Hannah stopped in the middle of the classroom, her gaze cautiously scanning the room as if stepping into unfamiliar territory. The best seats had already been claimed by those who had returned early from the cafeteria, leaving only the less desirable spots unoccupied. After a moment's hesitation, her eyes settled on the last bench beneath the window — far from the center, quiet, and safely tucked into the corner of the room.
She was just about to move toward it when a shiver prickled her spine. She could feel it — that unmistakable sensation of being watched. Her steps faltered as she glanced sideways, already knowing who she would see.
Joseph.
He stood in the doorway, leaning against the frame with calculated indifference. One arm rested casually at his side, the other braced against the wood. His eyes — cold, unreadable — followed her with unsettling focus. Though he blocked the entrance, none of the younger students dared to ask him to move. They simply skirted around him with bowed heads, instinctively aware of the unspoken hierarchy in this place.
"Choosing a bench is the hardest decision you'll make," he drawled lazily, voice laced with amusement. "You'll be stuck there until you graduate."
He began to approach her slowly, each step deliberate, as though savoring the moment. Without asking, he seized her wrist.
"Let me go," Hannah snapped through clenched teeth. His grip was tight — too tight — and pain shot through her arm.
But he didn't listen. With calm brutality, he dragged her toward the front of the room and shoved her down onto the bench in the middle row. Ignoring her glare, he remained standing, his hands planted on the desk as he leaned over her.
His presence loomed — overwhelming, suffocating. His face was too close, his breath warm against her skin, his gaze too intense. And yet she didn't flinch. Her eyes met his, defiant, even as her heartbeat thundered in her ears.
He studied her for a long, uncomfortable moment, then let his eyes wander down to her lips — deliberately, insolently.
"Nice lipstick," he murmured, a smirk tugging at the corners of his mouth. "But the last one looked better on you."
Her breath caught.
He knew.
Somehow, he knew about the writing on the mirror — the lipstick threat meant to unnerve her.
He knew because… he had done it.
"You…" she whispered, barely able to contain her fury. "It was you."
Joseph's brow lifted, mock surprise painted across his face.
"Me?" He placed a hand dramatically over his heart. "I've done plenty of questionable things. But if you mean that little welcome message in your room… then yes. That was me."
He reached out and tousled her hair like one might pet a dog. She recoiled in disgust, glaring up at him.
"Do you think this is some kind of joke?"
He straightened, scanning the classroom. A few students were watching, but when caught in his gaze, they immediately dropped their heads, pretending to be absorbed in their notebooks.
Then, without warning, Joseph grabbed the back of her neck and yanked her toward him. His lips hovered near her ear, and when he spoke, his voice was a venomous whisper.
"Change rooms while you still can," he said. "Don't be stubborn like the last girl. Or you'll end up just like her."
He shoved her back abruptly. Her chair scraped against the floor as she struggled to steady herself, breath caught in her throat.
Joseph looked down at her one last time, the corners of his mouth twitching with something bitter — not quite a smile.
"You'll thank me someday," he said, turning away. "I picked the best seat in the house just for you."
She watched him walk out, her hands clenched into fists beneath the desk. Her attention was pulled toward the front of the classroom, where the supervisor stood behind her desk, observing everything with a furrowed brow.
The woman's eyes lingered on Hannah.
Sensing that she was being silently summoned, Hannah stood up and approached her with a polite, practiced smile.
"Is something wrong?" she asked gently.
The woman's voice was low, almost hesitant. "I'm sorry to disturb you before class… It's just — this was your first night, and I wanted to check in. Most girls don't last a few hours before they come crying to me, begging to be moved. But you didn't."
Hannah nodded, her smile steady. "I'm fine. Really. Someone probably just started a rumor. Nothing's happened. And honestly, I like having the room to myself."
The woman visibly relaxed. "I'm glad you're brave enough not to fall for that nonsense. The director would be irritated if someone else came begging for a change."
Hannah bit the inside of her cheek, but kept her expression serene.
Then the woman's eyes grew serious again. "That older boy… Joseph. Is he bothering you? Has he done anything inappropriate?"
