𝖲𝟣 𝖤𝖯𝖨𝖲𝖮𝖣𝖤 𝟣

𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐒𝐂𝐈𝐍𝐓𝐈𝐋𝐋𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐆𝐎𝐋𝐃𝐄𝐍 𝐁𝐀𝐋𝐋 𝐇𝐔𝐍𝐆 𝐇𝐈𝐆𝐇 against the autumnal sky, its radiant heat sweltering every inch of her skin hidden underneath the layers of her uniform. The relentless sun cast its searing embrace over the terra firma, turning the air thick and heavy with its warmth.

The once viridescent canvas of treetops shimmered under its tenacious gleam, their frond leaves tinged with amber where the sunlight stretched its golden fingers. Against the vast cerulean azure, not a single wisp of white dared to intrude upon the everlasting sky, allowing the zenith heat to settle uninterrupted, painting the world in hues of gold and deepening blues as the day waned into the afternoon.

𝐀𝐇𝐍 𝐉𝐈𝐇𝐘𝐄's tenebrous eyelashes grazed the petals of the gentle ether, earthy hazel hued orbs drifting over the azure firmament as the luminous, celestial sun peered down upon Yusung Technical High's landscape below. Her mind arose atop the few avifauna that floated amongst the subtle saxe sky as the twinkling sun seared radiance upon her glowing canvas. Her eyelids fluttered closed, ebon ink painted upon her irises as she enrapt herself in this warmth, basking in the comfort of the bright sun's glare.

The growing sun stretched its golden rays across the school's premise, gilding its weathered walls in a deceptive benignity. From the rooftop, the great wen of Ancheon sprawled endlessly in the far horizon beneath them like a vast kingdom of concrete and steel, a city teeming with life, yet of distant insignificance from this lofty perch.

Here, above it all, where the air was thinner and the wind carried the faint faraway hum of a world just beyond reach — Jihye sat still, an unwavering effigy of elegance amidst the unbridled chaos around her.

Her presence was an anomaly, a paradox so stark it was almost forbidden, like a portrait of refinement amid the raw, unpolished brutality of the coterie assembled around her. The rooftop bore the echoes of dominance, scuffed shoes scraping against gravel, the sharp crack of knuckles meeting flesh, murmurs laced with unspoken threats — yet Jihye remained unmoved, a figure carved from stillness itself.

"Go. Go forward. Go, byeong shin-ah."

Though, she did not need to raise her voice to be heard, nor did she need to assert her place in this world of violence — it had already been given to her, inherited rather than earned. And yet, even as she sat amongst them, adorned in power that should have made her untouchable like a shield, it felt as though she could feel the weight of it pressing down like an iron chain, tautening around her with every breath.

Ahn Jihye's bearing was almost regal, her back as straight as a drawn bowstring, shoulders squared with effortless poise, and her legs crossed in a manner both refined and deliberate. Not a single wrinkle marred the pristine fabric of her uniform, while her maroon blazer laid immaculately atop her neat vest, her crisp ivory collar standing as a mark of discipline, and upon her chest, the school's emblem shone like a crest of sovereignty.

However, it was her raven-like ebon tresses that bore the greatest testimony to her meticulous nature. Each silken strand was curled to absolute perfection, cascading in deliberate midnight waves that framed her face, untouched by the fickle breeze that dared not disturb the sanctity of her perfection. Where the others flaunt the marks of disarray and fray, she was unmarred — a sculpture of grace amid a storm of discord.

Around her, upon this vast, muddled rooftop, the brutish lot engaged in their crude rituals as their voices rough with authority echoed within and beyond, hands calloused by violence, tempers honed to edge like a whetted blade — and yet, Jihye remained still, as though she were an observer, a spectator to a play she had long since grown weary of. She was both part of this world and apart from it, a tethered bird that had long since ceased struggling against its opulence embellished cage.

Ensconced near the rooftop's farthest corner, Jihye remained untouched by the mayhem before her, like an island of composure amidst a sea of anarchy. Her posture abide perfectly against the ligneous backrest of the chair, her svelte hands resting idly in her lap as her gaze settled elsewhere, hazel toned orbs lingering on a figure just beyond the fray, deliberately averted from the chaos unfolding before her.

𝐏𝐇𝐈 𝐇𝐀𝐍𝐖𝐎𝐎𝐋 slumped back with effortless dominance atop a makeshift throne — a precarious stack of discarded tables and chairs with their wooden surfaces chipped and covered in faint graffiti, haphazard yet undeniably his.

His back was turned to her, broad and unmoving, as if the world behind him did not exist. In the midst of turmoil, he alone seemed unscathed by it all — calm, resolute, and frustratingly distant. Jihye watched in absolute silence, her gaze tracing the lines of his silhouette against the celestial sunshine, searching for something she refused to name.

