Minah's heels clicked across the polished floors of Haneul Academy, each step deliberate, echoing like a metronome in the silent hallways. Students scattered before her, some pretending to check their phones, some lowering their eyes. The usual rhythm of power: respect or fear. Most didn't know which it was, and it didn't matter.
She smiled faintly, a practiced curve of lips that could be warmth or poison. Today, though, something prickled beneath her calm. The whispers had begun — small, careful, almost imperceptible. Students muttering as she passed. Phones angled to record. Eyes flicking and hiding.
She had no idea why.
Subtle Disturbances
At first, she dismissed it. A teacher in the corridor had glanced oddly in her direction — she caught it — and smiled in a way that said, I see you, but I will not act. Her friends, normally fearless, were twitchy today. Someone fumbled a notebook in her presence; another dropped a pen and avoided looking at her while picking it up.
Why now? she wondered.
In the cafeteria, she noticed it more clearly. Laptops open, fingers hovering over keyboards, glances exchanged. Her usual lunch entourage kept their smiles plastered on, but the jokes felt flat, rehearsed. Her personal power — the invisible magnet she had always wielded — was being tested. And she hated not knowing who was testing her.
The First Signs Online
Back in her dorm that evening, Minah opened her phone. Notifications were crawling in faster than usual. Mentions. Shares. Hashtags: #NepoKids #NepoBabies. At first, she thought it was another meaningless trend — some junior trying to start drama.
But as she scrolled, the images hit with uncanny precision: receipts, photos, and details from events she thought were private. Her father's son photographed leaving the dealership. Her cousin's new luxury car. Subtle captions mocking privilege. The posts were factual, but framed to humiliate.
Her stomach tightened. Someone was watching.
Unseen Hands
Minah leaned back in her chair. Her friends circled around, whispering.
"Do you know who started this?" one asked, voice low.
"I don't know," she replied, carefully. Every word was weighed. Every reaction measured. "But it doesn't matter. It will go away. It always does."
Her eyes, however, betrayed her calm. She had grown up knowing influence could protect her — her father, the police, the school — yet this was different. Someone had broken through the invisible walls. Someone was shaping public opinion without leaving a trace.
And that scared her.
Testing the Waters
The next day at school, she began to test the boundaries. Whispering students received mild reprimands. Rumors were denied publicly. Privileges were flaunted subtly — a borrowed designer bag, a private tutoring session visible to select classmates.
But it wasn't enough. The digital wave continued. Every time she smiled in public, someone posted side-by-side comparisons: this is what they have, this is what you have. Even her loyal entourage started to falter, questioning if loyalty was still safe.
Her usual tools — intimidation, manipulation, alliances — were failing against something intangible. Something she could not see.
The Game Becomes Real
By midweek, Minah realized she was no longer just being observed. She was being targeted.
She noticed small details that others overlooked:
Her locker had been subtly moved in the hall by someone who claimed accident.
Her phone's battery drained unnaturally fast despite no usage.
Anonymous posts began circulating inside school apps, echoing the public hashtags she had started to fear.
She was used to control. She thrived on it. But the moment she realized someone could orchestrate this from the shadows, panic — delicious, dangerous panic — set in.
Minah's mind shifted. Strategy. Counter-strategy. Every move had to be deliberate, every smile a weapon. She would find the unseen hand. Whoever dared touch her life, her reputation, her influence, would pay.
A Minor Ally
One of her friends, an unusually sharp girl named Yerin, approached cautiously.
"Minah… some of the posts… they're specific. They're not just random students," she whispered.
Minah narrowed her eyes. "Go on."
"They know us. Our schedules, our purchases… I saw one just this morning. Someone posted your father's son at the dealership. And…" Yerin hesitated, "…it's gaining traction. Fast."
Minah's heartbeat quickened, but her face remained neutral.
Interesting, she thought. A player has entered the board. And they think they're hidden.
Setting the Trap
By the end of the week, Minah decided on her approach: subtle observation first. She couldn't attack directly; that would reveal her desperation. Instead, she would lure the unseen player into action, create a false sense of security, then strike.
She began keeping her movements unpredictable:
Varying her schedule at school.
Posting false images online, just enough to mislead.
Whispering false information to her entourage, planting seeds that might reach the wrong eyes.
Every small move was calculated, a test to flush out the puppeteer behind #NepoKids.
And yet, for every action, there was an unsettling feeling she could not shake: someone was always one step ahead.
The First Hint
It came quietly.
During a late evening walk through the school courtyard — she preferred the solitude — Minah noticed a crumpled note pinned to a bench near the fountain. Not her handwriting. Not anyone she recognized. The words were simple, yet deliberate:
"I see you."
No signature. No mark. Just four words.
Her pulse spiked. She scanned the shadows. The courtyard was empty.
Too empty.
She felt it then — the unmistakable sensation of being watched. Not by security cameras, not by teachers, not by anyone visible. Someone invisible, calculating, patient.
A Silent War
Minah clenched her fists. Her calm exterior, perfected over sixteen years of dominance, began to crack. She was angry, yes. Afraid, certainly. But most of all, intrigued.
Who dares challenge me?
The hashtag #NepoKids had started as whispers, now it had a face. She knew it. She didn't know where, she didn't know how. But this unseen opponent had begun a game she could not ignore.
Her fingers trembled slightly as she pocketed the note. The first move had been made, and now, she realized the rules were different.
This wasn't just social media. This was war.