Seung Jee left school in a daze after the confrontation with Taek Il. As he walked home, questions gnawed at him. What if he had never stuttered? Would they have left him alone? Would he have had more friends… more chances?

Would Eun Shin have spoken to him?

The thoughts followed him all the way up the stairs of his apartment building. By the time he reached the rooftop, they’d woven into something heavier—something close to longing.

A woman was waiting for him.

She greeted him with a gentle pat on the arm and a soft smile.

“Seung Jee.”

He turned and smiled, already calmer.

“Omma,” he said, bowing politely as he took her hand.

She nodded, pulling him into a warm hug.

“How was school today?”

A blush crept up his neck. He sat at the rooftop table, and Kim Soo followed, settling beside him. Her smile hinted that she already knew. Mothers always did.

“I think I made a friend,” he said quietly. “She’s… kind. Brave.”

Kim Soo exhaled a quiet breath of relief and leaned her head gently on his shoulder.

“That’s wonderful to hear. You’ve grown so much, my boy. And your stutter—it’s easing.”

He smiled faintly, wondering if it was true. Had his knots loosened? Was it her—Eun Shin—who was softening the edges of his anxiety, simply by being kind?

“She’s really something,” he murmured. “One day, I want to introduce her to you.”

Kim Soo reached out and caressed his cheek with slow affection. Her eyes glimmered as she looked at him—not just as her son, but as someone fragile and full of light.

“If only the world saw you the way I do.”

Seung Jee looked toward the sky, but it wasn’t the sun he saw—it was her.

Eun Shin.

A quiet brightness blooming behind his ribs.

The rooftop scene expanded outward like a held breath, revealing the city’s sprawl. But just beyond the edge of their peace, at the rooftop stairs, a woman stood watching.

She wore a wide-brimmed black hat and dark sunglasses—shields against recognition more than sunlight. Her jewelry, elegant but restrained, glinted with purpose.

She remained hidden, listening. Unseen.

And when she heard the boy’s final words, she turned—

… and disappeared down the stairs without a sound.

Days passed. The city pulsed forward with indifference, but some hearts refused to move on.

Eun Shin and Seung Jee were spending more time together… too much, in Jae Vin’s eyes. He’d waited, simmered, watched from the shadows. But patience was not his virtue. He was done waiting. He was ready to settle the score.

While Jae Vin stewed, elsewhere on campus, Seung Jee found himself mustering a courage he rarely touched. They were walking side by side when he finally turned to her, nerves tight in his chest.

She met his gaze, curious.

“Yes?”

He smiled, but it wavered.

“Eun Shin… I know this might be awkward, but…” He hesitated. Her expression softened, giving him space.

“…why do you stay with him? With Jae Vin. When you don’t even seem happy?”

The question, simple, quiet, landed like a thunderclap.

Her breath caught. No one had asked her that, not like this. Only her father and Seok Jun had ever seen through the cracks. Her fingers twitched, and she laughed—too quickly, too brittle.

“Do I look unhappy?” she asked, her voice too light.

Seung Jee didn’t look away. His eyes held hers, filled not with judgment but with something steadier.

“You do. You look like you’re hurting. And that kind of hurt doesn’t come from happiness.”

Eun Shin flinched, just slightly. She pulled her sleeves over her hands, a shield against the rawness he’d touched.

“I’m… fine,” she said, the words thin and fragile.

He didn’t challenge her. He simply nodded, accepting, not believing. Some wounds weren’t ready for daylight.

He stood and reached out his hand to her.

She stared at it. Then at him.

And the fake smile crumbled. A real one bloomed in its place—tired, but true. She took his hand.

“Just let me know if it’s ever too much,” he said softly.

She didn’t trust many people. But right then, she trusted him.

He pulled her to her feet and picked up both of their backpacks. As they walked, she watched him carry the weight of her world without asking why. It made her heart ache in the most unfamiliar way.

“Seung Jee,” she said suddenly, “can I call you Seung-oppa?”

He froze mid-step. The word oppa bloomed in his mind like a firework, short-circuiting his thoughts.

His ears flushed red. He turned to her, stunned.

“S-Seung… oppa?” he echoed.

She nodded, eyes twinkling.

“I used to call Seok Jun ‘Jun-oppa.’ He’s like an older brother. But you… you’re special too. You’ve become… a close friend. So—can I?”

He was trembling now, completely undone by her warmth. He stammered, eyes darting everywhere but her face.

“If… if you want to,” he managed to say.

Eun Shin laughed, delighted by his shyness.

“Okay then—Seung-oppa!” she chirped, skipping ahead.