Just to the side of the cluttered hoard, 𝐌𝐀 𝐌𝐈𝐍𝐇𝐖𝐀𝐍 perched lazily on the edge of a bench, his posture naturally sangfroid, although imbued with a quiet menace. His leg was crossed over the other, the casual flair in his stance a sharp contrast to the tension of the moment. He spun a gun bedecked with lurid stickers between the pads of his fingers with a fluid grace, each turn of the barrel an ominous reminder of the power he possessed, as the clicking sound of the gun's metal against his skin rhythmically punctuated the thick silence around him.

Minhwan's sharp, impish glare flicked toward the entrance just as three tough figures, Kim Sunchul, Lee Daechul and Park Minchul, who had arrived moments earlier had pushed Hyunwoo harshly to the ground. The sound of his body hitting the cold, unforgiving concrete reverberated across the rooftop — but Minhwan didn't flinch. Instead, he leaned back, a faint smicker playing at the corner of his lips, watching as the fracas unfolded before him.

𝐋𝐄𝐄 𝐇𝐘𝐔𝐍𝐖𝐎𝐎's pallid skin prickled with minuscule goosebumps, an unnerving chill crawling down his spine as he fought to keep his behold firmly rooted to the ground. Every instinct screamed at him to look up, to face the inevitable, but fear kept his eyes locked in place, unwilling to meet the figure who loomed above him. As the heavy silence stretched on, the ether grew heavy with an unspoken enmity.

With the slow, measured grace of someone accustomed to power, Hanwool turned, his face blocking the full force of the sun's rays, its golden light swallowed by his presence, casting his silhouette into an unforgiving shadow.

What little could be seen was eerily expressionless, his sharp features against the canvas of his visage devoid of warmth, crepuscular orbs unreadable, as the plush of his lips set in a line neither cruel nor kind.

The strands of his hair bore the clash of shadow and ember, a deep midnight abyss streaked through with unruly veins of gold. Each strand effortlessly tousled, yet pedantically styled, fell in disheveled layers, the longer pieces sweeping just past his tapered brows, casting fleeting contours over his intense, enigmatic leer, whilst settling in a way that framed his chiseled features.

He stood tall atop the precarious makeshift throne of desks, each movement deliberate, as if the unstable foundation beneath him dared not falter beneath his weight, like the world beneath him instinctively bent to his will.

His hands were buried deep into the pockets of his sprucely steamed khaki pants, his posture relaxed despite being charged with an unmistakable authority, exuding a deceptive ease.

And yet, beneath that stillness lurked something heavier, something unspoken, something suffocating. The stark contrast between his composure and the tension crackling through the ambience made him all the more terrifying. As the light shifted, his silhouette sharpened, more imposing, stretching long and dark across the rooftop, a silent specter towering over the chaos below.

Aggravated by the scene unfolding before her, odium twisting within her chest, Jihye exhaled sharply, smothering it just as quickly as she pressed a hand to her forehead as if to shield herself — not just from the tumult, but from the weight of it all.

The muffled sounds of the furore, the cycle she had long grown tired of, dulled against her senses as she forced herself to detach, to let it become nothing more than distant noise.

But then, movement flickered at the edge of her vision, pulling against her attention. A lone figure stood atop the neighboring rooftop, tall and unmoving, his gaze razor-sharp as he watched the spectacle unfold upon the rooftop she resided on. Something about his presence sent a ripple through the air, a sudden chill nipping at her skin.

Though his bearing was silent, it felt intrusive, heavy, almost as if his scrutiny was piercing like it was stripping the moment down to its bare bones, a judgment cast from above.

Her breath hitched. A sudden, inexplicable unease coiled in her stomach, and before she could linger on the feeling, she tore her gaze away, willing herself to forget she had ever seen him.

"This is interesting." The tenacity in the mien ran tautly as Hanwool tread down from his ad hoc throne, a veritable position of dominance he had claimed for himself amid the overturned desks and scattered debris. His sneakers barely made a sound as they hit the floor, the quiet thud of his soles against the concrete resonating like a death knell. Every inch of his approach seemed to draw the space around him tighter, the serrate crackling silence trailing his descent, as though the very atmosphere bowed to his presence.

With an almost preternatural grace, his physique, looming and lithe, bent down towards Hyunwoo, who knelt helplessly, eyes gaped with both fear and defiance.

As Phi Hanwool crouched down, his vehement gaze gravitated onto the trembling Lee's wide, frantic globes, the two of them now face-to-face in a volatile clash of hierarchy. He leaned in close, lowering his face to meet Hyunwoo's, while the world seemed to hold its breath in the moments that followed.

His fingers, cold and unyielding, reached out and grasped Hyunwoo's jaw with a sickening force, tilting his face upward, forcing him to meet his own as if to strip away whatever remnants of dignity the latter might have been clinging to.

