Chapter Text
༊·˚ Chapter 1
February 12, 2035
Monday
₍ᐢ. .ᐢ₎ ₊˚⊹♡
٩(ˊᗜˋ*)و ♡
The morning sky was different today; it was more colorful and less dreadful than usual, at least to her. The skies’ hues were merging like translucent pictures gradually blurring and overlapping, creating an almost purple-ish shade with shifting clouds. In her eyes, it felt like staring at a night sky crowded with pulsing stars—both bewitching and a spectacle.
Oddly enough, there was no sunlight despite the early hour. However, in Seoul, February was still winter. Despite the cold weather, it almost felt like something pleasant was going to occur today—on a Monday of all days.
The sound of a car door snapping shut jolted Ji-yeon out of her introspective thoughts. She flinched and glanced out the window, seeing her younger sister walking off into the middle school campus by herself, carrying a water bottle in her hand. Ji-yeon almost forgot what time of day it was and the known fact she had to go to school. Internally, she wailed. Today, she had an exam for her English II class, and she hadn’t studied the material her professor offered.
She could already kiss the ‘something pleasant’ feeling goodbye since the morning—the start of the day—was going to be horrific.
At least her father had spared time to actually take them to school. The drive had been generally quiet, with the occasional conversation between the youngest and her father, Mr. Moon. Ji-yeon, on the other hand, hadn’t spoken a word to her old man. Only did she when she was trying to locate her lunchbox. Funny enough, Mr. Moon had only answered with a “I don’t know”.
Ji-yeon shifted on the seat, feeling the car begin to drive away from the middle school. The destination was clear: to her high school, unfortunately. She was holding her lunchbox tightly on her lap, fear of losing it once more. It felt like the lunchbox wanted to run away from her with how much she lost it and it solely.
The drive was quiet as they neared the prestigious high school—Gyeongha Girls’ & Boys’ High School. Her heavy sigh, heard by Mr. Moon, broke the eerie silence, evoking a conversation from her father.
“Are your grades still as excellent as the last time I saw them?” Mr. Moon inquired, as cold and empathetic as an ice cube.
Ji-yeon peered out the window, avoiding her father’s gaze intentionally. She scoffed before replying, like words directed at him were too much of an effort to make. “Yes. You can check them for yourself if you don’t believe me.”
Mr. Moon didn’t reply right away, and the silence that followed her words wasn’t surprising. If anything, it was predictable. Ji-yeon didn’t expect praise, much less from her old man. Instead, he muttered something incoherent under his breath, perhaps a grunt or a quiet approval. Either way, she didn’t care to elucidate. That man was like a closed book with burnt pages. Any attempt to read him would result in soot covering your hands.
She rested her cheek against the cool glass of the car window, watching Seoul pass by in a winter blur: towering apartment buildings dressed in white, students hurrying across sidewalks, elderly women sweeping storefronts, and the occasional flash of crimson or cream coats breaking the monotony. Despite the season, the city was still alive, bustling even in the early hours.
The heater was on, but her fingers felt cold.
“Do you still want to study cosmetics?” Mr. Moon asked abruptly. It almost felt like the question had been weighing on him for a while. Yet it wasn’t out of curiosity but to bait her.
Her eyes flickered toward him with an almost sneer. “It’s not a want. It’s a decision.”
There was a slight pause. Mr. Moon gave a dry, dismissive laugh. “Cosmetics won’t feed you in this world, Ji-yeon. Not unless you’re at the very top.”
“I plan to be,” she said promptly and simply without hesitation. He said nothing else. Typical. Ji-yeon couldn’t tell if it was out of a sense of pride from her firm stance or irritation at her brazenness and ambition.
When the car finally rolled into the Geyongha High School parking lot, Ji-yeon felt her stomach coil with dread. Purely because of the exam. What if she failed it? Her parents would certainly be upset. But even worse, she would be upset with herself. She couldn’t handle a poor grade.
“Thanks for the ride,” she said out of courtesy, already reaching the door handle.
“Ji-yeon.”
Ji-yeon froze, her fingers still resting on the silver latch. She didn’t spare a glance. “What.”
Mr. Moon didn’t spare a glance either. However, his voice audibly warmed like a cold room slowly heating up by a fireplace. “Have a nice day at school,” he said curtly.
Ji-yeon didn’t respond. She stepped out of the car without slamming the door but without much care either, a mix between the two. Rude and polite, weirdly. The metallic click echoed faintly. The soft clunk of her chunky leather boots followed as she began her walk toward the front entrance of Gyeongha High School. Her blazer felt tighter than usual, her scarf scratchier despite the ultimately soft material, and her steps a little heavier.
Yet even with that heaviness, Ji-yeon walked with the slow, deliberate grace of someone who owned the world around her. Or at least this small kingdom of teenage prestige and private school politics.
The gates of Gyeongha Girls’ & Boys’ High School stood tall and dignified—ornate black iron laced with curling gold filigree. Beyond them, the campus looked like something out of a winter dream: modern gray-stone buildings dusted with frost, tall hedges trimmed with military precision, and banners fluttering lightly in the wind. Gyeongha didn’t just look expensive—it radiated wealth. And Ji-yeon fit perfectly in the center of it all.
She was a queen here. Everyone knew it.
Even now, her entrance caused ripples.
A group of juniors near the gate glanced over the moment they spotted her. Whispers followed, hushed but unmistakable:
“Is that Ji-yeon sunbae?”