Seung Jee stood frozen, the sound of her voice wrapping around his name like a ribbon. It was more than affection—it was acceptance.

He blinked, dazed. She was already at the building steps, turning back to wave.

“Seung-oppa!” she called again.

He jolted to life and ran to catch up.

They disappeared into the school together, their silhouettes close, their laughter soft.

Meanwhile, at the school gates, Jae Vin stood watching. His expression darkened.

“Oppa, huh?” he muttered under his breath.

His fists clenched slowly. The jealousy in his chest twisted, hot and bitter.

Then, without another word, he turned and walked away.

But he wasn’t letting go.

Once class ended, Seung Jee and Eun Shin walked out of the school gate together. After their usual stop at the convenience store, she waved him goodbye. He smiled softly, giving a small nod before turning in the opposite direction.

The streets were calm. Golden afternoon light filtered through the buildings, casting shadows over cracked pavement.

Then, as he passed an alley, movement caught his eye.

Three figures stepped out.

Teenage boys—each in a different school uniform. One of them was unmistakably Taek Il. The other two wore the crisp, tailored jackets of the elite all-boys’ academy Seung Jee had once attended.

He recognized the uniforms before the faces.

His breath didn’t hitch—yet. But his fingers slowly curled into fists at his sides.

He had tried to bury that world. Not return to it. Not even think of it.

“Hey, transfer student,” Taek Il sneered, walking toward him like they were old friends. “Miss your real classmates? Because they sure missed you.”

The boys flanked him like wolves. One was taller, lean with sharp eyes and a half-smile that never reached them. The other was broad, his steps heavy with menace.

“Still pretending you’re the victim?” the sharp-eyed one asked. “Think you can blow things up and just vanish?”

He cracked his knuckles.

“My father lectured me for two hours thanks to your pathetic sob story.”

Seung Jee froze.

The scent of engine oil. Dust. Cigarette smoke from a distance. Everything else muted.

His legs refused to move. His mind blanked. One wrong breath and the panic might spiral.

This was the world he had fled.

No teachers. No witnesses. No cameras. Just alley walls and old ghosts.

Don’t react. Don’t show weakness. Don’t breathe.

But it was too late.

Taek Il stepped forward and spat at the ground near Seung Jee’s feet.

“Still so quiet. You never defended yourself, you know. You just let shit happen. Like a coward.”

The tall one laughed.

“He thinks being pathetic makes people feel bad for him. Guess what—it doesn’t. It pisses us off.”

A pause.

Then, sharp and sudden—

A scream.

It ripped out of Seung Jee’s throat without warning. Raw. Uncontrolled.

Pain exploded across his ribs, forcing him to collapse against the brick wall. A foot. A punch. He couldn’t tell.

The world spun.

A shoe slammed into his shin.

Another hit his stomach.

He curled in on himself. Tried to block. Tried to breathe.

Their laughter was louder than the pain.

“Still the same piece of shit.”

“Should’ve kept your mouth shut.”

“You ruined my reputation.”

“Your mother cried to the school board, didn’t she?”

Seung Jee’s head slammed back against the wall. Lights burst behind his eyes. His vision blurred.

Somewhere in the storm of fists and shoes, he felt shame more than pain.

Shame for not running.

Shame for existing.

And a worse shame for once thinking these were people he had admired.

He tried to speak, but blood filled his mouth. He coughed, choking on it.

A voice—Taek Il’s—rang too close to his ear.

“You’re nothing without us.”

Then the storm stopped.

Footsteps retreated, fading like the rain after a summer squall.

A final shove.

And then silence.

Seung Jee lay there, barely conscious, chest rising in uneven gasps.

From his pocket, something buzzed faintly. His phone.

But he didn’t reach for it.

He just stared at the empty sky above the alleyway, blinking away tears that wouldn’t fall.

LATER

Seung Jee stumbled through the front door, his breath uneven, one eye nearly swollen shut. Purple bruises painted his face like cruel fingerprints.

Kim Soo gasped and dropped the bowl of vegetables she had been washing. The porcelain shattered across the floor, but she barely heard it.

“Seung Jee…” she whispered, rushing toward him. Her hands flew to his face, cupping his cheeks. “What happened to you?”

“I-I’m fine,” he said quickly, flinching at her touch. He pulled away, his shoulders hunched, and bolted into his room before she could stop him.

She stood there, frozen. Then, as the reality hit her, her knees gave out. She collapsed to the ground, shards of porcelain cutting into her palms. Sobs ripped through her throat.

He had come home with scrapes before—minor cuts, the rough-and-tumble of youth. But this—this wasn’t an accident. This was a beating. This was a message.

