention froze on something else—a photo frame outlined in vivid red.
She picked it up gently, her fingers brushing over the boy's face in the picture. A wave of realization passed through her. In the photograph, he stood beside a smiling girl, both of them grinning brightly at the camera, completely unaware that within a month, everything would fall apart.
May had been beautiful. Each weekend that month had wrapped her soul in warmth and happiness. She wished she could go back—rewind time to when things still made sense. But that world was gone.
With a soft sigh, she placed the frame on the nightstand and knelt to gather the cosmetics scattered across the floor. She peered under the bed, convinced her favorite lipstick had rolled there. Reaching out blindly, her fingers grazed the dusty floor. She grimaced at the thick layer of filth coating the wood.
Then her eyes snapped wide open.
She could've sworn she had just touched something… shaped like a hand.
A jolt of fear surged through her chest as she sprang up, pressing a palm to her heart.What the hell was that?
Curiosity—stronger than her fear—pulled her back down. She leaned over cautiously, her eyes narrowing as she aimed her phone's flashlight under the bed. Something glinted. Gritting her teeth, she reached out again, this time intentionally brushing against the object.
It definitely felt like fingers.
Her breath caught in her throat.
Eyes clenched shut, she grabbed it and yanked it out—just as someone barged into her room.
Startled, Hannah yelped and hurled the object across the room like a child in a panic. The thing struck the intruder squarely in the head.
Joseph flinched, lifting his chin with a glare sharp enough to cut glass. If looks could kill, she'd be lying dead on the floor.
Tom, who stood just behind him, widened his eyes in surprise. And then—smiled. Not just any smile, but one full of strange, delighted satisfaction.
"My handle from Adams!" he cried, scooping up the rubber toy and clutching it to his chest like it was made of gold. "I've been looking for you for so long. How the hell did you end up here?" he asked the toy, as if expecting it to answer.
Joseph rolled his eyes in disgust.
Hannah raised a single brow and puffed out her lips in disbelief. She was increasingly convinced that everyone in this school was insane. She understood that this was a place of elite academics, but every student seemed to come with their own distinct mental affliction.
"And what are you staring at?" she asked icily, batting her lashes as Joseph stepped closer, his gaze dark and unreadable.
"Next time, knock," she added, refusing to be intimidated. Unlike most of the school, she didn't bow to him. Apparently, he had been crowned "king" by the student body—an idea she found laughable. Other schools had their social divisions too, but nothing as absurd as this. She couldn't understand how students with such astronomical IQs could behave with less emotional intelligence than children in a public school hallway.
Joseph smiled, the corners of his lips curling in a way that lacked all kindness.
"I take it you're confident," he said. "So I assume your academic record is flawless? After all, this school houses the best of the best. To stay on top, you'll have to surpass them. You'll meet your yearmates soon enough… and I'll be watching—patiently—until the semester ends."
His words dripped with challenge, and Hannah's brows furrowed as she studied him. It hit her like a puzzle piece snapping into place—he was obsessed with ranking. With dominance. He had apparently sat at the top of the academic podium for the past two years and wasn't about to surrender that position.
"And what if I do beat you?" she asked, defiance creeping into her voice.
Tom froze mid-motion, eyes darting between them with disbelief. He clearly thought she'd lost her mind. No one challenged Joseph—ever. Doing so was akin to making a deal with the devil himself.
Joseph tilted his head, as if amused by her audacity.
"You'll earn my respect," he said with a sinister smile. "And with that comes popularity. Adoration. Every student here will bow their heads for you." He paused. "But if you fail... well, tough luck. At least the semester will pass you by in relative peace."
He cast her one last look—enigmatic and dangerous—then brushed past her and out the door.
Tom lingered behind, still holding his rubber toy. He approached Hannah, concern creeping into his features.
"You've just made a huge mistake," he murmured. His voice was oddly gentle, as if he pitied her. "No one wins against him. He's the kind of person who can destroy you without even blinking. But hey... I'll keep my fingers crossed for you."
He smiled warmly, but his words carried an ominous weight.
"At this point, that's the only thing that might help."
*
The rules at the boarding school were strict—every student had to be in their room by 9 p.m., when the counselors made their rounds and turned off all the lights.
