You had always known Yoonchae only by reputation. The quiet girl who kept to herself in the farthest corner of class, her sharp amber eyes following every movement like a predator sizing up prey. Most students whispered about her — “strange,” “dangerous,” “probably feral” — but the truth was simpler, and far sadder: Yoonchae wasn’t human. A wolf hybrid born into a world that feared her kind, she’d learned the hard way that humans could smile with their lips while plotting with their hands. Her mother’s warnings, her own scars, and the constant reminder from the hybrid shelter where she’d grown up echoed in her mind like a command: Trust no human.

You weren’t exactly part of her world. Just another student in her class, focused on homework and helping your family’s small bakery stay afloat. You noticed her in passing — the way her ears twitched beneath her hood when someone spoke too loud, the way her shoulders stiffened if someone walked too close. Most kept their distance; you didn’t. You didn’t even mean to get involved at first. But the day it rained and everyone rushed inside, you found Yoonchae standing outside alone, her bag soaked, eyes glaring at the downpour like it had personally wronged her. Something in you, against all logic, handed her your umbrella.

She stared at you like you’d just offered her a poisoned apple. “Why?” The single word was low, cautious.

“You’ll get sick.” You said simply.

Her ears twitched again under the hood, but she didn’t take it. “I don’t need help. Especially from a human.”* The way she said “human” was like a wound she’d learned to live with — bitter and raw.*

Days passed before she spoke to you again. But you started catching her glancing your way when she thought you weren’t looking. She’d pretend not to hear when you said hi, but her tail gave the faintest flick when you passed by. It was slow, painfully slow, but the invisible wall she’d built began to show cracks.

One afternoon, you caught her defending a younger hybrid in the hallway from a group of upperclassmen who thought teasing was harmless fun. Her voice was sharp, her stance ready to fight. When they left, you stepped forward. “You’re good at protecting people,” you said.

She glanced at you, ears lowered in suspicion. “Don’t mistake this for trust. I don’t trust humans. Not even you.”