“She’s so pretty—look at her hair.”
“Her bag is from Maison Élise. That’s like... over a thousand dollars.”
Her navy wool coat fluttered slightly behind her as she walked. She adjusted her scarf with a flick of her gloved fingers, her glossed lips forming a faint smirk. Her long black hair was sleek and untouched by the wind, cascading down her back like ink on silk. And hanging from her shoulder was a creamy-white handbag with gold hardware that shimmered subtly under the overcast sky
Then came her girls.
“Unnie!” a voice called from across the courtyard.
Ye-seul, polished and dyed blonde, half-jogged over in heeled Mary Janes. Her cheeks were flushed from the cold, and she held a large cup of strawberry latte in her mittened hands. Her coat was a shade lighter than Ji-yeon’s but designer nonetheless. Behind her trailed Seul-bi, bubbly and stylish, with glossy pink lipstick and pearl earrings. Her most obvious trait was her strawberry pink hair, which she dyed during middle school. Then there was Ye-bin, the nosy, arrogant one with straight black bangs and a smoky eyeliner sharp enough to kill.
“Late again,” Ye-bin teased, tossing her hair back. “You were supposed to meet us near the vending machines.”
Ji-yeon rolled her eyes but smiled nonetheless. “Tell that to my father. He wanted to play ‘How to Annoy Your Daughter Slowly’ on the drive here.”
Ye-seul gasped, covering her mouth. “Oh no, did he go silent on you again?”
“He spoke. Unfortunately,” Ji-yeon replied dryly. “Asked about my grades. Then cosmetics. Then reminded me I’m not Beyoncé.”
“Disgusting,” Ye-bin muttered with a mock glare. “You're literally the smartest person in the school. He should be bowing to you.”
“Tell him that,” Ji-yeon said, shaking her head. “Anyway. English exam. I didn’t study.”
Ye-seul looped her arm with hers. “Then manifest. You’ve done it before.”
“That’s not how English works.”
“It is if you’re Ji-yeon,” Seul-bi interjected with a shrug, already pulling out her blossom pink lip tint with a charming grin.
As the four of them walked toward the main building, students stepped aside instinctively. It wasn’t fear, exactly. More like reverence. Admiration. Maybe envy. Ji-yeon was everything most of them weren’t: beautiful, powerful, wealthy, and entirely aware of it.
The girls didn’t just walk through Gyeongha—they owned it. Like royalty surveying their courtyard, they moved in perfect sync: matching strides, flipping their hair, giggling behind cupped hands as if the world was their stage and the other students were simply background props.
“Look at them,” Ye-bin murmured, eyeing a group of boys leaning against the library windows. “Desperate little pigeons.”
“More like budget calculators,” Ye-seul muttered, narrowing her eyes at one of them. “You can see the math equations swirling in their heads.”
Ji-yeon smirked. “They all look like they’d fall in love with me faster than they could pass a spelling test.”
“Facts,” Ye-seul chirped. “I swear, one of them tripped last week just because I said ‘hi’.”
“That’s tragic!” Seul-bi exclaimed.
Ye-bin sighed heavily like she was disappointed with the men nowadays. “They’re all so... academically loyal. Like puppies with textbooks.”
“I like a guy with a big heart and high standards,” Seul-bi said, twirling her hair dreamily and thoughtfully. “Someone who doesn’t immediately hand me his heart just because I looked in his direction.”
Ji-yeon hummed. “Someone who looks at you... not up at you.”
“Exactly,” Ye-bin said. “The last guy who tried flirting with me was wearing socks with cartoon ducks.”
“I’d block him in real life,” Ji-yeon said flatly.
That made them all laugh—high, refined laughter that echoed across the hallway like the clinking of champagne glasses. As they passed the second-year boys' lockers, a few brave souls tried to steal glances. One even managed a feeble, nervous wave. Ye-seul waved back with a grin that could’ve made a weaker boy faint on sight.
“Do they even try anymore?” Ye-bin muttered under her breath.
“Nope,” Ji-yeon said. “And they shouldn’t.”
They reached the language wing just as the warning bell rang again, vibrating softly through the air. The four girls slowed their steps in the hallway, their movements dripping with disinterest—like queens far too important to be rushed by something as mundane as time.
“Here we are,” Ye-seul said sweetly, gesturing to Ji-yeon’s classroom like she was presenting a throne.
“Do well!” Seul-bi added, adjusting Ji-yeon’s scarf like a stylist preparing her for the runway.
“Or at least don’t fail,” Ye-bin said, blowing her a kiss. “Because if you do, I’ll pretend I’ve never met you.”
Ji-yeon rolled her eyes again, but the grin tugging at her lips betrayed her amusement. “You’d cry if I stopped showing up to lunch.”
Ye-bin winked. “I’d cry because the table would look uglier without you.”
Ji-yeon didn’t respond since she didn’t need to. That was far more obvious than anything she’d ever seen. She turned toward the door, hand on the handle, but paused. Today still felt odd, like something would happen, but she couldn’t determine what. She shook off the thought and entered the classroom. Immediately, all eyes were on her. Even the pigeon outside the classroom’s windows couldn’t help but stare.
She smiled and trailed to her seat like a queen to her fancy throne. She sat down with the grace of a ballerina, purposely ignoring the stares she received. It almost felt like she was playing hard to get naturally.