"Well, isn't this, unfortunate. For you." Hanwool's voice was smooth and clear, each syllable calculated, dragging out the words like a deliberate stab, dripping with venom. The words were not just a statement but a verdict, one that would hang heavily in the breeze like a death sentence. With his fingers still gripping Hyunwoo's contused face, Hanwool leaned closer, his eyes narrowing in a dangerous, almost predatory manner. The flush of his lips curled into a slight, satirical smile, a gesture that held no sympathy, but the bitter chill of superiority.

"Do you even deserve rank 4, after that shit show?" He continued, his lilting tone lowering, each word cutting deeper than the last. He could feel Hyunwoo's breath shallow against his palm, his trembling lips parting in an attempt to speak, trying to form some kind of defense, but none came. Hanwool could see it in his blenching eyes, the tremors of fear coursing through him as his voice was lost to the weight of Hanwool's disdain, the realization that he was utterly powerless now.

Phi Hanwool's clench on the tenuous boy's jaw hardened, his fingers digging deep into his already bruised flesh, wrenching his face upward as if he were a puppet. "You should've stayed down the second time," Hanwool's words slithered from his lips, each enunciation laced and dripping with mockery. "At least then, you could've pretended you had some dignity left." His eyes burned with scorn, and his voice, smooth like silk yet suffused with an icy finality, left no room for argument as his calloused palm slid down towards the nape of his neck, patting it rigorously.

With each strike to the nape of Hyunwoo's neck, the blows grew harsher, each one landing with a sickening thud that reverberated throughout the entirety of his body. His muscles spasmed without control, and his knees buckled under the relentless force. And with one final, punishing smack, he collapsed to the ground, his breath shallow and uneven, like a marionette whose strings had snapped.

He released his grip on Lee Hyunwoo with prepense slowness, watching with almost cruel fascination as the boy sank further into himself. Hanwool turned away, but not without one final glance, a flicker of something dangerous lurking behind his cunning eyes, a quiet promise that this was far from over.

"Fuck this." The muffled crude words slipped from Ahn Jihye's lips, barely cutting through the seething fraught that loitered in the ether. With a swift motion, she pushed herself up from the frayed chair, the metal legs scraping against the rough concrete with a grating screech. Without so much as a backward glance at the chaos she was leaving behind, she didn't once hesitate, her movements decisive, shoulders squared as she strode toward the rusted rooftop door.

The moment her hand met the cold metal, she shoved it open, the hinges groaning in protest before seconds of the door slamming shut behind her. The rooftop's oppressive atmosphere faded into the subfusc whir of the stairwell, but her pulse still thrummed in her eardrums, a steadfast reminder of where she had just been.

Her polished shoes struck the steps in a steady cadence, each footfall echoing like a solemn refrain against the cold, unyielding stone. The air grew less stifling with each level she passed, yet the specter of the rooftop's suffocating pall still clung to her, a mirage weight pressing against her ribs. By the time she reached her year group's floor, the gripe on her chest had slackened loosely, yet it remained, a ghostly whisper lingering beneath her skin, a quiet reminder that some burdens are not so easily cast aside.

As Jihye strode down the arid corridor, the distant chatter of students barely registeried in her mind, lost beneath the turbulence of her overwhelming thoughts. The palatine of her head churned, tangled in the remnants of the smothering milieu, the weight of power she never sought for pressing against her shoulders with every footstep. She exhaled sharply, restless with unspent frustration, willing herself to shake off the feeling.

Then — her plodding steps slowed, before suddenly coming to an abrupt halt.

Her gaze flickered to the notice board lining the ivory, gravelly wall, its usual clutter of announcements and half-torn flyers blending into the background — except for one. A single poster meticulously placed amidst the disorder, made with much careful deliberation as it was taped neatly among the chaos, capturing her behold.

Study Group.

The words were bold, defiant in their simplicity. It shouldn't have meant anything to her. And yet, she lingered, her eyes tethered, tracing the valorous crisp ink scrawled across it, each letter carved into the paper with an unsettling purpose. Her fingers twitched at her side, an unconscious impulse, as if drawn to the poster against her will. It was absurd, the way something so ordinary could command her attentiveness, yet the longer she stared, the heavier the quietude around her became.

For a reason she couldn't quite name, she didn't look away.

She tilted her head slightly, her gaze momentarily detached, as if the world around her had blurred into insignificance. Her eyes, usually sharp and calculating, now softened, vacant with a quiet fascination that even she didn't fully understand. Jihye's honed peer drifted across the poster, briefly scanning the print writing beneath, until they paused.

Her blank stare fixated on a singular name at the bottom of the page, the letters etched in vivid ink, simple, unassuming, yet undeniably compelling. She didn't understand why, but something about it seemed to pull at her, a thread she hadn't noticed until now. The feeling was faint, almost imperceptible, but it was there. And for a moment, the weight of everything else seemed to fade away.

"Yoon Gamin." The name slipped from Jihye's lips, barely a