The live stream was chaos.
A celebrity who had been declared dead was suddenly on everyone's screens again.
Even her boyfriend—the man who had killed her—was watching.
Her best friend sat at a press conference, smiling for the cameras… until she saw the broadcast. It was as if the world around her stuttered and rewound—water rippling backward into cups, cameras clicking in reverse, reporters' mouths moving soundlessly. Time was bending, but only for those with sins to hide.
The comment section exploded:
"No way—she's alive??"
"This has to be fake!"
"Justice for Nari!"
And then, on the stream, Nari tilted her head and brushed her hair.
"Am I pretty for a dead person?" she asked with a playful smile that made the air feel colder.
Her best friend's smile cracked. Her hands began to shake.
"HOW THE FUCK—" she shouted, unable to finish.
Somewhere else, her boyfriend was trembling, his jaw tight with rage. He hated that she had returned.
A staff member approached him with a drink. He didn't know it was Nari, disguised in a uniform, eyes gleaming.
He took a sip. His throat tightened. Foam spilled from his lips.
Nari crouched beside him.
"Let's die together," she whispered.
Before he could respond, she hoisted him with inhuman strength and hurled them both through the window.
The crowd screamed below. When they hit the pavement, only his body lay there—mangled, lifeless. Nari was gone.
People gathered.
"Is that… Zhong Yoon?" someone whispered.
But it wasn't real.
In truth, he was strapped to a bed in a psychiatric hospital, eyes wide and wild. He screamed about ghosts and revenge, thrashing in his straightjacket, laughter bubbling out between curses.
From the corner of the room, the doctor stepped forward. It was Nari.
He didn't notice until she leaned in, syringe in hand.
"Too rowdy," she murmured, sliding the needle into his neck. His body slackened, the laughter dying in his throat.
As the light left his eyes, her voice was the last thing he heard—soft, final, and certain:
"Let's die together."
I woke up before the sun, the air still cool and grey, ready for school and work.
It was my last year of high school, but I didn't have the luxury of sleeping in.
I take care of my younger siblings and my grandmother. Our parents abandoned us years ago—sometimes I try to remember their faces, but it's like recalling a dream that dissolves when you wake.
The kitchen smelled faintly of detergent and ginger. I made breakfast the way Grandma taught me—rice porridge simmering softly on the stove, milk warming in a small pot, and slices of bread neatly laid on the table.
The others trickled in, hair messy, uniforms half-buttoned. I handed each of them a bowl, but noticed my little brother just sitting there, spoon untouched.
I set down my own bowl and knelt beside him.
"Why aren't you eating?" I asked quietly, brushing his fringe from his eyes.
His lip trembled. He stared at the steam curling from the porridge.
"It's just… I don't feel hungry," he murmured.
But I could tell from the way he avoided my gaze it was more than that.
I got up and started fixing their hair before we left—my little sister sat patiently while I tied her hair into two neat pigtails, the elastic bands snapping lightly into place. My younger brother squirmed a little, but I held his chin steady and brushed his hair until it lay flat.
"Eat some, and I'll get you candy when I come back from work," I promised.
He grinned, cheeks puffing up. "Okay," he said, and finally began to eat, spoon clinking gently against the bowl.
From the other end of the table, Grandma made a face, pushing her porridge away.
"Too much milk," she muttered.
"Ah, Grandma, as long as it's not too sweet, you'll be fine," I answered in Korean, giving her a teasing smile.
She sniffed and mumbled something under her breath about "kids these days," but I caught the faint twitch at the corner of her mouth.
I glanced at the clock—already 6:48 a.m. My uniform tie was still hanging over the chair. My work apron was draped on the couch from the night before. My bag felt heavy with textbooks, but heavier still with the day ahead.
The sky outside was starting to turn pale gold, the sound of a bus braking echoing from the street. I took one last look at the table—my brother eating happily, my sister swinging her legs, Grandma pretending to be annoyed—and felt that familiar ache in my chest.
This was my family. And no matter how tired I was, I'd keep it all together.
I slipped on my shoes by the door, balancing my schoolbag on one shoulder and my work apron folded neatly inside.
"Have a good day!" my sister called from the kitchen, her mouth still full of bread.
"Yeah, you too," I answered, tying my shoelaces tight.
The morning air was crisp, the kind that woke you up more than any cup of coffee. Leaves crunched under my shoes as I stepped onto the narrow street. Somewhere down the road, a neighbor's radio was playing an old trot song, and the smell of steamed buns drifted from the corner shop.
Halfway to school, I spotted a few classmates ahead of me, their laughter echoing down the block. They were clustered together, sharing something on a phone.
"Hey, look at this!" one boy shouted.
The others burst into laughter, but the sound felt just a little too sharp, a little too rehearsed. I walked past, not slowing down.
"Hey, you have work today too, right?" A familiar voice came from behind me. It was Minji, my best friend since middle school, jogging to catch up.
"Yeah. Then homework after that, of course," I said with a half-smile.
Minji pouted. "You seriously never take a break."
We turned the last corner, and the school gates came into view already buzzing with students, some running in to avoid being late, others lingering in little circles. Somewhere, I heard the shrill sound of a whistle from the PE field.
The day was just beginning, but I already felt the weight of it pressing on my shoulders.
We passed through the school gates, the morning air buzzing with the mix of chatter and the shrill ringing of the first bell. Students in clusters gossiped in low voices, their eyes darting toward the main building.
Near the bulletin board, a small crowd had gathered. Minji tugged my sleeve.
"Hey, what's that?"
Pinned in the center was a sheet of paper with bold black letters:
Student Notice: Caution Regarding a Certain Individual.
The name wasn't written, but my stomach tightened anyway. A few people glanced at me before quickly looking away.
"Don't pay attention to it," Minji muttered, but her voice was uneasy.
We stepped into the hallway, and that's when it started.
First, a shove from behind that made my books scatter across the floor.
"Move out of the way, trash," one boy sneered, stepping over my notebook.
I knelt to pick it up, only for someone else to kick it down the hallway. Laughter erupted.
By the lockers, a girl "accidentally" spilled an open bottle of milk onto my uniform.
"Oh, sorry~ It was an accident." Her tone made it obvious it wasn't.
Whispers followed me everywhere some loud enough for me to hear.
"That's the one."
"Disgusting."
The girl sneered, but before she could say more, I didn't step back or flinch. Instead, I calmly smiled, then slapped her hard across the face.
Her head snapped to the side, and she crumpled to the floor, blood trickling from her nose.
I leaned in close, my voice low but sharp,
"You're so pretty for a person who's going to die soon."
A manic laugh escaped me, echoing off the lockers.
Her friend gasped, shocked, then slapped me hard in return.
Without hesitation, I turned and walked away steady and unbothered.
From behind, I heard Minji burst out laughing and sprint after me.
"Hey, you're seriously crazy! Where are you going?"
I didn't look back.
After I walked away, the hallway fell into a stunned silence. Whispers started rising again, louder this time.
"She's seriously crazy."
"Who's next to get slapped?"
Minji caught up to me near the classroom door, still grinning.
"What's gotten into you? That was insane."
I shrugged, running a hand through my hair.
"I'm just tired now. There's only so much you can take."
She nodded, eyes softening.
"I'm here for you. I'm on your side."
The bell rang sharply, breaking the moment.
We stepped inside the classroom together, ready to face whatever the day would throw next.