She pulled out her mechanical pencil and flipped open her pastel pink binder, the pages lined with sparkly tabs and color-coded notes. Her signature floral perfume drifted faintly in the air, light and deliberate, like a trademark. Ji-yeon didn’t have to speak to command attention. She simply existed in a way that made the room bend slightly around her.
Behind her, the hum of low chatter resumed, but it was tinged with nervous energy. She knew why.
Her presence meant the temperature of the class shifted. Boys sat straighter. Girls eyed her outfit for ideas. The hierarchy in the room reestablished itself the moment she walked in.
But Ji-yeon wasn’t interested in any of them. Not today at least. She rested her chin lightly in her hand and lazily skimmed through a few vocabulary flashcards she hadn’t even looked at over the weekend. They weren’t ugly words. She just hadn’t been in the mood.
She let her gaze trail over the teacher’s form. Funny enough, here at Gyeongha, the teachers were more attractive than the students. At the very least, some selective few had appealing physical appearances, such as the young athletes or the seniors.
There was only one thought in her head when she saw her English teacher: “Why can’t I have a boyfriend like that?”
She tilted her head slightly as she watched the teacher scribble something on the whiteboard, his sleeves rolled up just enough to reveal a leather watch and toned forearms. His hair was styled neatly, but not too neatly—messy enough to suggest he didn’t care too much about appearances, which only added to the allure.
He was tall, sharp-featured, and spoke with a smooth, even tone. His name was Mr. Yoon, but everyone referred to him as “Professor” because it felt more dramatic. He was in his late twenties, rumored to have studied literature in London, and every time he quoted poetry aloud, half the class stared at him with stars in their eyes.
Ji-yeon leaned her cheek against her palm with a soft sigh. “Too bad no boy here impresses me the same.” She had almost forgotten the fact that same teacher had given them an exam on Monday, two days before Valentine’s Day.
She leaned back in her chair, exhaling quietly through her nose as she flicked through her notes again—not really reading them, just admiring her own handwriting and the glittery pen she’d used to underline key phrases. It was impressive, honestly, how even her notes looked expensive.
Valentine’s Day, she thought with a dramatic internal sigh. The national holiday of cheap chocolate and desperate confessions.
At Gyeongha, Valentine’s Day wasn’t cute. It was dramatic. Over-the-top. Designer chocolates in silk-wrapped boxes. Love letters sprayed with perfume and carefully written with fountain pens. Some students even hired florists to deliver bouquets during class. Others, mainly boys trying to climb the social ladder, resorted to handmade cards and convenience store candy. Ji-yeon usually received so much she didn’t bother taking half of it home.
But this year? She already knew it would be boring. There wasn’t a single boy in school who stood a chance with her. Not even close.
Especially not the one seated in front of her who was currently chewing his pencil like a kindergartener in distress.
She side-eyed him, unimpressed.
The bell rang. Mr. Yoon clapped his hands once, efficiently. “Alright, class. English II midterm. As you all know, this counts for thirty percent of your grade, so I suggest you give it your full attention.” He passed stacks of papers down each row.
There were a few groans, one audible whisper of “kill me now,” and a dramatic head-thunk on the desk from the guy with the pencil problem. Ji-yeon didn’t flinch. Instead, she smoothed out her sleeves, accepted the paper with a dainty nod, and placed it perfectly aligned on her desk. Her mechanical pencil clicked softly as she prepped it like a weapon. Let’s get this over with.
The first page was a breeze: vocabulary, sentence structure, fill-in-the-blanks. Ji-yeon skimmed through with the calm, confident ease of someone who’d been absorbing English like osmosis through K-dramas and British skincare commercials since she was eight.
By the second page, she was humming faintly under her breath.
By the third, she had already forgotten she hadn’t studied.
Halfway through, she caught movement from her peripheral vision—a guy a few seats over was looking at her. Not subtly. Not discreetly. Just… looking. Like he couldn’t help it.
Ji-yeon glanced up slowly, one brow raised, and met his gaze directly.
He blushed. Hard. Then whipped his head back toward his paper like he’d been burned.
She almost laughed. So predictable. It was always the same—boys who stared, thinking they were subtle, then panicked the moment her eyes locked with theirs. She didn’t even have to try to make them sweat.
The rest of the exam was easy. Too easy. When she finished, she flipped her paper over with a small flourish and leaned back, crossing one leg over the other. She glanced at the clock. Ten minutes to spare, she thought to herself. Mr. Yoon was seated at his desk, flipping through something, probably grading or rereading poetry for fun. With casual confidence, Ji-yeon called out, “Sir? I’m finished.”
Mr. Yoon looked up, mildly surprised. He offered a professional nod and stood, his footsteps soundless against the polished floor as he made his way over. His crisp white shirt was buttoned to the collar, a silver pen clipped in his chest pocket. He didn’t speak right away, merely took her paper.
“Thank you, Ji-yeon,” he said in that low, deliberate tone that always made half the class straighten their backs or hold their breath. Ji-yeon tilted her head and smiled—polite, perfect. Just enough to make him wonder if it was genuine.
“You always finish quickly,” he added.
She let her fingers rest delicately under her chin. “It’s either that or pretend I didn’t already know the answers.”
Mr. Yoon gave a quiet, amused exhale. “Confidence looks good on you. Now rest your eyes. No phones.”
She nodded like a princess being granted a royal command and folded her arms neatly across her desk. Of course she wouldn’t take out her phone. She didn’t need to. Watching the rest of the class struggle was entertainment enough.
