Chapter 003
My heart thudded so loudly I was sure even the ghosts could hear it. It wasn't just fear—it was a full-blown orchestra of dread, playing a horrifying symphony in my chest.
She screamed. Not just any scream—a blood-curdling, lung-shattering wail that could've summoned paramedics, priests, and possibly aliens. She looked like she'd seen death shake hands with life, and offer it a cup of tea.
The moment she turned from that gruesome scene, her mind raced like a caffeinated squirrel. She had one goal: get to the teachers' room. Fast. She sprinted through the hallway, wind slapping her face as if warning, "Girl, you in danger!"
Her skin tingled—not in a cute romantic way—but like the air itself had tiny razors in it. Her feet barely made a sound, yet she could hear everything else. Murmurs. Footsteps. Her own heartbeat screaming, "RETREAT!"
The image of the blood-drenched washroom haunted her eyes like a cursed slideshow. Blood had painted the tiles like some deranged artist had gone full Picasso with crimson.
She stumbled into the hallway like a ghost, hollow-eyed and shivering.
"Yo, space cadet!" a voice yelled.
No doubt it was Joon young
She froze.
That voice. That sarcastic, annoying, could-murder-my-sanity voice.
It was her so-called brother. Not biologically related, but emotionally complicated. The type of person who makes your heart skip and your temper spike simultaneously. Basically, a walking contradiction with great cheekbones.
He jogged up, looking oddly serious. His eyebrows were doing that worried-dance thing they do when someone cares but doesn't want to admit it.
"Where are you going? Forgot your daily route or just trying to summon demons again?" he teased.
She tried to walk past him, her pride bundled tightly in her clenched fists.
"If Mom yells at me, don't blame me. I'll just escalate the drama and make it a full Bollywood soap opera," he smirked.
He stepped closer. Way too close. Inches away. Her brain short-circuited. His lips were dangerously near. If this were a K-drama, time would've slowed, sparkles would've floated in, and a love ballad would start.
But no. This was reality. And in reality, he casually gestured behind her and muttered, "Wrong way, genius."
She blinked. Looked around. Right. She was walking in the opposite direction. She nodded and scurried away like an embarrassed raccoon.
His voice followed, low and oddly calming.
"Don't think too much about what happened at school. The police are investigating. Could be murder, suicide... or someone just watched one too many horror movies."
"Don't be scared, no one's going to harm you. I'm here for you."
— A sweet, protective thought… locked safely inside his mind, never to be heard.
What he actually said (classic him):
"Why would anyone waste their time killing you? You're not exactly popular. Honestly, you're so invisible, even Google Maps couldn't locate you."
She glanced at him.
Ouch.
She felt the urge to punch his smug face, but he was too tall, too muscular, and honestly, she didn't want to end up in traction.
---
Meanwhile, Minji stepped off the bus like a walking fashion magazine ad. Everyone thought she was rich. Elegant. Maybe even royalty.
Reality? She just liked nice clothes from online sales.
She glanced around. Strange town. Strange people. Dogs barking. Wind whispering. The usual spooky village welcome package.
But something felt off.
The moment she stepped off the bus, a chill followed her. A second set of footsteps. Her breath hitched.
Was someone... following her?
She picked up her pace. So did the mystery walker.
Sweat trickled from her neck down her spine. Her spine, in return, wrote a resignation letter.
Her face remained calm. Stoic. But inside? PANIC.
She turned around. No one. Silence. Maybe she was paranoid.
She let out a breath.
Then—
"AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!"
just as I turned the corner—BAM!
Someone sprang out from behind the stairwell like they were auditioning for the role of "Jump Scare No. 3" in a low-budget horror film.
In my mind, I was screaming my lungs out like I was auditioning for a horror movie.
In reality, my mouth stayed zipped—like it had been professionally stitched shut by fear itself.
I saw something… not quite good, but not entirely bad either. Just unsettling enough to make me consider an early retirement from life.
That fleeting illusion of safety felt more precious than gold-plated Wi-Fi.
But honestly, his childish behavior?
It grated on my nerves like a mosquito at 3 a.m.—unnecessary, irritating, and impossible to ignore.
It was Choi Kiseok.
Sure, his behavior could rival that of a hyperactive five-year-old with a sugar rush, but somehow, seeing him felt oddly comforting—like spotting Wi-Fi in a no-signal zone.
Then, amidst the awkward silence thick enough to cut with a butter knife, he finally spoke,
"You live nearby?"
I nodded. Yes. Short, sweet, and socially acceptable.
He strutted ahead like he'd just been promoted from high school heartthrob to full-time bodyguard—shoulders squared, head high, probably imagining theme music playing in the background.
But suddenly… he stopped.
Dead in his tracks.
The way he froze, I could tell something fishy—or perhaps even ominously fuzzy— was unfolding.
He stood still in the middle of the road like a dramatic pause in a suspense movie, and I couldn't help but think:
"Uh-oh. This is how horror stories begin, isn't it?"
Dogs were barking somewhere in the distance like they were rehearsing for a midnight choir audition—and then, as if someone hit the mute button on the universe, silence wrapped around us like an awkward blanket.
I couldn't take the tension anymore. My inner voice screamed, "Say something, or you'll suffocate in this social silence!"
So I asked, "You live around here too?"
Classic. Simple. Conversation starter 101.
As he came to a halt, I adjusted my pace to match his. Side by side now, I glanced at him—only to catch him giving me that look. You know, the wide-eyed, slightly confused expression someone has when they see a UFO—or apparently, a girl walking at night.
He was staring. Not subtly. Not shyly. Just... staring.
My face, however, remained heroically straight—as if I hadn't noticed.
But deep down, I could feel it: the unmistakable sensation of being observed like a rare museum artifact.
"Yes, Choi Kiseok," I thought. "Girls do come out after sunset. We're not mythical creatures."
She tilted her head, eyes squinting like a detective piecing together a mystery, and asked with genuine confusion,
"Are you broken, or just ignoring me? Why aren't you replying?"
It wasn't just a question—it was an accusation wrapped in curiosity and sprinkled with sass.
"I answered your question like a responsible citizen—so why are you just standing there like a confused Wi-Fi signal?"