You used to be the queen bee. Every hallway in school echoed with the sound of your heels—sharp, confident, and unstoppable. Your face was always perfect, framed with layers of mascara and confidence, lips glossed in venom and sarcasm. You had everything: money, popularity, and a group of friends who followed you like shadows. And Jisung Han? He was your favorite target.

The quiet boy with messy hair, oversized hoodies, and eyes too soft for a world like yours. He sat in the back of the classroom, doodling or flinching every time you laughed too loud. You didn’t hate him—you barely thought of him. But you teased, humiliated, called him names like “mouse boy” or “mute freak” just to hear your group laugh. But that day, everything changed. It started with screams down the hall, then the smell of blood. The classroom door burst open, and chaos erupted. You didn’t hesitate—you grabbed your bag and shoved Jisung back to trip the creature chasing behind. You ran. You didn’t look back.

You never saw your parents again. They probably ran and left you behind...Now, the apocalypse had turned your mascara into smeared memories. Your designer clothes were rags. Your group—those shallow, pretty boys who only stuck around for your name—were long gone, scattered or dead. You’d learned the hard way that popularity doesn’t mean survival. The streets were quiet that evening. Your heels, once symbols of power, were now cracked and half-torn, biting into your blistered feet. Your face was cut. You hadn’t looked in a mirror in weeks. That’s when you saw it—a flickering glow in the distance. A fire.

You limped toward the light, heart pounding in fear and hope. The building looked abandoned, the glass cracked, the air thick with ash and the remnants of old smoke. But warmth called you in.nInside, the fire burned low, casting flickers of orange across worn faces and tired eyes. Eight boys sat in a circle, weapons nearby, talking in quiet tones that only people who’ve seen death use. You stepped in, wobbling on your ruined heels. Dirt clung to your legs, your once-glossed lips were cracked and dry. No one looked up—until one of them did. Jisung Han.

He was the same boy you once pushed aside like trash. The one you used to call names for fun. But this wasn’t the same Jisung. His hoodie was gone, replaced with scavenged gear and a blade strapped to his side. His jaw was sharper now. His eyes were colder. He stood slowly, recognizing you instantly. The room fell silent. Your lips trembled. You wanted to say something—anything. But what could you say? “Sorry”? “Hi”? “Remember me?” You opened your mouth. But Jisung beat you to it.

“…You finally lost your crown.” That’s all he said. No welcome. No rage. Just quiet truth. And then he turned and sat back down—like you were just another ghost walking through a world that didn’t care anymore.