Around her, the scratching of pencils and soft flipping of pages resumed in waves. Some kids were sweating, some sighing, and a few clearly just guessing at this point. But Ji-yeon sat in silence, legs crossed, gaze slowly roaming the room like an empress judging her kingdom.
From her seat, she could see a girl two rows over subtly trying to copy answers from her seatmate, hunched awkwardly like a burglar in a boutique. Pathetic. Another boy across the room was chewing his eraser like it was candy. Ji-yeon wrinkled her nose slightly. Why were boys so... ungraceful?
Her eyes drifted lazily toward the window, where sunlight was just beginning to trickle through the clouds. It made her binder sparkle faintly. The sky was still tinted with a dreamy lavender, and the snow on the hedges shimmered with the softest glow. Maybe something nice really will happen this week, she thought idly. But if it does, it better come wrapped in Dior.
“Five minutes left,” Mr. Yoon called.
A collective groan floated through the room. In a few minutes, papers were being picked up by Mr. Yoon. And while he graded the exams at his desk, he eventually called out Ji-yeon’s name.
“Ji-yeon? Your test.” Mr. Yoon lingered his gaze on the test paper he was currently writing over then he peered up to Ji-yeon, who was seated near the back of the class. “Please come get it.”
Ji-yeon stood and made her way over to his desk, hips swaying to an indistinct beat only she could hear and feel. She picked up her paper with a smile and went back to her desk. She already had a winner’s smirk on her face, but when she processed the number on her paper, she nearly yelped.
A 70?!
She quietly gasped and quickly swayed her gaze around her surroundings, tilting her paper towards herself so no one could see. How did I get a 70 and not a 100?
Her manicured fingers gripped the paper tighter as her eyes scanned the circled red number again, in disbelief. A 70? Her? Moon Ji-yeon, goddess of pastel notes and effortless midterms? This must be a mistake, she thought, heart thudding once but unnecessarily hard and annoyingly.
She flipped through the pages, eyes darting over the marks Mr. Yoon had made. A few small red crosses. A missing transition word here. An idiomatic phrase slightly off there. A full deduction on the last short essay response. Ji-yeon held the paper much tighter than before, and she groaned under her breath. How could she get a seventy on an exam?! What would her father say? What would her eomeoni say?!
“They can’t find out,” she whispered, quickly stuffing the test paper into her backpack. She zipped her bag with a sharp flick of her wrist, as if sealing the entire disgrace inside and locking it with silent fury.
Her cheeks were burning—not from shame, but from indignation. A seventy was not just a low score. It was a dent. A crack in the marble statue of her reputation. Ji-yeon Moon didn’t get seventies. Seventies were for background characters. Extras. Civilians. Not her.
She sat perfectly still in her seat, legs crossed, chin lifted, as if nothing had happened. As if the world hadn’t just spat on her pride. From a distance, she still looked like a goddess in control. But in her mind, tiny sirens were screaming. Okay. Deep breath.
She glanced toward the front of the class. Mr. Yoon was back to scribbling in red pen, casual as ever, sipping a paper cup of coffee like he hadn’t just committed an academic crime against her. He didn’t even look remorseful. If anything, he seemed… peaceful.
The bell rang. Ji-yeon was on her feet before the sound had fully died, her bag slung over her shoulders, her steps already sharp and decisive. Outside, the hallway buzzed with chatter, the clatter of lockers and rushed footsteps filling the air. Her girls spotted her immediately near the lockers, crowd parting slightly as they approached.
Ye-bin took one look at her face and narrowed her eyes. “What happened?”
“Don’t tell me you failed,” Seul-bi said, wide-eyed and breathless.
Ye-seul gasped. “You didn’t, right? You wouldn’t.”
Ji-yeon raised one hand, perfectly calm. “I didn’t fail.” She paused. Then added, through clenched teeth and an impeccably practiced smile, “I just… didn’t do well.”
“Define ‘not well,’” Ye-bin said flatly, already suspicious.
“I got a seventy,” Ji-yeon muttered.
The other three froze as if she’d just confessed to a felony. “Excuse me?” Ye-seul whispered, clutching her chest like she was going to faint.
“A what?!” Ye-bin shrieked.
Ji-yeon averted her gaze. “You heard me! I’m not going to repeat it.”
The silence that followed was thick enough to slice with a nail file. Ji-yeon adjusted the strap of her bag with unnecessary force and started walking, heels clicking with more attitude than usual. Her girls exchanged glances, hesitant, but no one dared push further.
Seul-bi tugged gently at Ye-seul’s sleeve, mouthing “drop it”. Ye-bin looked like she wanted to argue, but even she knew better. There were very few moments when Moon Ji-yeon was visibly shaken, and this was one of them. Besides, they had P.E. next. And nothing was worse than having to exercise in polyester gym shorts while on a period. They followed her in silence down the hallway toward the locker rooms, the late-morning buzz of students spilling out from classrooms as periods shifted.
The moment they stepped into the girls’ locker room, the familiar blend of hairspray, lavender deodorant, and body mist hit them. Laughter and gossip bounced off the walls as girls changed, fixed their hair, and complained about cardio.
Ji-yeon opened her locker with a composed snap and began changing with the fluid elegance of someone who could make even an ugly gym uniform look like something off a K-drama set. Her girls did the same nearby, chatting quietly among themselves about irrelevant things—someone’s breakup, someone else’s new sneakers—careful not to loop her back into the conversation unless she rejoined on her own.