And she hadn’t been there to stop it.

A woman in dark sunglasses watched from a car parked across the street.

The tinted glass reflected the house, but she saw clearly enough: the broken mother on her knees, the door left ajar in the boy’s frantic escape.

She stepped out of the car. A man in a black suit followed her closely.

Her lips pressed into a line, thin with restrained emotion.

“Find out who did this to him,” she said. Her voice wasn’t loud, but it was ice-edged and lethal.

The bodyguard bowed and disappeared without a word.

She didn’t move.

She didn’t cry.

But her hands trembled.

Each cry from the woman inside felt like a stone hurled at her chest. Each sob reminded her of the boy she hadn’t held, the child she hadn’t protected.

Because she had failed him once.

And this time, someone would pay.

NEXT DAY

Eun Shin stood by the school gate, scanning every passing face.

But Seung Jee didn’t come.

A sleek black car rolled up beside her. She didn’t notice it at first—too focused on searching the crowd. The window lowered. Jae Vin peered out, watching her.

He smirked and stepped out casually.

“Hey, babe. Long time no see,” he said smoothly.

Eun Shin turned without a smile.

“Thanks for giving me space,” she said coolly, glancing away, still scanning the gate.

Jae Vin tilted his head, following her gaze.

“Who are you waiting for?” he asked, his tone edged with mock curiosity.

She sighed, trying to keep her calm. “Seung Jee. He said he’d show me some of his old school photos today.”

Jae Vin chuckled under his breath, the smirk never leaving his lips.

“I see… Well, I’ll see you in class,” he said, and walked off, far too easily. No possessiveness. No interruption. No questions.

Eun Shin frowned. That wasn’t like him. Jae Vin never walked away without a scene. Today, he was… compliant. Relaxed. Like he had nothing to fear.

Something was off.

A moment later, Seung Jee appeared at the far end of the walkway, hunched and trying to slip past unnoticed.

But Eun Shin recognized his backpack instantly.

“Seung-oppa!” she called, rushing to him and grabbing the strap before he could escape.

He froze.

And when he turned, her breath caught.

His face was battered. Swollen. Discolored. His eyes avoided hers as shame spread across his features.

“I-I…” he began, but no words came.

Eun Shin’s heart broke in an instant. Then it hardened. She blinked back the sting in her eyes, jaw clenched tight.

She said nothing.

She just turned and walked away—fast.

Jae Vin didn’t make it to class. He was in the gym, his arm slung around a girl whose laugh echoed off the walls.

“Someone might see us,” the girl giggled, playful and coy.

“So what?” Jae Vin smirked, leaning in.

“What about Eun Shin?” she asked, half-teasing.

He scoffed.

“Don’t talk about her. She’s probably off with some loser, anyway. She’s old news.”

He pulled her closer.

“I’d rather be with someone who actually listens.”

Their lips nearly touched.

A cough—sharp and deliberate—cut through the room like a blade.

They froze.

“Eun Shin?!” the girl squealed, pulling back in horror.

Eun Shin stood in the doorway, perfectly calm.

She glanced at the girl, then at Jae Vin.

“You had him beaten,” Eun Shin said evenly. “And this is what you were busy doing?”

Jae Vin’s face went pale. He shoved the girl aside in panic.

“Ow!”

“Eun Shin, wait—it’s not—”

“Save it,” she snapped. “I’m done pretending you’re someone you’re not.”

By now, students had started gathering. Whispers. Gasps. Phones raised.

The golden couple, publicly unraveling.

Eun Shin turned slightly, addressing him with measured grace.

“Let’s end this. Finally.”

She stepped closer, her voice sharp but steady.

“I hate being around you when you act like a child. And now, I’ve got a real reason to walk away.”

Then she turned and walked off, leaving him stunned in front of the entire gym.

Jae Vin’s mouth opened, but no words came.

“E-Eun Shin—!” he choked, reaching out instinctively.

But she didn’t turn back.

The students stared, silent.

“What the hell are you all looking at?!” he shouted, rage bubbling over. “Fuck off!”

The crowd scattered.

Even the girl he’d nearly kissed ran.

And then… he was alone.

Alone—with his shame.

Alone—with failure crawling up his spine like ice.

He clenched his fists.

If Eun Shin was slipping through his fingers, what would his mother say?

He knew what failure meant. He’d seen it in her eyes before.

With a scream, he turned and kicked the nearest metal bleacher. The pain shot up his leg, jolting him, but it wasn’t enough.

Not nearly enough to dull the fury burning in his chest.