Hannah had wandered around for far too long, and only now did she notice that the hallways had become eerily deserted.
Doubt gnawed at her. Had she made the right decision? The warning from that boy echoed in her mind like an unpleasant whisper she couldn't silence.
She knew she was a strong student. But rising to the top in this place required more than talent—it demanded sacrifice, cunning, and relentless endurance. The competition here was suffocating.
Panicking, she broke into a run and dashed into the building, her footsteps pounding against the cold marble floor. She climbed the stairs two at a time, heading for the second floor, where the girls' dormitories were located. She had two minutes left. Just two.
She reached her room, slammed the door shut behind her, and leapt onto the bed. She threw the blanket over herself just as her door creaked open.
Feigning calm, she tried to look as though she'd been ready for sleep all along.
But her stomach twisted—she hadn't had time to go to the bathroom. She'd have to wait until the nightly rounds were over to sneak out.
Beneath the blanket, she fished her phone out of her pocket. The moment she unlocked it, her favorite song rang out softly. Her heart fluttered when she saw the caller ID: Mom.
"Are you mad at me?" she asked before her mother could even speak. The guilt was creeping in—she knew she'd behaved coldly earlier.
"I'm just disappointed you didn't let me come inside and see the room the director assigned to you," her mother replied, her voice tinged with quiet sadness.
"Mom... you know I like to be independent," Hannah said with a sigh. "I'm old enough to take care of myself and make sure everything is in order. Don't treat me like a child. This isn't just any school—I didn't want people here to think I was some spoiled kid. I sent you photos, didn't I? That should be enough."
The woman from earlier—the one who had brought her uniform—poked her head into the room. Seeing Hannah already tucked in, she smiled warmly and quietly stepped out, leaving the girl to her conversation.
"I get that you want to play adult," her mother replied gently, "but don't think for a second that I won't come visit one weekend."
"That's fine, Mom. Really. You can come whenever you want," Hannah muttered, rolling her eyes. "And Mom... take care of yourself. You're leaving tomorrow, right? Be safe. Call me when you get there. You deserve a break."
A soft sigh came from the other end of the line.
"You're right. Now that you're under the school's care, I suppose I can go on my well-earned vacation with a little less worry. Take care of yourself, and call me whenever you need."
"I will."
Hannah ended the call and slid the phone beneath her pillow. She grabbed her pajamas and quietly opened the door. The counselor had already finished her rounds.
Poking her head into the hallway, she scanned her surroundings. Darkness had settled in—no more footsteps, no more light. The woman had gone.
Not wanting to delay, Hannah dashed to the communal bathroom and stepped into a stall, slipping behind a brown shower curtain. She wasn't fond of public bathrooms—they made her skin crawl with unease—but she needed to clean up.
She stood under the stream of water, letting it rinse away the tension. But then—click.
The lights went out.
Her breath caught in her throat.
Her first thought was irrational: ghosts. Maybe this place was haunted. She prayed it was a ghost—anything would be better than a living person seeing her naked.
Heart pounding, she rinsed quickly, shut off the water, and wrapped herself tightly in a towel. She pushed the curtain aside and reached her hands into the dark, taking slow, careful steps toward the wall. She couldn't leave the bathroom like this—vulnerable, exposed.
Her hands skimmed blindly over cold tile. The search felt endless, humiliating.
Finally—click. Her fingers found the switch. The bathroom flooded with harsh white light.
Relief swept over her... but it didn't last.
Her gaze fell on the mirror.
A message was smeared across it—in bold, pink lipstick.
Her lipstick.
Someone had left it on the sink like a trophy.
"Change your room, or you'll end up like the last tenant."
For a moment, she couldn't move. Her breath stuck in her chest.
She spun around, scanning the bathroom. Every stall door stood open. No one was hiding. No one was there.
She rushed to dress, her hands trembling. Shoving her wet hair back with trembling fingers, she bolted out the door.
But she didn't get far.
She collided—hard—with someone waiting just outside.
A hand gripped her wrist.
Her head jerked up, and her breath hitched when she saw his face.
"You're not staying in that room," he said in a low, firm voice. "Not a moment longer."