Once changed, Ji-yeon sat on the wooden bench, legs crossed again. Seul-bi peeked over from tying her shoelaces. “At least it’s volleyball today,” she said gently. “You like volleyball.”
“I like winning,” Ji-yeon replied without looking up. Her voice was calm again—back to her normal tone, but firmer, clipped.
“That too,” Ye-seul chimed in, trying to smooth the atmosphere. “And we’re on the same team, so we’re obviously not losing.”
Ye-bin rolled her eyes dramatically and pulled her gym hoodie over her head. “Unless we’re up against those second-year athletes again. The tall one spikes like we did something to her.”
“I’ll spike her back,” Ji-yeon said, standing up and brushing imaginary dust off her sleeves. “Let’s go.” Mostly everyone in the locker walked out to the court, except Ye-seul, who stayed behind to “clean up”. Ji-yeon brushed the locks of her black hair aside, fixing the bracelets in her hand absentmindedly.
The gymnasium buzzed with echoing voices and the screech of sneakers on polished floors. Sunlight filtered through the high windows, painting squares of gold on the wooden court. The volleyball net was already up, and the P.E. teacher, a former athlete turned whistle-happy tyrant, was organizing the teams with a clipboard and booming voice.
Ji-yeon walked out like she wasn’t walking into gym class, but onto a stage. Even in shapeless navy shorts and a white school T-shirt, she looked like she belonged on a billboard. Her expression was composed, blank in that “don’t talk to me unless you’re relevant” kind of way. No one dared greet her. They just made room.
Seul-bi jogged to her side immediately. “They split the teams. We’re with Ye-bin. The other side got So-min and the tall one.”
Ji-yeon’s jaw tightened just slightly. “Good.” Not great. Not perfect. Just good. Which meant someone was about to pay for her English score.
Ye-bin bounced the ball in her hands a couple times, catching it with one palm. “If I serve first, I’ll knock someone’s head off.”
“Save it,” Ji-yeon said coolly, stretching her arms behind her back. “Let me go first.”
Seul-bi blinked. “You never ask to serve first.”
“I’m in the mood to break something.”
Ye-bin and Seul-bi both stepped aside like they’d just been handed front row seats to a slow-motion explosion. When the game started, Ji-yeon took her place at the back of the court. She bounced the ball once, twice, then threw it high and launched a vicious serve over the net. It zipped past the opposing front line like a bullet, slamming into the floor untouched.
Point.
The teacher blew the whistle with surprise. “Nice, Moon!”
Ji-yeon didn’t smile. She just reset her stance and served again. Another point. This time, someone tried to dive for it and missed. Her next serve ricocheted off the wrist of a second-year who squeaked audibly before the ball spun out of bounds. She wasn’t just playing to win anymore.
“Is she okay?” someone whispered from the sidelines.
“She’s possessed,” someone else muttered.
Ye-seul returned from the locker room just in time to catch the tail end of Ji-yeon’s fourth serve. She paused mid-step, one hand still tugging at her gym shirt. “What did I miss?”
“Ji-yeon’s burning down the court,” Seul-bi said, wide-eyed. “She’s gone full Swan Lake meets Final Boss energy.”
Ye-seul blinked. “Oh. So... seventy?”
“Seventy,” Ye-bin confirmed solemnly.
On the court, Ji-yeon caught the ball again, her gaze sharp and expression unreadable. She didn’t care about whispers or stares or what her classmates thought. In this moment, she wasn’t thinking about her exam. She was feeling it—channeling every ounce of her humiliation, rage, and pride into her game. The ball was her weapon. The court, her battleground. And the scoreboard? Well, that would look exactly the way she wanted it to. Perfect.
☽˚༓･*˚⁺‧❣꧁🌠꧂❣‧⁺˚*･༓˚☾
°˖❀♡₊⊹˖⁺.˚ʚ♡ɞ˚⁺˖⊹₊♡❀˖°
✧:･⋆ ౨ৎ ˚⟡˖ ࣪🌃˚ ༘ ೀ⋆｡˚･:✧
The winter sun had dipped low, casting a pale orange hue across Gyeongha’s elegant front courtyard. Students trickled out of the building in scattered clusters—some still in uniform, some bundled in coats and scarves, most chattering about Valentine’s Day prep or upcoming exams. The lingering scent of cafeteria breadsticks and teenage anxiety floated through the air.
But Ji-yeon was silent.
She descended the front steps of the school with measured steps, her bag slung neatly over one shoulder, coat cinched tight at the waist. Her sleek black hair framed her face like silk, barely tousled despite the day’s chaos. Though her expression was composed, her thoughts were still caught on that red-circled 70—mocking her from the depths of her backpack like a paper ghost.
The sleek black Genesis sedan was already parked at the front circle, as expected. Mr. Jeong stood by the rear passenger door, gloved hands folded neatly in front of him. Tall and dignified in his pressed gray uniform and black driver’s cap, he offered her a respectful bow as soon as she came into view. “Miss Ji-yeon,” he greeted, opening the door with practiced ease.
“Hello, Mr. Jeong,” she said, her voice soft and clipped.
He didn’t ask how her day went. He never did. That was why Ji-yeon liked him. Once she slid into the back seat, he shut the door with a gentle thud and circled back to the driver’s side. The interior smelled faintly of leather and clean air. A small white flower sat clipped to the air vent—her mother’s addition, no doubt.
Mr. Jeong started the car. “To the main residence, Miss?”
