Jaeho left the classroom expecting the worst from his bullies. He expected to see them in the bathroom, stairwell, somewhere isolated where the bullies could finish what they'd started on Saturday night.
But the hallway was empty. No Minho, Jiwon, Daeho.
Just regular students walking to their next class, chatting, laughing, living their normal lives like nothing had happened.
Jaeho frowned, his guard still up. This didn't make sense. They'd tried to kill him two days ago. Why the sudden distance?
He was more trouble than they'd thought. Breaking Jiwon's nose, fighting back despite being outnumbered, surviving the baseball bat attack and still showing up to school—it had shown them he wasn't the same scared kid who used to take their abuse silently. And now he was working for Mrs. Choi. Jiwon's mother.
Jaeho knew a degree was necessary to sit at certain tables, even with money. This was how much society valued education. A high school diploma from a prestigious school opened doors that money alone couldn't. He needed that degree, but more than that, he needed the knowledge. The connections. An environment where he could mingle with like minds, learn from the best teachers, position himself for the future.
He couldn't let them take that away from him. Jaeho exhaled slowly. Maybe he could breathe for a while.
He walked down the hallway, heading toward the cafeteria, when someone called out to him.
"Um... excuse me?"
Jaeho turned.
The boy who'd handed him the handkerchief earlier stood there, clutching his backpack straps nervously. He was shorter than Jaeho by a few inches, thin and lanky, with round glasses that kept sliding down his nose. He looked timid, almost scared to make eye contact, his gaze darting between Jaeho's face and the floor.
"Yes?" Jaeho said.
The boy bowed deeply, his head dipping low in a formal gesture of respect. "I'm Lee Hyunwoo. I wanted to... to thank you for what you did."
Jaeho blinked. "For what?"
"For standing up to them." Hyunwoo's voice was quiet, shaky, but genuine. "No one's ever done that before. Everyone just... watches. Or joins in. Or pretends they don't see it."
Jaeho studied him. The way Hyunwoo addressed him—formal, respectful, like he was speaking to someone older or of higher status—showed a level of deference Jaeho wasn't used to receiving from anyone.
"You don't need to thank me," Jaeho said. "And you don't need to talk to me like that. We're in the same class. Just talk normally."
Hyunwoo looked up, surprised, his eyes widening behind his glasses. "Are you sure?"
"Yeah."
Hyunwoo hesitated, then nodded slowly.
"Okay. But... are you sure you want me talking to you at all? If they see us together, they'll target me too." Jaeho asked him.
Jaeho tilted his head, studying the boy's nervous posture, the way his hands trembled slightly. "They already target you, don't they?"
Hyunwoo's face went pale. He glanced around nervously, checking to make sure no one was watching, then turned his back to Jaeho and lifted the bottom of his shirt just slightly.
Jaeho's breath caught.
Bruises. Old ones. Deep purple and yellow patches, faded but unmistakable, covering his lower back. They weren't as extreme as his but they were visible even though these weren't recent.
The wounds must have scarred.
"They've been doing this since middle school," Hyunwoo said quietly, pulling his shirt back down and turning to face Jaeho again. His voice was flat, resigned. "I just... I keep my head down. Stay quiet. Hope they forget about me. But they never do. Not until you came,"
Jaeho clenched his fists so hard his nails dug into his palms. "Why don't you report them?"
Hyunwoo laughed bitterly, a hollow sound that held no humor. "To who? Their parents fund half the school. The teachers know what's happening. The principal knows. No one cares. Or if they do care, they're too scared to do anything about it."
Jaeho said nothing. Because Hyunwoo was right. The system was rigged. It always had been. Money bought silence. Power bought protection. And victims like them were left to fend for themselves.
"Come on," Jaeho said. "Let's get lunch."
-
They sat together in the cafeteria, an odd pair tucked away in the corner. Jaeho ate his cheap convenience store kimbap, ₩2,000 worth of rice and vegetables wrapped in seaweed, while Hyunwoo picked at a bento box that looked like it cost more than Jaeho's entire week of groceries. Perfectly arranged sushi, grilled fish, fresh vegetables, and what looked like premium beef.
Across the room, Minho, Jiwon, and Daeho sat at their usual table, surrounded by their usual crowd of hangers-on and admirers. Jaeho could feel their eyes on him.
But they didn't approach.
Hyunwoo noticed too. "They're just staring."
"Let them," Jaeho said, taking another bite.
"Aren't you scared?"
"Not at all," Jaeho admitted honestly.
Hyunwoo smiled faintly, the first real smile Jaeho had seen on his face. "You're braver than I am."
"I'm not brave," Jaeho said. "I just don't have a choice. I have people depending on me. Two little sisters who need me to stay strong. So I do."
Hyunwoo's expression softened. "That's still bravery."
They ate in comfortable silence after that, and for the first time in months, Jaeho didn't feel completely alone.
The school session came to an end, and Jaeho walked out with Hyunwoo, the two of them talking about homework and teachers like normal students.
"Thank you," Hyunwoo said as they reached the school gates. "For today. For sitting with me. It means a lot."
Jaeho shrugged. "It's nothing."
"It's not nothing," Hyunwoo said seriously, his voice firmer now. "Not to me."
Before Jaeho could respond, a sleek black limousine pulled up to the curb, its polished surface gleaming in the afternoon sun. The driver—an older man in a crisp uniform—stepped out, walked around the car with practiced precision, and opened the back door with a slight bow.
"Young master Lee, your father is waiting."
Hyunwoo's face flushed with embarrassment. He glanced at Jaeho, looking almost apologetic. "I'll see you tomorrow, Jaeho."
He climbed into the limousine, and the door closed behind him with a soft, expensive thunk. The car pulled away smoothly, disappearing down the street like something out of a movie.
Jaeho stood there, jaw hanging open.
A limousine. A driver. "Young master."
He looked around at the other students leaving school. Luxury cars lined the street like a dealership showroom. BMWs. Mercedes-Benzes. Audis. Even a Porsche. Parents in designer clothes and expensive watches picking up their kids, chatting on the latest smartphones.
Jaeho caught his reflection in a nearby shop window. Worn uniform with frayed edges. Bandaged head wrapped in white gauze. Cheap sneakers with holes forming in the soles.
"Is there no one broke in this school?"
He thought about it for a second, looking at student after student climbing into cars that cost more than his entire life.
Then he sighed the moment he saw his reflection.
There was, in fact, one broke person, it was him.
But this was the last thing on his mind, he was going to meet Yura.