For a moment, Hannah considered telling the truth. But what would be the point? Joseph was untouchable. Everyone knew his father drank coffee with the principal and kept the teachers in line. No one would dare challenge him — not for her.
"We just tease each other," she said with a shrug. "It's nothing serious."
The caretaker nodded slowly and placed a gentle hand on her shoulder before turning to leave. But just as she reached the door, she passed a girl entering the room — tall, composed, and striking.
Mariah.
The older girl didn't stop. She glanced at Hannah briefly — cool, unreadable — and continued on without a word.
*
The girl stood motionless, her gaze drifting over the students weaving through the main corridor. Their voices blended into a low murmur, like waves rolling through the building, but she barely heard them. She was too focused on the way groups had already taken shape within her class—tight circles that had no space for her. They treated her like a ghost.
Word of Hannah accepting Joseph's challenge had spread like wildfire, cementing her reputation as his rival. The entire school buzzed with it, and the consequences were swift.
The younger students gave her a wide berth. They didn't want to risk drawing Joseph's ire, not even by making small talk. To them, even eye contact with Hannah seemed dangerous. She understood their caution… and yet, it still hurt.
She couldn't shake the guilt gnawing at her. It was her decision that had started all this. She had accepted a challenge that perhaps she shouldn't have. She had dragged herself into a war she didn't fully understand.
And yet—despite knowing that Joseph was the most revered student in the school, that his peers practically bowed in his presence—she clung stubbornly to the belief that she could outshine him.
Lost in thought, she blinked when a figure stepped into her view, resting his hands casually against the windowsill.
It was Tom. Charming, irreverent Tom. His familiar, mischievous grin immediately tugged at the corners of her mouth.
He began fluttering his eyelashes at her in an exaggerated display, pulling silly faces with the confidence of someone who knew how to lift spirits without saying a word.
"You've already improved her mood enough."
The words drifted through her mind like a whisper, not spoken aloud, yet unmistakably clear. A chill trickled down her spine. The sensation was surreal—as though she had lived this moment once before. For the briefest second, she thought she heard a soft, male laugh that didn't belong to anyone present.
It felt like an illusion, a half-memory brushing the edge of reality.
"Are you alright?" Tom's voice snapped her back to the present.
Startled, she looked up to see Jin watching her closely, concern etched across his face. She hadn't even noticed him approach.
As she jumped down from the windowsill, her shoulder bumped into Tom's. Hannah didn't respond. Instead, she turned and walked away without a word, her pace quickening with every step. The moment had left her shaken.
What just happened? she wondered, retreating toward the sanctuary of her room. That eerie sensation… she had never felt anything like it before.
"Hannah?"
She froze.
A voice had called her name. She was sure of it. The hairs on the back of her neck rose, and a chill passed through her.
Slowly, she turned. The hallway behind her was empty.
I must be overtired, she muttered, trying to steady her breath. Her hand reached for the doorknob, but she hesitated.
Something felt off.
Her ears strained in the silence. From the slightly open bathroom door nearby, a sound floated toward her—faint, nostalgic… and impossibly familiar.
It was a melody from her childhood.
Her heart pounded as she stepped inside the bathroom. The air felt still, too still. The room was empty, yet the tune continued, drifting through the space like a ghost.
She turned slowly, trying to trace its origin, but the melody seemed to move with her, never revealing its source.
"Is someone messing with me again?" she asked the empty air, panic rising in her voice. Her wide eyes searched the tiled walls and quiet corners.
"Hannah."
The voice again. Closer this time. She spun toward the door, certain it had come from there.
Rushing into the corridor, she scanned the space. The only person in sight was a short, plain-looking girl emerging from her room, a book in one hand and an apple in the other.
"Did you see anyone come out of the bathroom?" Hannah asked, breathless.
The girl shook her head.
Swallowing the lump in her throat, Hannah returned to her room. The door closed behind her with a soft click. Just as she exhaled, a dull thud sounded from inside her closet.
She froze.