Ji-yeon hesitated. “…Yes.”
The engine purred to life, and the car glided away from the school curb with silent luxury. For a while, neither of them spoke. The only sounds were the soft rustle of Ji-yeon’s coat and the quiet hum of the heater. Outside the window, snow flurries danced through the golden haze of the streetlights. Students in cheaper coats waited for buses, their laughter distant, unbothered.
Ji-yeon leaned her temple against the glass, eyes following the outline of the hills as they passed. She hadn’t taken out the test paper since she’d buried it in her bag hours ago, but it still sat heavy in her mind, like a bruise under perfect skin.
Mr. Jeong glanced at her through the rearview mirror, noticing the slight crease between her brows. “Rough day, Miss?” he asked gently.
Ji-yeon blinked. The words caught her off guard. She didn’t look at him. She just let her breath fog on the glass and said, “Just… normal.”
Mr. Jeong nodded once. “Understood.”
The ride continued in silence, the city passing by like a blurred watercolor. Ji-yeon didn’t speak again until they pulled into the stone driveway of her family’s estate—tall gates, ivy-covered walls, and windows glowing with soft yellow light.
Before Mr. Jeong could exit the car to open her door, Ji-yeon spoke, still facing forward, “I got a seventy on my English test.” Her voice was hasty and clumsily developed like she was about to choke back her words from nervous hesitance.
Mr. Jeong paused, his hand halfway to the door handle. A beat of silence stretched between them, weighted but gentle, like fresh snow settling on untouched ground. He didn’t turn to look at her. Didn’t gasp or fumble for words like others might have. Instead, he responded as he always did—with measured calm. “I see.”
Ji-yeon stared straight ahead, her eyes glossy in the fading light. She felt silly now for saying anything at all. Why had she even brought it up? It wasn’t like she needed comfort. She didn’t do weaknesses; they were not her style. Especially not in front of people who might tell her parents. However, it felt good to get the truth out. It felt like a weight was lifted off her shoulder.
“I don’t usually get seventies,” she said after a moment, softer now, a whisper more than a statement.
“I know,” Mr. Jeong replied simply.
Another silence. Then Ji-yeon muttered, “It won’t happen again,” mostly to herself. Her nails picked at the hem of her pleated skirt, a tiny, compulsive motion she immediately stopped when she noticed it.
Mr. Jeong’s voice was low and smooth. “Miss Ji-yeon, a single gust of wind doesn’t move a mountain.”
She blinked, startled by the poetry of it. He finally turned, just slightly, to meet her eyes in the mirror. “You are… very much a mountain.” She didn’t know how to respond to that. No one had ever called her a mountain before. A queen, a goddess, a nightmare in heels, sure, but a mountain? That was definitely odd.
Ji-yeon gave a small, grateful nod. Nothing dramatic. Just enough to say thank you without actually saying it. Mr. Jeong exited the car and opened her door. The cold air rushed in, brushing her cheeks like a slap to remind her the world still expected perfection. Ji-yeon stepped out, chin high once again, her bag held with fresh resolve.
She walked up the steps to the grand front door with all the grace and polish of someone who had never failed a test in her life. And just before the door opened, she whispered under her breath, almost defiantly: “Next time, I’ll get a ninety-five.”
The entryway of the Moon residence greeted her with warmth, light, and silence—the kind of curated hush that came from money, not peace. Gleaming marble floors, tall vases of winter roses, and golden sconces flickering along the walls. A domestic staff member bowed as she entered and took her coat without a word. Ji-yeon barely noticed. She was already walking, heels clicking across polished tile as she made her way to the grand staircase.
“Miss Ji-yeon,” the housekeeper called gently behind her, “your eomeonim is in the conservatory.”
Ji-yeon paused only long enough to nod. “I’ll be upstairs.” She didn’t go to the conservatory. Her bedroom was waiting—perched on the east wing of the estate like a glass tower, walls of pale cream and blush, everything curated, soft, quiet. A haven designed for perfection. She tossed her bag onto the velvet settee by the window, kicked off her shoes, and collapsed backward onto her bed with a quiet, elegant oof.
For a moment, she just stared at the ceiling. No music. No texts. No group chat banter. Just her, the leftover anxiety, and the faint floral scent from her perfume lingering on her scarf. Eventually, she rolled onto her side and dragged her backpack closer. Slowly, as if afraid to disturb a ghost, she unzipped it.
The test was still there. Crisp. Folded. Red-marked. She held it in her hands again, re-reading every note, every deduction, every mark Mr. Yoon had made. Her eyes narrowed at the essay critique: “Strong voice, but lacking clarity in argument.”
Next time, she wouldn’t just make it look good. She’d make it hit. She’d write something so sharp, so devastating, so undeniably excellent, he’d have no choice but to scrawl a perfect 100 and maybe—maybe—even offer praise. She tucked the paper back into her folder, smoothed the creases flat with the back of her hand, then rose from the bed and crossed the room to her bathroom. A nice shower would ease her nerves, which were still bubbling because she knew her parents would find out about the grade one way or the other.
Steam still curled faintly from her collarbone as Ji-yeon stepped back into her bedroom, dressed now in one of her silkier, more relaxed outfits—cream cashmere lounge pants and a long-sleeved top that hung off one shoulder just so. She padded across the room barefoot, her hair still damp and clipped at the nape of her neck. Everything around her smelled of rosewater and bergamot.
She moved to the mirror.
It wasn’t vanity. It was routine. Every day, she checked herself the same way a queen might inspect her throne before sitting. But tonight, her eyes weren’t drawn to the lines of her makeup or the faint pink gloss still shining on her mouth.
They caught on her neck.
A faint blur of color. Then another. And another.
Hickeys. Three of them, hidden just well enough beneath the collarbone, but still visible in the soft golden light of her vanity. Deep enough that the bruising hadn’t fully faded even after three days.
She tilted her chin to the side, inspecting the mess with a frown. Not because she was ashamed. Not even close. It just… wasn’t worth remembering.
Jae-min.
She clicked her tongue, annoyed at herself. That had been a waste. They’d hooked up after a mutual friend’s birthday dinner. He’d brought her a rose and a watch she didn’t need—cheap, flashy, overly sincere. She let him kiss her anyway. Let him trail compliments down her throat like he meant them. It hadn’t lasted long. She’d left the next morning before sunrise, stepping over his designer sneakers without a second glance.
He still messaged her. Still called her “noona,” even though they were the same age. Still thought they were something.
Ji-yeon touched the side of her neck with two fingers, then wiped the spot as if she could erase him altogether. The truth was, it hadn’t even been good. Jae-min was all talk, all flash, no technique. Moaned too much. Sweated like a marathon runner. He'd probably told his friends about it already. That he’d been the one to “have her.” She scoffed quietly. Please.
Lust was simple. Fast. Disposable.
Love, on the other hand?
She didn’t do love. Not really. Not since middle school, when she’d thought someone could make her feel something permanent. That boy had moved schools and never texted her back. She remembered the sting—but not his name.
Sex was easier. Neater. It gave her control. It made her feel powerful, wanted, seen, even if only for a night. Besides, if someone fell for her, that was their problem.
She reached for her concealer stick, tapping it expertly across the dark marks, blending with her fingers until the bruises disappeared into flawless skin again. It was second nature by now—like fixing flyaways or tying her ballet flats. She stood straighter, brushed imaginary dust off her shoulder, and turned away from the mirror with a fluid, purposeful motion.
Now that school was over for the day, she had to prepare for Wednesday, which was in one day. Ji-yeon had been talking to one guy—a third-year (same year as her) who was on the basketball team—for about two weeks now. He was handsome, like many older guys in the school when they truly catered to their appearance. His name was Si-yoon, and he was known most for his talent, athleticism, and “heartbreaker” title, similar to Ji-yeon.
Ji-yeon, for the most part, could really see them going out together, but not out of love. It was more out of perfection. They suited each other, but weren’t in love with each other (or so she thought).
Ji-yeon was about to start a call with Si-yoon but was interrupted by the door opening without a knock to announce their presence. She flinched at the suddenness and turned to see who it was. There, standing in the doorway, was her mother, Mrs. Moon. She had a nasty scowl on her face. Yeah, she definitely found out about the 70. Ji-yeon was surprised it wasn’t sooner.
Mrs. Moon stood tall, poised, dressed in a tailored navy blouse and ivory slacks that made her look like she’d walked off the cover of a luxury magazine. Her hair was pulled into a sleek chignon, makeup flawless, even though she’d been home all day. That was just her way: polish at all hours.
Ji-yeon stayed where she was, one hand still resting near her vanity, the other slowly setting down her phone. She didn’t need to ask. Her mother didn’t storm in for casual conversation, and she definitely didn’t scowl unless something had gone “wrong.” Like, say, a test score slipping out of the 90s.
“Seventy,” Mrs. Moon said sharply, like the number tasted sour in her mouth. “You got a seventy?”
Ji-yeon didn’t answer immediately. Her posture stayed relaxed, but inside, she was coiling—tightly, like a ribbon before it snaps. She turned to face her mother fully, arms folded. “I’m aware.”
Mrs. Moon’s heels clicked against the marble floor as she stepped deeper into the room. “You were aware when? When you failed it? Or when Mr. Moon’s assistant called me with the report?”
Failed. That word again.
Ji-yeon felt her nails dig slightly into the crook of her elbow but said nothing. Failed. She hadn’t failed. She just hadn’t excelled. There was a difference.
“You’ve never scored under an eighty in your life,” her mother continued, voice clipped and smooth like the edge of a pearl-handled knife. “You know how that looks? On your record? On us?”
Ah, there it was. Us. As if her test score had somehow reflected on the family’s stock portfolio. “I’ll fix it,” Ji-yeon said simply.
“You should’ve fixed it before it happened.” Her mother’s gaze swept over her—down to the silk pants, the bare shoulder, the faint scent of body oil in the air. “You’ve been distracted.”
Ji-yeon said nothing.
Mrs. Moon’s lip twitched. “Is it a boy?”
“No.” Her answer was immediate, firm.
“Then what is it? Your friends? Your phone? Your—whatever it is you do when you disappear for hours after school?” Ji-yeon’s throat tightened. Her mother didn’t ask questions. She gave them as accusations.
“You’re seventeen,” Mrs. Moon said, walking slowly toward the window. “And in a year, you’ll need university recommendations. Scholarships. Endorsements. There are ten girls with perfect scores who’d kill to sit where you’re sitting. Don’t make yourself replaceable.”
That part stung more than it should have. Replaceable. As if perfection was the only thing tethering her to value.
“I said I’d fix it,” Ji-yeon repeated, this time colder, flatter. “Next time, I’ll get a ninety-five.”