Hands trembling, she opened the door—but everything was in its place.
I imagined it, she told herself, though doubt twisted in her gut.
"I think I'm losing my mind," she whispered, pressing a hand to her forehead with a long sigh.
But deep down, Hannah knew.
This room was hiding something.
*
She stepped out of the building and inhaled deeply, letting the crisp afternoon air clear her thoughts.
The day had been long, draining her energy with each passing hour. After finishing her classes, she decided she couldn't bear staying cooped up in the dorm any longer. Enclosed spaces always made her restless—she needed to breathe, to walk, to let her mind roam beyond the suffocating walls of the school.
As she strolled along the edge of the soccer field, her gaze drifted to the group of boys caught up in a match. Or rather, something that passed for a game but felt more like a display of casual cruelty.
The freshman guarding the goal looked like a deer in headlights—clearly shoved into position against his will. His wiry frame trembled each time the ball flew in his direction, not because they were trying to score, but because they were intentionally aiming at him. When he yelped in pain, they only laughed harder. His discomfort was their entertainment.
Only one figure remained detached from the scene—Tom. He lounged lazily on the sidelines, bottle in hand, watching with quiet disapproval as he sipped water, choosing not to partake in the spectacle.
Hannah stopped and folded her arms across her chest. Her eyes narrowed. Rage twisted in her gut as she watched Joseph, the ringmaster of this circus, orchestrate the torment. She couldn't deny the impulse that flared inside her—the vivid fantasy of grabbing the ball and hurling it straight at his smug face. Just once. Just to wipe that grin off.
But fate, as always, had a cruel sense of humor.
The ball ricocheted off the railing with a sharp clang and smashed directly into her face, slamming against the bridge of her nose. The impact sent her reeling backward. She crumpled onto the grass, her hands flying to her face.
Laughter erupted.
Joseph's unmistakable, barking laughter rose above the others. She heard the thud of his footsteps approaching before she even opened her eyes. Her hands trembled as she pulled them away from her face and stared at the red streaks smeared across her skin.
Blood.
Thick, warm, and foreign.
Her head spun. A wave of nausea surged through her—not from the sight of blood itself, but from something deeper, something that didn't make sense. She had seen worse before. Injuries. Cuts. Bruises. None of them had ever made her feel like this—weak, dizzy, weightless.
"Still breathing?" Joseph crouched beside her, the amusement never leaving his voice. He didn't offer a hand, didn't check if she was alright. Instead, he jabbed a finger toward her face and snickered. "Look, Jimmy. The ball left a perfect print."
Jimmy's laugh echoed across the field, too loud, too pleased. Hannah squeezed her eyes shut, wishing she could disappear.
Joseph grabbed her forearm and yanked her upright. Her legs wobbled beneath her. The world around her tilted dangerously. She could barely focus. Her skin had gone pale, and she looked like she might collapse at any moment.
"I'll take her to the nurse."
Tom's voice came from behind. He stepped in without hesitation, wrapping an arm around her waist to steady her. She leaned into him, too weak to resist. The warmth of his touch and the firmness of his grip grounded her in a way nothing else could.
Joseph glared as the pair retreated toward the school. His eyes followed them until the door swung shut behind them, and the noise from the field faded into an uncomfortable silence.
Jimmy clapped him on the shoulder, oblivious to the shift in Joseph's expression. "Dude, your aim was perfect. Couldn't have hit her better."
But Joseph no longer smiled.
The laughter had died in his throat.
His mind had already slipped backward, to another time, another blow. He had been in Hannah's place once—not on this field, but in another corner of the same campus. The pain, the humiliation, the heat of tears burning in his eyes—all of it came rushing back.
Halsey.
She had done it on purpose.
She was older, ruthless, and beautiful, and he had been a foolish freshman with stars in his eyes. She had made him fall for her with a cruel smile and left him shattered without regret. She had humiliated him, made him into a joke.
She had created the monster that now ruled the school with fear and arrogance.
Joseph's jaw clenched.
Hannah's blood on his hands didn't feel as satisfying as he'd imagined.