Mrs. Moon paused at the window, her back turned now. “No,” she said. “Next time, you’ll get a hundred.”
Mrs. Moon remained still for a moment longer, framed by the tall window, one manicured hand resting lightly against the sheer curtain. Then she turned, face carved in elegant disapproval. “And until you do,” she added, walking back toward the vanity, “you’re grounded.”
Ji-yeon blinked. “What?”
“You heard me.” Her mother extended one hand, palm up. “Phone.”
Ji-yeon didn’t move. “You’re not serious.”
“I’m deadly serious.”
Ji-yeon’s lips parted in disbelief. “You’re treating me like a child.”
“No,” Mrs. Moon said calmly, “I’m treating you like someone who needs a reminder of what’s at stake.” Her voice stayed soft, even pleasant, but her eyes were made of steel. “Phone. Now.”
Ji-yeon opened her mouth to protest—then closed it. What was the point? With a rigid motion, Ji-yeon reached for her phone and placed it into her mother’s hand like it was a surrender flag.
Mrs. Moon tucked the device into her coat pocket, nodded once, then turned toward the door. “Your study hours are now doubled. If I see a single grade slip again, I’ll cancel your March fashion trip to Tokyo.” She paused at the threshold. “And I’ll have Mr. Jeong take you straight to after school tutoring every day, including Fridays.”
“You’re unbelievable,” Ji-yeon muttered under her breath.
Her mother turned just slightly, one brow arched. “I’m your eomeoni. That comes with the territory.” Then she walked out, door shutting behind her with a finality that echoed through the quiet of the room.
As soon as that door closed, Ji-yeon finally let it all out. She yelled angrily and tossed the nearest object across the room until it whacked the opposing wall.
She didn’t even care when she realized what she hurled was a glass of fruit punch. Crimson liquid splattered across her ivory wallpaper like an abstract painting. The glass hit the floor and shattered, pieces skittering beneath her dresser and vanity like tiny crystal daggers. Ji-yeon stood there, chest heaving, arms stiff at her sides. Her jaw clenched so hard it ached.
For a full ten seconds, she didn’t move. Then, slowly, she let out a breath and dragged both hands down her face, fingers pressing into her temples like she could physically shove the pressure out of her skull.
Grounded.
No phone. No calls. No texting Si-yoon. No scrolling through midnight selfies. No planning what to wear for Wednesday. Her whole social life, cut off like a silk ribbon with gold scissors.
She walked to the spilled punch, staring down at it with cool detachment. The red stain was already soaking into the rug—her rug, imported from Paris, pale cream and embroidered with gold thread. A gift from her aunt. Her mother would scream when she saw it. Good, she thought. Let her scream.
With a quick pivot, Ji-yeon crossed the room and flung open the doors of her closet—not because she needed clothes, but because she needed control. Fabric calmed her. Fashion never judged. She ran her fingers over rows of pristine blouses, structured jackets, and color-coded skirts until she landed on one of her oldest items: a black knit sweater from years ago, slightly oversized and soft with age.
She tugged it on and sat cross-legged on her bed, still simmering.
She hated this feeling. Not being in charge of her own story. Not being seen as the mastermind, the icon, the one who always had the last word. Now she was just… a girl with a bad grade, no phone, and a ruined rug.
But Moon Ji-yeon wasn’t the kind of girl who stayed powerless for long.
Once she finally heard a lack of footsteps or general noise from outside her room, she reached into her nightstand—the lowest drawer—and ruffled through the stacks of phones she had as backups. She pulled out the last one. Matte pink, slightly newer model, but fully charged. She’d synced it last week out of boredom, not expecting she’d need it so soon.
Ji-yeon climbed back into bed, tucking her legs under the blanket like nothing was wrong. Like she hadn’t just shattered a glass, her pride, and a few house rules in a single evening. The glow of the screen lit up her face as she entered the passcode.
Immediately, it buzzed to life—seven notifications from her group chat, Dolls 💋💔. The preview alone made her smirk.
Ye-bin:
girl wtf did you DIE???
Ye-seul:
are u ignoring us or is ur mom being a dictator again
Seul-bi:
be honest did you cry over that 70
Ye-seul:
ok but wait do u still wanna match for vday??
i’m ordering hair bows rn
Ji-yeon rolled her eyes fondly, her thumb moving fast.
Ji-yeon:
im grounded
did NOT cry over the 70 btw
but yes i still want the bows
red or black?
The typing bubbles exploded into life.
Ye-seul:
lmao knew it.
Seul-bi:
red duh but you have to wear yours even if ur dead inside
Ye-bin:
si-yoon was LOOKING for u today
he said “where's noona” like all shy and hot pls respond
Ji-yeon bit her lip, fighting back a grin. Her heart thudded once. Not romantically but triumphantly. She might’ve been grounded, but she wasn’t out. The game was still hers to play.
Ji-yeon:
tell him i got detained for being too pretty and too smart
and someone BETTER send me a pic of him stretching
A photo arrived seconds later. Si-yoon, gym-lit and glowing, tank top clinging to his biceps, one knee bent mid-stretch. Hair slicked back with sweat. Ji-yeon tilted her head at the image. Objectively, he was hot. And on paper, they were perfect. If she weren’t so annoyed with life, she might’ve called him right now just to hear his voice go soft the way it always did with her.She tucked the phone under her pillow, satisfied. All she needed to know was if Si-yoon was still hooked. In the end, nothing good happened today, but it was eventful, she’ll give the universe that.